Until you’ve dealt with grief, there’s no true way to gauge how you’ll react. In my case, I spent weeks hiding from the truth, weeks being angry about the truth, and months accepting the truth. And the worst part of grief? It’s not the loneliness. Or the darkness. It’s not the looming pain or the emptiness. The hardest part is waking up at 2:00 a.m. realizing you can’t even cry anymore. Because you’ve lost yourself. Completely.
It’s been one year, four months, and twenty-six days since Reid died in my arms. His scent still lingers in our belongings and there are times, when it’s all too quiet, I swear I hear his voice. His clothes hang in the closet as if waiting on him to wear them again. The bed is made the way he used to make it. His pictures—our pictures—still hang on the walls. Maybe that sounds morbid or creepy, but to me it’s a reminder that part of him is still here, and I’m not ready to let that part go. I’m not ready for him to disappear.
This week has been especially stressful, with today being the cherry on top. So, the first thing I do once I get home is climb into bed, hug my pillow and talk to him.
“This is so hard without you,” I cry out into the empty room.
I feel the first of my tears roll down my cheek toward the pillow beneath my head. “I miss you so much.” I wish for his warm arms to wrap around me from behind, comforting me, assuring me this is all a bad dream.
They don’t.
They never do.
The clock ticks slowly, and I am still alone, left with nothing more than memories.
I sweep my fingers underneath my eyes, smearing salty tears across my cheeks. “Why couldn’t you just get in the car and leave things alone? Why did you have to be the hero?”
I wait, like a lunatic, for an answer that never comes. Because that’s who you were. And that’s why I love you.
After all, if Reid weren’t a risk taker, we never would have ended up together.
I cry until my eyes are burning and heavy, and I no longer have the energy to hold them open.
Brynn and I are in the middle of one of our two-bottle-of-wine marathons. She’s sitting on one side of the sofa and I’m on the other.
She pops a Cheez-It into her mouth because, wine and cheese. “You have to get back on the saddle sometime.”
“I’m not ready for a saddle. Or a horse.” I take a drink from my third glass of Riesling. “Not even the bouncy ones at the park. You know with the springs, made for little kids?”
“Yes. I know.” She sighs. “I hate seeing you like this, Maks.” Her shoulders slump. “Even Ryleigh says you need to move on.”
As if having permission from Reid’s sister is the cornerstone to rebuilding my love life.
“You know that saying about time healing all wounds?” I ask as I pour myself another glass. She nods, and I pass her the bottle. “It’s crap. Time heals nothing. But wine and vodka… now that’s a different story.”
Brynn laughs and holds her glass up for a toast. “Speaking of vodka… How’s Jaxon?” She’s been pushing the Jaxon card in my direction since I told her about the accidental kiss.
“Jaxon’s fine, I guess.”
“He sure is.” She lets out a low whistle. “I think you need to give him a shot.” She snorts when she laughs. “He’s a bartender.” She waves her hands like she can’t breathe. “Give him a shot.”
I snatch the bottle back. “Yeah. I think that’s enough for you.”
She rolls her eyes and blows a hair out of her face. “You know what? One of these days, you’ll wake up at nine o’clock on a Saturday morning to the smell of pancakes and bacon. You’ll get up, make coffee, stare deeply into the eyes of the love of your life, and everything will be alright.”
That’s definitely the wine talking.
I wish I could see what she sees. Unfortunately, there will be no pancakes and bacon and definitely no more waking up with the love of my life. Because he’s not here anymore.
But Jaxon is my friend and I do miss his quirky chitchat, so I make a promise to myself—and to Brynn—to go see him next week.
That’s next week. Tonight is all about drowning my inner demons in alcohol.
Dr. Chase, the head physician at the Urgent Care clinic where I work, posted a notice last week about needing extra help throughout the week. I was feeling superhuman, so I volunteered for the part. Now here I am with clinical at seven in the morning, class at noon, work at three-thirty, then back at the hospital at 8 p.m. to prepare for tomorrow’s clinical. Add studying in between patients and after work, and you’ve got a recipe for exhaustion. Even superhumans need a grown-up time-out. So, I make good on my promise to visit Jaxon.
I walk in to find him stacking dishracks full of bar glasses as he gets ready to close up. For the first time since I met him, I notice the way his dirty blonde hair falls over his blue eyes when he leans down to fill a mug with cold beer. I smile at the way his full lips turn up when he grins, revealing a set of perfect, white teeth and an adorable set of dimples. And the woman in me can’t help but watch as the veins in his well-defined biceps pop out every time he lifts one of the heavy trays.
I pull out a stool and take a seat at the freshly wiped down bar. “What’s a girl gotta do to get a drink around here?”