I’d had nightmares my whole life, and I had the experiences to back them up. But it was that dream, the one that I relived far too often that sent me into a tailspin.
I could remember every single moment of that afternoon. I could remember feeling the heat of the sun on my face, seeing the crinkle at the corners of Moyer’s eyes as he smiled.
I could remember the sound of the phone ringing as he picked up his cell and smiled some more.
I remembered thinking that it must be Harmony on the other line, that she was the one calling.
I remembered the smell of the diesel from the truck. Before that, I remembered the smell of bagels from the shop we passed on our way to the street.
I remembered patting my pockets to actually feel my wallet and phone.
I remembered being tired from overworking myself that day, and I remembered how tired I felt after.
In my dreams, I never got past that point. I never got to the part where I walked out to the middle of the street and tried to save my friend.
In my dreams, I didn’t go and talk to the authorities, and I wasn’t the one who spoke to Harmony.
I never got to those parts in my dreams.
Instead, I just witnessed the incident with the truck, over and over.
Sometimes it was on a loop, and I couldn’t wake up until I screamed myself awake, my sheets on the floor, and my body rolled up into a ball as I scratched my arms and tried to wake myself up even though I couldn’t.
I’d had night terrors as a kid, but these were so much different.
These weren’t about what had happened to me when I was living on the streets. Instead, it was what had happened when I hadn’t been fast enough. When I hadn’t been able to save my friend.
Because it wasn’t Moyer’s fault. And if I hadn’t stepped on gum, I’d have been right next to him. Maybe I’d been able to pull him back. Or perhaps I would have been in the street with him. Maybe we both would have been hit. But it didn’t matter because it happened the way it did, and I was likely going to dream those dreams for the rest of my life.
I swallowed hard and forced myself into a sitting position, my gut feeling like there was a hole burned into it, and my whole body feeling as if maybe I had gotten hit by that truck instead.
I missed my friend. Most days, I could think of him and smile.
But after a dream like that? I couldn’t do much but try to deal with it, deal with the adrenaline in my system and the guilt that wracked my body.
And there wasn’t just the guilt that came after losing a friend, of not being fast enough.
No, there was the blame that came with the aftermath. The culpability that came with knowing that I wasn’t the good man everyone thought I was. Because if I were, maybe I wouldn’t have these feelings I did for the one person I shouldn’t.
The woman who didn’t deserve what I felt when I was near her.
I swallowed hard and then got out of bed, my whole body still shaking.
It was early, around five in the morning, so that meant I could work out again, maybe go for a jog and then start my jobs.
Because if I just kept focusing on the here and now, kept working towards a point in the future, then I wouldn’t think about the fact that I missed Moyer. And I wouldn’t think about the fact that I was slowly falling for his wife.
Because I was the worst sort of man. The type that coveted, even if he hadn’t before everything changed.
I hadn’t felt anything like I did now when Moyer was alive. Harmony had just been my friend, nothing more. I had only thought of her in a platonic way, it had never once crossed my mind to think of her as anything but that.
But now, things were changing, and I hated myself more every day for it.
It had started to shift in the months after losing Moyer, and I had distanced myself from that. Yes, I was a bastard for not staying near Harmony when she might have needed me, but I hadn’t been able to stay.
And now, I didn’t know what to do. And there wasn’t really anything for me to do.
So, instead, I got out of bed, pulled off my boxer briefs and shoved them into the hamper before stripping my bed and putting the sheets in the washer. I was getting too good at this, dealing with the fact that I couldn’t sleep and my body kept betraying me.
I didn’t want to be good at this. I didn’t want those dreams anymore. But it didn’t look like I was going to get an answer. I wasn’t going to have a choice.
I took a shower, washing the sweat from my body, and trying not to feel like I was doing something wrong.
I wasn’t.
I knew that it wasn’t my fault. I knew that the things I was feeling had nothing to do with the past.
I knew that I was doing okay, that I wasn’t making mistake after mistake.
But I couldn’t really help how I felt, not after those dreams. Because they just intensified everything, and it made me feel like I was making every wrong decision there was to make.
So, I just needed to work that out of my system, and then I could go about my day. I could pretend that everything was fine and that I wasn’t losing my mind. It just wasn’t easy when I kept having the same dream time and again.
I had a small gym in my basement, one that had taken a few dollars to make happen. I didn’t always work out at the same times everyone else did, and honestly, I didn’t like working out next to people. It stressed me out. I’d rather just do what I did at home. Yes, I was privileged to do so, but it was helpful, and that meant I could lift weights, box, and do some cardio without anyone looking at me.
I figured that was sort of a plus.
Considering that I hadn’t had anything to my name for many years, being able to say that I had a home gym was sort of a weird thing for me. It wasn’t like I told anyone else, but being able to hoard that for myself was just like the go-bag that I had in my closet.
It was just another symbol of how far I had come, even though I still remembered where I once was.
I decided to work on my boxing today, knowing that I had a little too much adrenaline pumping through me to just use weights or even go on the treadmill. Plus, I had run hard the day before, and I didn’t want to overdo it.
I wrapped my fists and stretched my shoulders, and then started pounding the bag. I had taken classes so I knew the right way to fight, and not just the way I had learned on the streets when I was a kid.
I tried so hard to remember the best way to do it, rather than the way I had learned at first. I felt like I had punched and pounded those incorrect ways out of my system. Though I knew if I let loose, I’d just fall back into the fight, and those old moves would come back.
I focused on each movement, on each sensation of my fist hitting the bag, and tried to let out all of the anger, the guilt, and the sadness that came with the dreams that just wouldn’t go away.
Sweat poured down my body, and by the time I finished my workout, I knew I’d probably be sore later. But it was worth it.
I quickly cleaned up the area, unwrapped my hands, checked for any cuts or abrasions since I was pretty sure I had nicked something and then cursed when I noticed the blood on one of my knuckles.
Yeah, maybe I’d gone a little too hard, but I didn’t break anything, so it was worth it.
I quickly cleaned the cut then took a shower, knowing I had to clean it again afterwards, but I wanted to be safe. The last thing I needed was an infection because I couldn’t stop having nightmares about my dead best friend.
I let out a sigh, wondering when I had gotten so callous even in my own head. Then I got ready for the day and headed into work.
I walked past Moyer’s empty office again and tried to tell myself that it wasn’t his office anymore. Someone else worked there now, even if they weren’t here today.
Fran gave me a knowing look, and I had a feeling that she knew exactly what I was thinking, so I nodded at her and then went back to my desk.
I hadn’t stopped at the coffee shop. Instead, I used the coffe
e maker in my office to make myself a cup.
I hadn’t wanted to risk seeing Harmony again and accidentally having thoughts I shouldn’t, or even just thinking about Moyer. Because I’d had enough of that already this morning, and I needed to focus on the here and now. Because focusing on Harmony wasn’t going to help anything.
I got through my workday and then rolled my shoulders back, knowing I still had a few more papers to go through, but I would get to that later. Instead, I got in my car and headed to the brewery.
I loved this place, had always loved it. It had been like another home to me, an extension of the one that Jack and Rose had raised us in.
It probably helped that my brothers and I were actually running it now and doing a better job of it than we had in the past. We weren’t failing as badly as we had before, and I counted that as a win.
Beckham was behind the bar, and Cameron was working the tables, our waitress not on until later that night. I nodded at them, knowing I looked like I hadn’t slept well and was still in my suit from my day job. But it wasn’t like I could really go home and change, nor did I want to. I felt better in a crisp suit. I felt more like myself.
“About time you showed up,” Cameron said, winking. I knew he was kidding, but I was still slightly on edge from the morning, so I scowled.
“Hey, I have another job. Get off my back.”
Cameron’s brows rose, and then he shook his head. “I was just messing with you, man. You okay?” Cameron came up to me and studied my face. “You don’t have to stay tonight. Aiden’s in the back, and between me, Beckham, and Dillon, we’ve got it. Hell, if we can’t handle it after Sandy gets here, I’m sure I can put Violet to work.”
Violet was sitting at a table drinking water and snacking on one of the tapas that Aiden had made as she pored over her own work. I knew she was a chemist of some sort, so she probably wasn’t actually bringing all of her work with her, but maybe there was paperwork she had to do or something.
“Hey, I have to work on this. And I really just came here to watch you move around in those jeans of yours.” She winked, and Cameron rolled his eyes.
“You’re talking about me, aren’t you?” I said, teasing. “It’s okay, we don’t have to hide it anymore from Cameron. But I do have to change into my jeans. Even though I know you like me in a suit.”
Violet put the back of her hand up to her forehead and leaned back in the booth. “How could you tell him like that, Brendon? I mean, come on, that was just our little secret. And you know I like you better in a suit. With all those nice lines and the way your jacket tucks in just right.”
I started laughing as Cameron came up and smacked a hard kiss on Violet’s lips before getting up and elbowing me in the gut. I let out an oof but still kept laughing.
“I know it’s a joke, but let’s not do that. Because I’ll have to kick your ass, and I’m really not in the mood for that.”
“Hey, I could kick your ass,” I said as I lifted my fists to mock fight him.
Cameron’s eyes danced before they narrowed on the cut on my knuckle. He frowned. “You okay? What happened?”
I shook my head and flicked out my hand. “Working out this morning. Apparently, I got a little too rough. But don’t worry about me. Is Dillon here?”
Cameron didn’t blast me on my change of subject, but I knew that he would be watching me. Apparently, now that Cameron was all happy and in a relationship and his life was going well, his new goal was to make sure the rest of us were doing okay. I wasn’t sure I really liked that, especially considering that I was the oldest brother and it was my job to do so. But I couldn’t really stop him either.
“Kid’s in the back, finishing up some paperwork for school. And then he’s going to be helping Aiden in the kitchen until we need him up front.”
“Glad he still wants to do the whole cooking thing. I was afraid that he’d change his mind, and then Aiden would get all growly.”
“Aiden is always growly, and Dillon wanting to cook or not won’t change that. But Dillon seems like he’s having a good time, and Aiden’s actually really good at teaching.” Cameron just shrugged. “Who would have thought?”
“Probably Jack and Rose,” I said softly, and then Cameron met my gaze.
Yeah, our family was fucked-up, but we were getting better.
We were all getting better. It just took time, though sometimes it felt like we didn’t have enough of it.
As I talked to Cameron a bit more and then said my goodbyes so I could go up to the office and go over paperwork, I knew that we were getting better.
We were Connollys, and even though we had run away when we shouldn’t have before, we weren’t going to do that again. We weren’t going to give up. We wouldn’t be the people we used to be.
And that meant we had to make sure that we stayed together. No matter what. Which meant I had to stop having these dreams that felt like they were taking so much out of me.
And I really had to stop having feelings and thoughts about the one person I shouldn’t. Even if that thing seemed more insurmountable than the rest.
Chapter Five
Death requires so much paperwork. They never tell the living that, do they?
- Harmony to Moyer. 6 months ATE.
* * *
Harmony
Some days were harder than others, but the days where I could try to do something good, even when it didn’t feel like there was much good in the world, made up for those days.
I sat behind my desk, looking over paperwork as I entered numbers into a spreadsheet on my computer and emailed people back, going through multiple threads in multiple correspondences.
My job wasn’t easy, and it really wasn’t undemanding on days like this.
I ran a nonprofit in conjunction with charities, trying to ensure that two local centers and homes for abused women and their families could thrive. I tried to make safe places available. We had multiple spots around the city, and even some across different areas of the state, but there were two main ones that I worked with on an almost daily basis. When I wasn’t running the board or trying to coordinate the next event to get more money into the system, or constantly trying to make sure that all of our legal information was up-to-date and our tax things were working out, I was volunteering at the shelters themselves. Or doing every other little part of my job that meant I was dealing with bureaucracy rather than humans.
I knew that despite the horrible events that I had lived through, I was lucky.
I knew that. I knew that things could be so much worse.
I realized that I had been blessed and was lucky that I’d had Moyer. He had never raised a hand to me, never treated me like I was nothing.
We were equals.
He never truly yelled at me. Yes, he’d raised his voice, but then again, so had I. You couldn’t go through a whole relationship where you loved every ounce of each other without getting a little annoyed. He never put me down, never made me feel less than.
I knew I was lucky. Fortunate to have had those few years with Moyer.
The women in the shelters hadn’t been so lucky.
I was doing everything I could to make sure they had opportunities to stay safe and find ways out of their horrors, as well as ways to separate and try to build new lives.
None of that was made easy when one of my largest contributors decided to back out at the last minute.
Apparently, they did not want to deal with me anymore, and the new tax laws had made the way they would get write-offs a little different. So, they said they were going to save their money and use it in other places. In other words, for things that didn’t help women and weren’t run by women.
I closed my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose.
I hated this part of the job. I had money, I gave money. But I had to ask for it daily. I had to do it in ways that didn’t come off as begging because that’s what people expected. If I had to go down on my knees and beg for money to help others, I would do
it in a heartbeat. It just wasn’t what others responded to at the moment.
Losing the Jacobs account and the ways they had helped in the past burned.
The original Jacobs, who I’d known for years and who had offered to help had passed away last year. I had known the elder Jacobs through my parents, and the family had come to my family’s dinner parties over the years.
I had somewhat grown up with their children, the ones who now ran the family business and accounts. By somewhat, I meant that while we had been forced to attend the parties, I hadn’t gone to school with them. Those children had gone to private schools, while my family had wanted to make sure I got the best education, and that meant going to the school that was closest to me because of their programs.
If the best education in the area had been a private school, I was sure my parents would have sent me there. I just got really lucky.
I kept telling myself I was lucky.
Even if some parts of my life weren’t.
But the Jacobs children, who weren’t really children anymore since they were a couple of years older than me and into their thirties, did not want to deal with me or my nonprofit. They wanted to send their money elsewhere. And I knew exactly why.
They wanted to help the local boys’ club. And the local wine club.
Because that’s exactly who needs the money.
I closed my eyes and cursed under my breath.
No, I had to stop thinking like that. Because it wasn’t my place to say where anybody spent their money or donated.
I had to draw a line somewhere, and my anger couldn’t be directed at whom they were helping. It should be because I knew that the Jacobs family wasn’t helping us because of their pettiness.
I remembered Martin Jacobs. The son who was now the oldest of the bunch and head of the family. He had been an annoying nuisance who tried to look up girls’ skirts and sneered and slut-shamed girls who rejected him. He had done some despicable things—although never to me.
Though he’d had a few slaps on the wrist, nobody had really cared. Nobody gave a damn because he was privileged. Because he had money. My family cared, my friends cared, but we hadn’t been enough to help anyone else.
Shouldn't Have You Page 5
