Unexpected Gift

by Lively, R. S.

  “We are doing the best we can. She is healthy. It was hard at first. Molly and I were clashing, arguing, not getting any sleep, and mourning over the both of you, so it took some adjusting, but we're making it out alive. So, it brings me here.” I go to take another drink, but I think better of it. I’ve had enough. I twist the cap back on and set it against the tree.

  “I love Molly, Brandon. I think I always have. I just didn’t know. Or maybe not, because if I loved her, I guess I would have known?” I scratch the side of my head with confusion. “I know you would want someone better for her. I know I have a long, long history of having a certain…sexual prowl about me, if you will, but I swear she isn’t like that for me. It’s different with her.” I pluck a few blades of grass from the ground, breaking them into small pieces.

  “She makes me want to reevaluate my life and goals. I still want to be Chief of my own department, but that’s not any time soon. If or when it happens, I want her and Posie there next to me, every step of the way.” The wind blows again, and I close my eyes, enjoying how it feels. “I could really use the sound of your voice right about now. I really need to talk to you, man. I need my best friend.” Tears threaten my eyes, and I clear my throat, holding them back because I’ve cried enough. I’m done crying.

  My phone falls out of my jacket pocket, landing in the wet grass and getting water all over the front screen. I pick it up and dry it off with my shirt sleeve when the notification of his voicemail pops up again. “I’ve been ignoring this ever since you left it. I haven’t been ready to hear it. But I’m wondering if this is your way of talking to me. I sound crazy. I don’t know if I believe in signs or any of that shit, but I don’t know what else to believe in when I miss you so fucking much.” I rub my chest when it starts to ache. “I want to believe you’re still out there. I want to believe you’re watching over us. Over Posie. Over Molly. But how can you when you’re six feet underground and getting rained on?”

  I stare at the notification saying that I have one voicemail. I guess if I am going to listen to it, it should be right now while I’m with Brandon. I take a deep breath in and let it out. “Alright, let’s do this.” Instead of swiping, I press the alert, taking me to the voicemail app.

  The play button mocks me. I hover my thumb over it, getting closer and closer until I pull away and rub my hand over my mouth, scratching the scruff on my chin. “I can do this. Fuck, I can do this.” I twist off the cap of the whiskey and take another drink for good measure. At this point, I’m going to have to call Molly or have an Uber come get me. Between drinking it myself and pouring it on their graves, less than half of the bottle remains.

  My stomach burns from the alcohol and from my nerves, and I start to feel sick. I swallow my cowardice and my grief as I press play on the message that lasts for seven minutes and thirty seconds, which is something that I’ve been dreading having to do for a long time. Seven minutes is such a long time.

  I let out another breath and turn on the speaker, pressing play.

  “Caden!”

  His voice makes me hold my breath, and this time, I can’t stop the tears from breaking.

  “It’s Brandon—”

  “And Amelia!”

  I smile when her voice chirps in the background, and I wipe my face.

  “It’s us, and we are on our way out of town like we planned. I’m going to be out of range in a few minutes, so the call might break up, but I had the need to call and tell you that I’m so damn proud of you, Caden—”

  “—Me too!”

  “You have succeeded so much in life, and I’m jealous of your ugly mug—”

  “—he isn’t ugly! Stop it!”

  “Anyway, I want you to know it’s okay. Everything is okay. We are great. The night is young. And while I’m out, living my life, I want to remind you to not forget to live yours. I’ve seen you dedicated. I’ve seen you fun. But I’ve never seen you serious about someone. I’m not saying my life is for you, but I know you, and you’d really love my life. I’m worried about you. Stop worrying about everyone else for once and worry about yourself. We are okay. Posie needs more than a fun uncle. She needs someone to really love her, besides us. We won’t be around forever. I don’t know what is making me say this. Maybe the universe is making me a damn mush—”

  “—Language.”

  I could practically hear him rolling his eyes at Amelia. “It’s okay to be a mush, Caden. And stop fighting so much with my sister. Maybe if you allow yourself to, you’ll actually like her. You’re my best friend. The best damn doctor I know, but you don’t know how to take care of yourself.”

  “We love you, Caden!” Amelia shouts in the background.

  “You’re loved, bro. I’ll see you soon.”

  “Watch out, Brandon!” Amelia screams bloody murder before a loud crash echoes through the phone.

  “No...” I whisper as my heart breaks. Tears flood my face as glass shatters, tires squeal, and the scared cry of Posie echoes in the background. I cover my mouth with my hand as I listen, and the phone never hangs up. I never hear a dial tone. I only hear rapid breathing and a gurgling sound like someone is choking on blood. “No, no, no!”

  “Amelia,” Brandon chokes. “Amelia,” he repeats.

  I’m only four minutes into the voicemail. There’s another three minutes of this. Sirens blare in the background, and Brandon gasps for air, struggling to speak, “Take care of them,” Brandon exhales, and everything grows silent.

  “Brandon!” I scream into the phone, forgetting that it’s a voicemail. “Brandon!” I say in a tearful, hushed tremor.

  The only sounds I hear are the wails from Posie and the yells from the first responders trying to get them out. I hang up the phone, unable to listen to the noise of my friends dying. I drop the phone on the ground and hold my head in my hands as I sob. He had been on the phone with me when they crashed.

  “Oh, shit,” I say as my stomach turns and bile runs up my throat. I can’t stop hurling all the alcohol I ingested. I wipe my mouth on my sleeve, staring at their graves. I can’t help but wonder if I’m the reason they got into the accident. Is it my fault Molly is without a brother? Is it my fault Posie is without her parents?

  I slump forward, clutching each mound of dirt on their graves until it’s a hard ball in my fists. “I’m so sorry.” I choke, wishing I never pressed play.

  This is going to haunt me for the rest of my life.

  Chapter Thirty

  Molly

  I check the clock on the wall. It says it’s midnight. And Caden isn’t home yet. He hasn’t returned any of my calls. I pace around the room, slapping my phone in my hand over and over again as I bite my thumbnail. “Ow,” I say and yank my finger away from my mouth to see that it is bleeding. I run toward the kitchen and turn on the faucet, and that's when I see headlights beaming.

  A figure stumbles out of the car, holding something in their hand. When the headlights reflect off of it, I recognize it as being a bottle. “Caden?” I narrow my eyes, trying to figure out if it is really him. He doesn’t get drunk. He must have had a really bad day at work. He sways on the steps, holding onto the rail for balance. He nearly falls forward, but rights himself just in time before he completely falls on his face.

  I run to the front door and swing it open, hurrying to his side to catch him. “Caden? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” I ask. I help him inside, keeping one arm wrapped around his waist. Damn, he is heavy.

  “It’s my fault,” he slurs, tripping over his own two feet. He throws an arm out, allowing the door to catch his fall. “It’s all my fault.”

  I open the door and groan when he puts his weight on me. I grunt, dragging him to the couch. His feet slip and slide, unable to gain traction to keep himself upright on his own. “It isn’t. Nothing is your fault, Caden.”

  “It is my fault. I heard it. There was so much glass.”

  “Glass? Did something happen in the operating room?” I help him sit down and unwrap his arm fro
m my neck. “I’m going to get you a glass of water and some Advil so you don’t hate yourself in the morning.”

  “I hate myself right now. Brandon and Amelia are dead because of me.”

  I turn back around, staring at him with a puzzled look. It’s impossible for him to be at fault. “Caden, that’s impossible,” I say in one breath, sitting down next to him and taking his hand in mine. “Don’t ever say that again.”

  He tosses his arm over his eyes and shakes his head. His cheeks are red, his eyes are swollen, and I take in his wardrobe. He clothes are a little dirty, smudged with mud and grass stains. His tie is crooked. His hair is disheveled. “It’s true. It’s my fault.” He tosses his arm back down to stare at me through haunted eyes. “I went to see Brandon and Amelia today.”

  “What?” I jerk back, hitting my head against the cushion. “I thought you had work.”

  “I told you I had work. I didn’t. I wanted to talk to Brandon. I miss my friend, so I went to talk to him today.”

  “I’m sorry. What? I’m having a hard time following, Caden.”

  “I went to talk to him about you. About us. I told him that I loved you.”

  “You love me?” I repeat, angry that he is telling me this right now when he is drunk and unable to sit up by himself. He probably doesn’t even mean it. He only thinks he does because the liquor is dulling his brain.

  “Yep.” He pops the ‘p’ and rolls over to his side. His expression seems tormented, like he can’t shake something. “I’ve been ignoring this voicemail on my phone. It’s from him. He left it the day they died, and today I really needed to hear him, so I pressed play. I pressed play and it ended with me hearing them get into the accident. I heard everything, Molly. I heard Amelia scream. Posie cry. Glass shatter. I heard Brandon struggling to breath. I heard it all. And it’s playing on repeat in my head. Over and over again, like an annoying song I keep hearing. I tried to drown it out. With this.” He holds up the bottle, with only a small swish left at the bottom.

  I can hardly understand him with his inebriated tongue, but still, the confession starts to feel like a ton of bricks pressing against my chest. “I’m sorry. I’m not following.” I grab the armrest of the chair, blinking back the tears from what he said.

  “Yeah, it’s a little complicated. Well, not really. It just fucking sucks.” He opens the bottle and goes to take a swig, but I stop him, snatching it from his grasp.

  “I think that is enough of that.” I slam the bottle down on the coffee table. There is a lot about this conversation that I’m having issues with, and I don't know where to start.

  “Yeah, probably.”

  I wipe my cheek on my shirt sleeve and slap my hands on my thighs. “You heard it?”

  “Every metal grinding part. He was on the phone with me, Molly. He was leaving me a voicemail when they got into the accident.”

  I kneel on the floor next to the couch and take his face in my hands. His breath reeks of the strong-smelling alcohol, but I ignore it. “You listen to me, Caden Jackson!” I dart my eyes all over his face. “It is not your fault. They were hit by a drunk driver. That had nothing to do with you.”

  “But maybe they would have seen the car if they weren’t talking to me.”

  “No, baby.” The name leaves my lips quicker than I catch it. It feels natural and right, because that is what he is to me. He is cherished and wanted, something I don’t want to keep holding back from. “That drunk driver ran a red light. Their death is not on you. Do you understand that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I do. I know. That’s all that matters. I don’t blame you for a thing, Caden. It isn’t your fault.” I lay my head against his chest, and a tear falls from the painful sobs ripping from his gut. In all the years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him break like this. I never want to see him like this. He wasn’t like this at the funeral, but maybe that is the problem. He has been holding all this pain in and not letting anyone know how he feels, and then he breaks.

  Granted, the reason he broke is quite huge. I never want to hear that message. I don’t care that it is the last message my brother ever left. I know that I can’t handle that amount of pain. “It’s okay. I’m here, Caden. I’m always going to be here. Me and Posie will always be here.” I rub my hands down his arms, trying to comfort him.

  Bringing comfort to someone while being broken yourself is a hard thing to do. We have to try not to cut each other with our jagged edges and also try not to continue to break under the pressure. Our imperfect pieces are chipped and sharp, ready to pierce and cause pain at all times. But sometimes, like right now, the pieces are dull and tired, exhausted from being used so much. His pieces and my pieces fit together like a puzzle, even with all of our differences.

  At last, we aren’t forcing our pieces together. We aren’t denying them, either, by cutting each other like we used to. We are laying down our swords and admitting defeat.

  Infliction—it’s the worst enemy.

  I lay my entire body down on his, wrapping my arms around him and putting my ear against his heart. It is racing and pounding hard, like it is about to burst from being so stressed and overwhelmed—becoming inflicted.

  Actually, maybe the better word is infected. He is infected with copious amounts of pain right now. I skim his chest and arms with my hands, trying to comfort him the best way I can—with my own jagged edges. I understand his pain because I'm feeling it, too. “It’s going to be okay.”

  His arms tighten around me, and one of his hands holds the back of my head. “I never expected the day to end like this,” he whispers, hiding his face in my nest of blonde hair.

  “I never expected my life to be like this,” I say, thinking about how the hell I got to where I am. It’s all such a blur. I don’t even remember. I never thought I’d be wrapped in his arms, laying on the couch and feeling the song of his heartbeat against my face.

  He sighs. “Me either, sunshine.” His voice still slurs, but it isn’t as bad as it was half an hour ago.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I will be.”

  We lay in silence, just enjoying each other. I swirl my fingers between two buttons on his shirt, twirling his chest hair. “How was it?”

  He grunts as he gets more comfortable on the couch, and I settle between his legs more naturally. “How was what?”

  “Seeing their grave. I haven’t gone yet.”

  He lets out a heavy sigh and runs his fingers through my hair. “Well, considering I’m a bit drunk... That should tell you.”

  “Well, besides the phone call. How was it?”

  “Peaceful. I felt close to him. They would have loved that spot you picked out for them under the oak tree.”

  “He told me so many years ago that if he ever died, he wanted to be buried in a place that defined his entire life. Something that made him happy. And then he proposed under an oak tree and he told me that night if he ever died, he wanted to be buried underneath an oak tree—” my voice catches with emotion. I try to cover it up, but the pain can’t be hidden “—because he found forever underneath the branches, and when life took him, he wanted forever in the roots because that was what Amelia was to him. His roots. His home. I wanted to make sure I made that happen for him.”

  “He was always a deep son of a bitch, wasn’t he?”

  “Yeah, he was always more in tune with his emotions than me. He always tried to get me to accept things and stop fighting them, but I never figured out how to, until—” I stop myself from saying too much, not wanting to give my secret away.

  “Until?” he says as he lifts my head, making me meet his gaze.

  “Until you. Until now.” I flatten my hand over the middle of his heart. “Until this.”

  A part of me hopes that in the morning, he won't remember any of this, but I know that probably won’t be the case.

  He looks at me like I hung his moon and stars. “Why did we fight each other for so long?”

  “I don’
t have a good reason, Caden. All those years weren’t wasted, though. We weren’t meant to be together then. We had to fight to get to where we are.”

  “Do you think we would be together today if they were still alive?”

  Ah, the question that has been rolling around in my head for weeks now. I think about our dynamic before and after my brother’s death. I think of all the fights and all the low blows. All the times I spent watching him hit on women at bars and at weddings. I think about how I felt when I danced with him at Brandon’s wedding. He has always made my heart race and my palms sweat, and it caused me to put up defenses because I didn’t like feeling out of control like that. And he loved to say things that got under my skin, and I fought things like that.

  “Honestly?”

  “Yeah.” He tickles his fingers down my arm, stops at my wrist, and lazily works it up my arm again.

  “No. I don’t.”

  “Ouch. Tell me how you really feel.”

  I prop myself up on my elbows and stare down at his handsome face. Even with the bags under his eyes and the few days' worth of stubble he has been sporting lately, he is the most attractive man I have ever met. I poke his ribs with my finger. “It isn’t the answer we want to hear, but let’s be honest. We probably would have fought each other until the end of time. I know, for me, every time I had to be around you, I felt like ants were crawling all over my skin—but in a good way. Like you drove me insane, and I always felt like I had to push you away because feeling anything for my brother’s best friend was just too taboo. I didn’t want to like you. I thought you were a player. And I thought you were disgusting and infested with diseases.”

  He laughs, holding his head with his hands as he winces—probably getting a headache. “Jeez. I’ll admit I had my moments, but I had no idea a virgin goddess was waiting for me on the other side, okay?”