by Shandi Boyes
I was a fucking idiot.
For years, I’ve blamed Savannah for every bad thing that happened in my life. Not all the blame belongs on her shoulders. What I did was dumb and naïve, but the steps Savannah took afterwards were just as stupid. I can forgive her for ignoring me; I can forgive her for breaking my heart. But I can’t forgive her for what she did to Chris.
She should have been there for him. She should have been there for me—but she wasn’t.
She has no excuse, either. I used money I didn’t have to place notices of Chris’s funeral in every newspaper in the country. It was plastered over social media and shared by the mutual friends we had amassed over the years. I didn’t do that because I wanted to see Savannah again; I did it so Chris would know he was loved.
He died thinking he was unloved. He killed himself because he couldn’t see what was directly in front of him. I wanted to prove him wrong. I wanted him to see that he was loved—is loved. I wanted to ease the burden weighing heavily on my shoulders since that day.
My best friend killed himself because I exposed secrets I never should have shared. I did that because I was hurting. I shifted my anger onto Chris to save myself the agony.
I killed my best friend because Savannah broke my heart.
I'm a fucking idiot.
Chapter 12
Savannah
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” roars a voice at my side, a very angry and tormented snarl.
I stop twisting a daisy stem between my thumb and index finger to crank my neck to the voice. Although the late afternoon sun is shadowing his face from my view, I know who is accosting me in a cemetery without needing to see his features. He hasn’t left my thoughts since I ran into him last month. Ryan.
While rising from my seated position, my hands sweep at the wetness sitting on my cheeks. “Sorry, I didn’t realize time had gone by so fast. Brax said you don’t usually arrive until five.”
“You’re talking to Brax now?” Ryan replies, stepping out of the shadows.
The sneer in his voice matches the snarl on his face. His beautiful features are hardened with anger, and his blue irises are hidden by lowered lids.
I dust my dew-stained hands on my backside. “Ah. Yeah. Long story.”
I wish I could offer a more confident reply, but I’m so unaccustomed to this side of Ryan, I’m void of a better response. I’ve never seen him so aggressive. I didn’t think he knew how to snarl, much less direct it at a woman. I guess it isn’t just my personality that’s done a complete one eighty the past ten years. Ryan’s has been overhauled as well—regrettably.
“I’m sorry I broke your tradition. I just wanted him to know he is in my thoughts.” My eyes drift to Chris’s headstone during my last sentence.
Just seeing his name engraved in stone causes an upwelling of tears. He was too young to die—way, way, way too young.
Ryan adjusts the six pack of beers resting on his hip while muttering under his breath, “You didn’t show up to say a final goodbye, so why bother now?”
My eyes rocket to his. “I beg your pardon?” I ask, certain I heard him wrong.
I didn’t. He straightens his spine, locks his squinted gaze with mine, then repeats his sneered comment without remorse.
I glower at him, feeling my anger wind up from my stomach to my throat. My cheeks heat, and my fists ball. I’ve never been so angry in my life. But since my respect for Chris is higher than my desire to tackle the major chip Ryan’s shoulder has grown the past few years, I harness the urge—barely.
After snatching my hoodie from the ground, I press my lips to Chris’s headstone then make a beeline for the cemetery’s only exit.
I’m not even three steps away from Ryan when he snarls, “That’s it, Savannah. Run away like you always do.”
I spin on my heels so fast, my hair smacks my flaming cheeks. “I’m not running. I’m leaving before you make a fool out of yourself.”
Ryan laughs, apparently amused. “Oh, well that’s different. Why didn’t you just say that?”
He places his beer on the blades of grass my sweater flattened before dropping his eyes to Chris’s headstone. “Can you believe this shit? She made me look like an idiot for years, but now she’s worried about me stepping up to the plate to wield the bat she’s swinging for years.”
“Don’t bring Chris into this,” I seethe, my words hissing from my mouth like venom.
“Why not?” Ryan shrugs. “You’re just as much to blame for his death as I am.”
I take a step back, stunned. “Chris committed suicide. No one is to blame for his death, Ryan. Not even himself.”
I don’t know what is more distressing: Ryan placing the blame for Chris’s death on me, or the fact he thinks he is also to blame. Ryan may be a liar and a cheat, but what happened to Chris isn’t his fault. I hate that Chris couldn’t see through the darkness, but pointing fingers does more harm than good. I know that better than anyone.
“What happened isn’t anyone’s fault, Ryan. Chris just wasn’t himself—”
“How do you know that, Savannah? You weren’t here for him. You didn’t know what he was going through. That he couldn’t get out of bed without guzzling a can of beer first. That he blamed himself for things out of his control. You couldn’t even show up to his funeral, for fuck’s sake, yet you feel you have the right to say what he was thinking. You don’t know shit.”
His words sting, but they don’t stop me from saying, “I might not have been here, but I know nothing said or done would have changed the outcome. Chris didn’t just take his life on a whim, Ryan. He had been planning it for some time. That day just gave him an excuse to end the pain.”
“No, it didn’t, because his pain didn’t lessen. It got worse!”
The pure agony in his voice cuts me raw. This isn’t about Chris; this is about Ryan. Chris is at peace. Only Ryan is left battling his demons.
Ryan steps closer to me, shadowing me with his frame that has nearly doubled in width from when he was a teen. “Why weren’t you there for him, Savannah? Why didn’t you come home when he needed you?”
Tears stream down my cheeks when I see the sentence in his eyes that his mouth failed to produce. “Why didn’t you come back for me?”
“I wanted to be here. God, Ryan. When I found out what happened... what he had done, I immediately started packing. I didn’t care about the risk, I wanted to go home. Chris wasn’t just my friend; he was a brother I never had.”
My hands sweep at my cheeks as I contemplate what to say next. My pause is pointless when I stammer out, “They wouldn’t let me go. I begged them to let me attend the church service, but they said it wasn’t safe.”
I still recall the day I read about Chris’s death in a national newspaper. My heart shred into a million pieces when I was informed of his cause of death. Chris had always been the goofball, but those closest to him knew the man behind the shield. He had a huge heart—one too big for this world. That’s why he lived his life so recklessly, because he knew it would be short.
“You know Chris never intended to grow old, Ryan. He didn’t want gray hairs or wrinkles. He said the picture on his headstone would be the hottest one in the graveyard.” My eyes drift to the smiling photo nestled in the top right hand corner of his headstone. “He got his wish. Nothing said or done would have stopped him from achieving that.”
After inhaling and exhaling three times to loosen the weight on my chest, I return my eyes to Ryan. The anger on his face has slipped away for confusion. He heard what I said, but he still doesn’t understand what I mean, so I simplify it for him.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you, Ryan, but don’t mistake that as me not wanting to be here. I did everything I could to come home, but sometimes, no matter how hard you wish for something, it doesn’t come true.” My watering eyes dance between his before muttering, “We are living proof of that.”
Chapter 13
Ryan
I watch Sav
annah race away from me with my heart in my throat and my mind shut down. If I didn’t know her as well as I do, I’d say her heart-tugging speech was all a ruse to shift the topic away from us, but I know that isn’t the case. Savannah speaks from her heart. She doesn’t sugarcoat her replies or dress them up to be socially acceptable. Even if she knows what she's going to say will hurt you, she’ll still say it, as she would rather tell the truth than lie.
Chris always joked that he would be the stud of the afterlife. I was so accustomed to his sick humor, I took it in stride. I never thought he meant it. Brax has often said same thing Savannah just did, that nothing would have changed the outcome of that night, but I struggle to believe it. What I did that morning hurt Chris. Was it enough for him to take his own life? I don’t know. There's only one person who can answer that question. He's resting in the ground I'm standing next to.
That has been the hardest issue for me to work through the past six years. I’ll never know if I'm to blame for Chris’s decision. I can only assume I am.
Upon hearing leaves crunching under boots, I peer over my shoulder. Just as anticipated, Brax is heading my way with a six pack of beer and a bucket of wings. We do the same thing every year. We share beers with our brother.
“Was that Savannah?” Brax’s tone is low, wary of how I will react.
“You didn’t tell me you’d been speaking with her,” I reply, answering his question with an accusation.
Brax smirks hesitantly. “You knew she was back; I didn’t realize I had to update you on every conversation we have.”
He skirts past me before racking his knuckles on Chris’s headstone. “Can’t believe you left me to handle these two by myself. Talk about leaving a brother hanging.”
I nearly have a go at him for using Chris as a decoy, but with memories of me doing the same thing to Savannah mere minutes ago filtering through my mind, I keep my mouth shut.
“Why were you talking to Savannah, Brax?” I stammer out before I can stop myself.
I snag a beer out of the six pack I brought with me, mindful I’ll need alcohol in my veins before hearing what he has to say. I can’t remember the last time I spoke about Savannah without being intoxicated. I even chugged down four shots of scotch before I called Brax last month to advise him of her resurrection. He thought I was high, as usually he's the one who brings her up. Or my drunken self who doesn’t know any better.
Brax waits for me to gulp down two large mouthfuls of beer before saying, “She’s renting my old apartment.”
Malted liquid flies out of my mouth, spraying both Chris’s headstone and Brax.
“You’re supposed to share your beer with Chris—not my face,” Brax mutters while using his shirt to clear the beer away.
“Savannah’s renting your apartment? Since when?” You can hear the shock in my tone.
Brax shrugs like it’s no big deal. I don’t understand his lukewarm response. This is a big deal—it is a huge fucking deal.
“I don’t have a say about who moves into my old place. That shit isn’t on my shoulders,” Brax mutters, incapable of ignoring my glare for a second longer.
“Then how do you know she’s renting your apartment?”
His nose scrunches. “She found some old photos my grandma had stashed in the back of the closet.”
“So she just gathered they were yours?” I prompt, hurrying him along.
The suspense is fucking killing me. The address on the registration of the Mercedes that picked Savannah up last month is nowhere near Brax’s apartment. Brax doesn’t live on the poor side of Ravenshoe, but it’s pretty fucking close. Going from Ravenshoe’s equivalent of Bel-Air to the Bronx is a significant drop in residential status. Did that happen by Savannah’s choice? Or did her well dry up?
I’m not saying the Mercedes’ owner is Savannah’s sugar daddy, but when the sky is dark and grumbling, I’ll forecast a downpour. If he isn’t her sugar daddy, their gap in age is as nasty as the lukewarm beer I’m guzzling like soda.
After draining my beer in one chug, I dump it on the ground then shift my eyes to Brax’s amused gaze. “I swear to god, Brax, you have five seconds to tell me what you know before I introduce my fists to your teeth.”
Brax throws his head back and laughs. “You two need to stop hanging out. I’m getting confused on who is who,” he cackles, bouncing his slit eyes between Chris’s headstone and me.
I punch him in the arm, inciting even more laughter. Our friend is dead; he shouldn’t be making jokes.
“Don’t even go there, Ryan. That shit got old real quick six years ago,” Brax warns, his voice void of his earlier humor. “If given a chance, Chris would rise from the dead just to kick your ass for all the shit you’ve been hanging yourself with since his death. Chris doesn’t blame you for what happened. I don’t blame you. Savannah doesn’t blame you. So stop fucking blaming yourself. Chris made a choice. We have to live with it.”
“This isn’t about Chris; it’s about Savannah,” I whisper my last word, annoyed that I can’t drop my inquiries for a few more hours. Today is the sixth anniversary of Chris’s death. My focus shouldn’t be on anyone but him.
Brax nudges his head to a section of grass across from him. “Make yourself comfortable, and we’ll tell you everything we know.” He speaks about Chris like he's still with us. Always has. Always will.
When I do as instructed, Brax keeps his word. “On my way out on a Friday night, I bumped into Savannah in the lobby of my building. She handed me the box of photos. I asked where she found them. She told me. End of story.”
No, I’m not exaggerating. That is precisely what he says.
“Every time I’ve seen her since, she was as avoidant as you’ve been the past six years, Ryan. She wouldn’t even look me in the eye when speaking to me.”
This shocks me more than finding out she isn’t living in the fancy-schmancy house I may or may not have driven by multiple times the past month.
“Did you ask around town why she’s back?” My tone is more inquisitive than friendly.
Brax takes a swig of his beer before nodding. “Yeah. I heard rumors, but none I’m willing to share.”
“What does that mean?” The hammering of my heart echoes in my tone.
Brax stares me straight in the eyes. “That means I’m not doing the legwork for you, Ryan. If you want answers, go ask the person who can give them to you.”
I lick my suddenly dry lips. “Did you see her face on the way out? I don’t think she’s up for interrogation.”
“Did you see her face on the way out? This interrogation is ten years in the making. It just isn’t her head on the chopping block.”
“And mine is?”
Brax shrugs for the second time, adding to my annoyance.
“She left, Brax. She walked out on all of us.”
“You lied, Ryan. You walked out on her first.”
I grit my teeth, struggling to hold in my retaliation. I did what needed to be done. Was it the right thing to do? At the time, yes. Do I regret what I did? Yes, every fucking day. But wading through the same shit time and time again isn’t getting me anywhere fast. I can’t change my past. I can only live with the consequences of my mistakes. Chris’s death is a constant reminder of that.
Spotting the groove between my brows, Brax suggests, “Say what you want to say, Ryan. No one here will judge you. You judge yourself enough there isn’t room for anyone else.”
You might think he’s being snarky, but I know better. He's pushing me to express myself as he has done the past ten years. No. Scrap that. The past twenty-three years. Chris was the jokester. Brax is a realist. Just like Savannah, he calls it as he sees it.
“She’s hiding something from me. I don’t know what it is, but I know it’s something major. You’re not the only one she won’t look in the eye. She pretended she didn’t know me last month, Brax. If my huff didn’t call her out as a liar, she would have fled. Who does that? Who acts like family isn’t family?”
“A person who doesn’t have any,” Brax replies in an instant, his voice not angry or frustrated. He's just straight-up remorseful. “Where’s her family, Ryan? Where are the people who have her back like I have yours, and you have mine? Have you looked into that? Or are you too busy analyzing every man she crosses paths with, you’ve missed what’s really going on? Stop wondering who she is with and start wondering who is with her. If Chris’s decision should teach us anything, it should be not to waste a moment. Regret doesn’t end when you die, Ry. It follows you to the grave. Get rid of yours before it’s the cause of your demise.”
Smirking at my slack-jaw response, Brax stands from his seated position, then presses his lips to Chris’s headstone. “I love you, brother. I’ll see you soon.”
After whacking my shoulder three times, he stalks in the direction Savannah fled only ten minutes ago. My gaped mouth doesn’t close until the rumble of his Harley sounds like a mosquito buzzing away.
I'm frozen in both shock and awe. I always knew Brax would be a brilliant man, but he just floored me. Selfishness has never entered his vocabulary but neither has compassion. He doesn’t want an apology from Savannah. He doesn’t need it. He has already forgiven her.
I wish I could do the same.
Another fifteen minutes pass before I say goodbye to Chris in the same manner Brax did. I would like to say our alone time was used wisely, but that would be way off the mark. I sat in silence, drinking beer and contemplating what Brax and Savannah said.
I’ve known about Savannah’s return for a little over a month, but instead of investigating the reason for her sudden homecoming, I’m pretending she is a missing person. I guess old habits do die hard—even ones you’ll do anything to ignore. Even anger couldn’t stop my body from reacting to seeing Savannah again. Except this time, it wasn’t just my cock getting excited—my heart went crazy as well. I’ve told myself every day for the past six years that I don’t love Savannah. Not once has my heart believed my lies.
