On the gentlest of wings, soft as a butterfly, love drifts down, like a sigh from heaven.
Where the tornado ravaged, leaving death and destruction, where the bodies lay strewn across the ground, where nothing was left standing, now the smallest flutter of life pushes through the soil.
The storm clouds begin to break, and I blink through the haze. A tiny dove carrying peace settles in my upturned soul, and for the first time in a long time, I step into the light. Morning breaks.
I blink several times and meet Mrs. Jenny’s worried eyes.
She waits, and I look around. “What day is it?”
Present Day
20
Taron
“You’re sure it was heroin?” The woman sits across from me in her small office, gray hair like spider webs threading the part of her severe, brown bob.
It’s quiet as she waits for my answer, the only sound a trickling fountain behind her desk. I’ve been coming here a long time—once I accepted I was going to die if I didn’t change my behavior.
Once I decided I didn’t want to die.
“I know what it was.”
“And you had no desire to take it?” She shifts in her seat, smoothing her hand down the front of her blazer.
My jaw tightens, and shame is a knot in my throat. “I considered it. For a whole minute, I let myself remember what it was like not to feel, to completely disconnect from the pain.”
“And?” Dr. Curtis’s dark eyes zero in on me over her heavy, brown reading glasses. The withering glare of Dr. Charlotte Curtis, daring me to lie to her.
“I walked out the door.” I shift in my chair, cautiously allowing a moment of pride. “Seeing my friend in that state, knowing it’s the end, the ultimate outcome… I think it helped me. Or at least it put it in perspective.”
“Don’t downplay this achievement.” Her tone is clinical, but knowing how stingy she is with compliments, I do a mental victory lap. “You’ve come far, Taron. Do you know how hard it is to kick an opioid addiction?”
“I’m not planning to relax just yet.” The shame of how far I’d sunk six years ago never leaves my mind.
If I ever try to let myself off the hook, I only have to remember Noel’s face. Her tears, her shattered expression. The things I said, the way I shouted at her, hurt her… Again, I shift in my chair, trying to escape what I can never forgive.
“Is the acupuncture helping with your back?” Dr. Curtis reads from her computer screen, not smiling.
“I think it is.”
Her eyes flicker to mine. “I don’t want you self-medicating with alcohol. More than six drinks a week is heavy drinking. Give your liver a break.”
My lips tighten, and I nod. “I’m thinking of leaving town.”
“Is that so?” She leans back in her chair, steepling her fingers in front of her lips. “Any particular reason?”
Noel…
“I haven’t been happy here in a while. I’ve made more money than I can ever spend in one lifetime. Patton doesn’t need me anymore.”
Despite what he thinks… Why he thinks he needs me, I’ll never know. I owe him more than I’ll ever be able to repay. He’s a slave to his sense of guilt over what happened to us, but it’s so unwarranted.
“I’m concerned you still aren’t seeing anyone. You’re a handsome man.”
“Dr. Curtis, are you flirting with me?” I give her a grin, and she shakes her head.
“Don’t charm me, Taron Rhodes. I’m too old.” She rocks back again. “Love, companionship, these things are important parts of the human experience. They’re important to your continued recovery.”
Inhaling slowly, I stand, walking to her window that faces the smoky mountains. They rise, hazy blue in the distance. “A long time ago, I spent a summer on a farm. Sorry, an orchard.” I remember a young Noel correcting me, so sassy and sweet. “It was the happiest time of my life.”
She’s quiet, and when I glance back, she gives me a smile. “What’s her name?”
Shaking my head, I study the lines on the carpet. “It was a long time ago. I’m sure she’s married with kids…”
Sawyer and I email occasionally. We chat about our lives, and I purposely don’t ask about her. I don’t want to know if she followed my orders. I don’t want to know some other man is loving her.
I’m a selfish bastard, I know.
“I think a change of scenery would do you good. I’m comfortable releasing you. You have my number if you need to talk.”
“Thanks, Doc. For everything.”
She rises, and I take her outstretched hand, shaking it. I feel like I’m graduating again, like I should get a certificate or something I can put in a frame.
We slowly cross her pristine office to the door. “We didn’t talk about the dream. Still have it?”
My shoulders tense. Nightmare is more like it. A Mexican girl lying dead on the floor of a shack, green eyes staring vacant at nothing, my bullet through her chest.
No amount of drugs could ever kill that pain. It’s a sin for which I’ll never find absolution.
“Sometimes… Occasionally.”
Her stern eyes go from scientific to kind—it’s something you don’t get often from Charlotte Curtis. “Forgiveness is a gift you give yourself, Taron.”
“I know.” I’m pretty sure I’ve said those words to Patton before. I should get them tattooed across my chest.
As it stands, the only tattoo I have I got in the throes of a bender, a week when all I could do was lie on my back in my bed and ache for Noel. Her name is inked above my heart, where she will always be.
I broke my heart just as surely as I broke hers.
“You might find this book helpful.” She steps to her desk, quickly scribbling on a tablet and ripping off the top sheet. As she hands it to me, she presses it into my palm. “It wasn’t your fault, Taron. Terrible things happen in the line of duty.”
I give her a tight smile. “Right.”
No one who says that has ever lived it. I’m pretty sure I’ll have the memory of that girl with me for the rest of my life.
In the meantime, I’m driving back to the office. Patton’s not going to like what I have to say, but I’ve done everything I could do to help establish Fletcher International. We took it to the next level. It’s a multi-billion-dollar corporation. He kept his promise and made us all filthy rich. Now I want to see if there’s something more for me besides making money.
“I have to say I’m surprised to hear from you.” Sawyer’s voice is unmistakable. He sounds happy. “Everything okay in Nashville?”
“We hit some rough waters, but I think we’re coming out of it.”
“Right.” His tone drops. “Patton told me. I was sorry to hear about that.”
“He’s going to be okay.”
“And you?”
A knot forms in my throat. Shame, my constant companion rears his ugly head. “I’m good. I’ve been clean for a few years now.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” His voice is grave, but that’s not why I called.