The Way Back

by Melissa Toppen

  I can't help but blame myself. Deep down, I think I always knew that eventually he would run.

  “I DON'T GET IT. HE seemed so into you, yet he turned his back on you. Made you look like that in front of your brother. It doesn't make sense.” Becca shakes her head while she pours me another shot of tequila.

  I have drank more in the three months I have known Zayne than I have in all my years combined prior to him. I should have seen the path I was heading down before I reached the end. Unfortunately, I didn't and now here I am. Once again drowning my sorrows into a never ending flow of hard liquor.

  Poor Becca has had to deal with more than her fair share of my Zayne related drama, yet somehow she's not completely sick of hearing about all of my nonsense. Or at least she doesn’t seem like she is.

  Because of this, I really gave her the summed up version of how my evening went yesterday once I left Vitos. Reliving the details is still too raw. The wound too fresh.

  “Maybe you should just get away for a while, ya know? Go home, see your family. It might do you some good to remove yourself from the situation completely.”

  “I don't know, Bec. I miss my mom, I really do. And Ian too. But leaving now, it feels too much like giving up. I just got my writing off the ground. I can't afford to throw it all away now.” I empty the contents of my glass and scoot it toward her, silently asking for more.

  She gives me a sad smile but doesn't say a word as she refills my glass again. My goal is to drink until I lose track of how many I’ve had. So far, I'm on three. Enough to have me swaying a bit, but not so much that I can't form a coherent sentence, and right now, that's exactly where I want to be.

  “I get that, Grace, I do. But what can you do in New York that you can't do in Colorado for a week?”

  Knowing she has a point, I simply take another drink. Admitting she's right, that nothing is holding me to New York at the present moment, gives me an out to leave. I should take it, right? And yet, the miles that would separate me and Zayne is something I'm not sure I am ready for.

  AFTER HAVING TO BE carried out of the bar right after six, spending the night crying my eyes out to Carver, and puking up my weight in alcohol, one would think that I would lay off of the drinks for a while. Yet, the first thing I do at the start of my Sunday shift is order a shot of firewater. I don't have the stomach to try tequila again after last night, which is usually my shot of choice.

  I’m sure that Becca has filled Jake in on my breakdown yesterday, but he makes no mention of it. Instead, he spends the last thirty minutes leading up to my set talking about Becca's sister and how infuriating she can be.

  While I really don't care in my present frame of mind, I appreciate that he's talking about something other than my current predicament. I can tell that he senses his attempt at distracting me is not working, but I gotta give it to him for trying.

  After two drinks, I make my way up on stage, holding my guitar for the first time since everything went down. Usually music is my go to, but for whatever reason picking up the instrument is about the last thing that I want to do.

  As soon as I strum out the first few chords of “I Don't Wanna Love Somebody Else” by A Great Big World, I already feel the lump forming hard and tight in my throat. And as I sing the lyrics of a song that unfortunately holds more meaning to me right now than I would like it to, I know exactly why I didn't turn to music.

  It has been my way of coping for so long. A way to vent my emotions. But with that, it also forces me to feel. And right now, I feel everything. I feel the pain, the loss, the betrayal. I see the look in his eyes when he told me it was over.

  My voice quivers on the last few lines, but I try my damnedest to hold it together, though I’m realizing very quickly that I should not be up here. I shouldn't be on stage trying to deal with emotions that are too raw, too fresh, and too painful.

  I don't even realize Jake is standing at the edge of the stage until the song is over, by which time a steady stream of tears are flowing down my cheeks. After Friday night and then again last night, I was sure I had no tears left to cry. Yet here I am, crying like a blubbering baby in the middle of a bar, on a stage in front of, thank god, only two other people, neither of which seem to be paying me any attention at all.

  “Go home.” Jake's tone is soft but I can tell by the look on his face that this is not a request.

  “No, I can do this,” I say, taking a deep breath.

  “No, you can't. This isn't a choice.” He reaches over to shut down my amp and unplug my mic. “I'm terminating your employment, Grace,” he says, softly enough that no one else can hear him. “Go home. Take some time to sort all this out. I know Becca mentioned visiting your family for a few days. I think you should consider it,” he says, almost apologetic.

  I don't try to hide my look of absolute confusion. “You're firing me?” I ask, fresh tears streaming down my face.

  Stepping onto the stage, he reaches out and takes my guitar and sits it to the side before plopping down on the amp next to me. Given our height difference and how much lower the amp sits than my stool, it puts us at eye level with one another.

  “We love having you here, but this isn't where you need to be right now. You need to realize that this place is holding you back, because it is.” He reaches out to take my hand. “You're too good for this place. You’ve always been too good for this place. Becca told me about your writing deal. Congratulations, by the way.” A dimple filled smile slides across his face.

  I manage a weak smile of my own. “Thank you. But I love playing here. You know that, right?”

  “I do.” He nods. “And you’re welcome back anytime. But your priority right now needs to be you. Your life, your writing. I have seen too many good people get comfortable in this environment and end up letting their dreams pass them by. I know that you're hurting right now and that life probably seems full of disappointments and trials, but Grace, you're going to get through this. And eventually, you are going to be a stronger person because you did.” He pauses for a moment, giving my hand a tight squeeze. “I may not be your boss anymore, but that doesn't mean I'm not your friend. I still expect you to come see us weekly. I want you to stop by when you have a new song and you need someone else to hear it. I want you to come here and have a celebration drink with us when your book sells, and then another when it hits the bestsellers list.”

  As hard as it will be to walk away from this place, I know Jake is right. Now is the time where my life really begins. My writing career is now in swing. My friends are growing up, following their dreams. Somewhere along the way, I have to stop delaying and start doing.

  I'm not the same girl that I was five years ago. I'm not the person I was four years ago or even three or two for that matter. Each day I grow, I learn, I become who I’m meant to be in this world.

  Losing Zayne is a loss that I’m almost certain I cannot bear and yet, I know that I have to find the strength somewhere. The world doesn't stop turning because my heart is in pieces. Life goes on and I go right along with it.

  After thanking Jake and gathering my things, I make the short ten minute walk home, dispensing my guitar by the door before heading for my room.

  Without so much as a second thought, I pull out my oversized suitcase from my closet and begin filling it with various outfits and toiletries. For a moment, I consider calling my mom but decide against it.

  The long drive will give me the time I need to think, to clear my head. If my mom knows I'm coming, she’ll call me every hour to check my progress. As much as I love her, I don't want her as a distraction right now.

  After gathering all the essentials for my drive, I write Carver a quick note letting him know that I’m going home to visit my family and that I’ll call as soon as I arrive. I know that he’ll worry about me, that's just his way, but I also know that he will support my decision as well.

  A sick knot forms in the pit of my stomach when I almost call Alec on instinct to fill him in. We have not spoken s
ince the incident and while I know I’m at fault, I can't be the one to reach out to him, at least not yet. My pride simply won't allow it.

  Rolling my suitcase to the door, careful to be quiet and not wake Carver, I take one last look at the apartment that I have grown so fond of. It's hard to believe that three months ago this place was bustling with activity. Me, Emma, and Carver all trying to find our way through living together, finding jobs, sharing the television, and even harder, sharing the bathroom.

  I can't help but smile at all the fond memories I’ve made here, and even though I know I will be coming back, a part of me feels like this is goodbye in a sense. Not in the goodbye forever kind of way, but more as if I know that the person I am today will not be the person that returns here when I do.

  After throwing my suitcase into the trunk of my car, I head out into the night. I have no idea how long I’ll be gone, a week, a month or hell, even a year. Becca was right. There's nothing I can do in New York that I can't do anywhere else.

  I can write no matter where I am and electronic communication will work just as effectively as in person when working with my agent. Tons of writers have agents that live across the country. It's not like every person who gets signed, turns around and moves to wherever their agent is. That would be absurd.

  My only real dilemma as far as work is concerned, is how I’m ever going to muster the strength to finish the novel I’m currently working on. Whether I finish now or a year from now, I know eventually I will. But that doesn't mean I can't work on other things until I'm ready.

  It takes me about thirty minutes until I see the blazing lights of the city in my rearview mirror. Even at one in the morning, the city still seems alive. And watching the lights grow dimmer and dimmer behind me, I feel a newfound sense of courage that, until recently, I didn't even know I had.

  It's time for me to put my big girl panties on, as Em would say and learn how to live without Zayne. And while the thought both devastates and terrifies me, I know that ultimately I don't have any other option. I need to heal and move on. For myself and for the people I love.

  Chapter Twenty

  “YES, EM. I KNOW NOT to pick up any hitchhikers.” I roll my eyes at my best friend on the other end of the phone.

  “I know, I know. I just... God, Grace, I feel like I should be there for you.” She sighs heavily into the phone. I can imagine her right now, nervously fidgeting with her hair, which is what she does anytime something worries her.

  “You are,” I remind her, throwing one last look in the bathroom mirror of my hotel room before grabbing my car keys off of the oak dresser and heading for the door. “You are always with me in spirit. And phone conversations work just as well as in person.”

  “Well I can't hug you via phone conversation.”

  “You're ridiculous, you know that? Besides, I would much rather you be... Wait, where are you again?” I ask, not sure what stop their tour is in.

  “Cincinnati,” she replies with a laugh.

  “Right. Well I would much rather you be in Cincinnati living your dream. I can do this, Em. Anyway, how's Alec?”

  She falls silent on the other end of the line and for a moment I think maybe the called dropped, but then she lets out a long sigh, breaking the silence.

  “That bad, huh?” I ask.

  “He's upset, Grace. I mean, really upset. But I don't know this because he's told me so. It's more like what he hasn't told me.”

  “Okay wait. I'm confused. So he has or has not spoken to you about this?”

  “He hasn't. But that's just it. He hasn't spoken to me about anything since he found out. He's resigned and quiet and most of our phone conversations consist of me going on and on about whatever happened since the last time we spoke. He doesn't really say anything.” I can tell by her tone that she's worried, but she's too scared to voice it, fearful that it will in turn affect me adversely.

  “We really hurt him,” I admit, taking a deep breath as I slide into the driver’s seat of my car. “I have never seen him look at me like that before, Em. If you could have seen the disappointment on his face. I don't think I will ever be able to erase that from my mind.” I lean my head against my steering wheel, trying to keep my emotions at bay.

  “He'll get over it, Gracie. You know he will. He's probably just in shock right now. Give him some time. In the meantime, I'll do what I can to get him talking. Maybe if I can reason with him, I can help somehow. I mean, we did kind of do the same thing to you,” she says, apology in her voice.

  “Yeah, I guess. But this seems different somehow. I want you two to be happy. But it's not like that for Alec. He's dead set against me and Zayne and you know how stubborn he can be. I can't bear the thought of losing Zayne forever, Em.” I fight through the knot forming in my throat. “But Alec too...” I break off on a sob.

  “You are not going to lose Alec. You already know that. Please don't cry. You know how much I hate when you cry without me,” she whines, managing to make me laugh a little through my tears. “And if my opinion counts for anything, I think Zayne will come around. I can't imagine this is easy for him either.”

  “That's the thing though, Em. As much as I don't want to lose him, I can't keep doing this to myself. How many times am I going to let him hurt me before I put my foot down? No,” I say, more to myself than to Emma. “I needed him. I needed him to stand by me and have my back and yet, he pushed me away. He ended it. He made his choice.” I dry my tears with the back of my hand.

  “You know I will support you no matter what happens, but Grace...” she pauses as if unsure how to say the words. “Don't let your pride get in the way of what you truly want. People make mistakes, just remember that. And I'm on your side,” she adds quickly, as if reading my mind. “I just want you to look at the big picture, that's all.”

  “I know. Thank you, Em. I'll call you later, okay?” I say, finally starting my car. Shifting it into drive, I pull out onto the road.

  “I miss you. Be safe and call me as soon as you get there.”

  “I will. Love you.”

  “Love you,” she says right before the line goes dead.

  THE NEXT DAY, I FINALLY make it home. It feels like it's been ages since I've been here, and yet somehow, everything seems the same.

  I can't help but smile when I pass Pine Creek High School and I downright laugh when I see that they still have not scrubbed the paint off of the Eagle statue that sits out front. That was a senior prank gone seriously wrong and one that will forever be remembered, at least by me and the few people that were on the inside of the whole charade.

  Instead of heading directly into Briargate, the small community where my mom lives, I decide to head a little outside of town and visit the cemetery where both my dad and Kyle are buried. It's been so long since I’ve visited my dad and a part of me feels like I owe it to him to go there first.

  Equipped with two different arrangements of flowers that I picked up at a local shop right outside of town, I finally pull into the graveyard about thirty minutes later. Following the narrow winding road to the very last section of the grounds, I pull my car off to the side and power off the engine, grabbing a bouquet before exiting the car.

  My dad is buried in the back row. His headstone, a modest dark gray. Joshua Alec Morgan inscribed across the front in large standard font. I push past the well of emotions I feel as I stop directly in front of his grave.

  My dad and I always had a special bond and while I know sitting down and talking to him like he's still here would be completely acceptable, it's simply not the type of relationship we had. Words were never needed with him.

  So instead of saying anything, I just sit. In a way, being here comforts me, just like he always comforted me as a child. I know it sounds crazy, but it's times like this when I swear I can feel him with me. Reassuring me that everything is going to be okay and telling me to stay strong.

  I'm not sure how much time passes before I finally decide I need to get going. Standing,
I brush the dirt from the back of my jeans and kiss my hand, placing it to the top of his headstone.

  “I love you, Daddy,” is all I manage to say before one solitary tear trickles down my cheek. I feel the well of emotions stirring deep inside of me but I push it down, forcing myself to turn and walk away. For as hard as this visit has been, the next is sure to pull fierce emotions from me that I have buried for a very long time now.

  I stop by my car and retrieve the other bouquet of flowers before continuing on. Kyle is buried one section over and six rows in front of my dad. I know exactly how many steps it takes to get there even though I have not visited Kyle's grave since the day of his funeral. Something about seeing his name on a stone with a date of death was too much for me and because of this, I never came.

  So, when I approach the massive light headstone that was not here the day of his funeral and I see his name, Kyle Michael Parker, etched so beautifully into the stone, I cannot contain the tears. There's no thought or attempt to control them.

  It takes me a few moments to calm the stream that seems to be never-ending. I can't make myself move forward. I can't reach out and lay down the flowers I brought for him. I can't do anything but stare at his name.

  Sometimes you forget how much it hurts to live without someone until you visit them and the only thing you have to look at, to talk to, is a hard, cold stone.

  “Hi, Kyle.” I finally step forward, taking a seat directly in front of his headstone. I place the flowers at the base before reaching my hand out, flattening my palm over his name.

  While I’m content just sitting with my dad, I came to see Kyle with a specific purpose. I need to say goodbye. I need to find real closure. This is the only way I know how.

  “I'm so sorry I haven't come to see you before now. I know how awful that probably makes me seem, but I know you understand why I couldn't. You understand because unlike so many others, you always understood me. You know that me not coming to visit in no way defines how I feel about you. I think you probably always knew that I would get here eventually.” I blow out a breath. “So many things have happened since you died. For the longest time I couldn't live, fearful that to do so would somehow be an insult to you. Like you didn't really matter or something. I know how ridiculous that sounds, but for a sixteen year old, it was the only way I knew. I wasn't prepared to lose you. I wasn't prepared to face another death so soon after my dad. But more than anything, I couldn't live with the fact that I lived and you died.” I fight through the tightness in my throat to continue. “I blamed myself for your death for a very long time. I know now that it was not something I could have controlled. No matter how unfair I think that is, the fact still remains that you are gone and there is nothing I can do to bring you back. I tried for so long to act like I was okay. That losing you didn't kill every part of the girl that I was. But it did. Even if I lived, I died with you that day, Kyle. And I lived that way for years. Living on the outside, dead on the inside. Until he came along...” I break off, my sobs coming harder now.