"Yep. Didn’t know what they were, thank God, but the box had my name on it, so bring it to me he did."
She tugged on my hand. "I’m curious now."
"Good." Leaving Nat King Cole to sing about L-O-V-E, I tucked her into my side and started the retreat to our house.
It still boggled my mind that the kid who’d been raised on moldy ketchup sandwiches and who’d lived in dives, had a house like this. I’d earned it, sure, but still, there’d never be a day where I wasn’t grateful. Grateful for every fucking thing I’d gotten.
Some people might have hoped that I’d never have this. They might think I wasn’t worthy of a future because of the mistakes I’d made in the past, but my woman wasn’t those people.
My woman had seen something in me, something she saw to this day, and I was so fucking thankful for her. For every day she’d blessed me with. For every kiss and for every caress. Of a future she'd gifted me when she'd owed me bupkis. Instead of sending me to hell, she'd brought me to heaven.
We’d survived a breast cancer scare last year, and I was on meds for my cholesterol and severe high blood pressure, and I knew, along the way, there’d be more challenges, but we’d survive those too.
That was what we did.
We strived.
I waved at people as they greeted me, some walking over, chatting with us about the event, congratulating us both, so much so that it took over an hour to get to my fucking front door.
By the time we were there, Keira was giggling over something MaryCat had told her, and I twirled her into the doorway, letting her in first before I guided her to my office.
There, she splatted herself on the sofa in front of the desk, wafted her hand at a frond from one of my ferns that danced over her from the pot I was gonna have to transfer soon because it was getting unruly, then huffed when Two-Fourths, AKA Twofer, made an appearance. Bounding over to her, he landed on her lap as if he were a Shih Tzu when, instead, he was a Mastiff.
She grunted, but let him settle there, and I smiled, even as I picked up the notepad.
"I completely forgot about these," I admitted.
"What is it?" she asked, clearly curious.
"Letters I wrote to you."
"Letters?" Her eyes widened.
"Yeah, when I first saw you at Jackson High." I smiled at her. "They’re probably depressing as fuck, but I dunno, thought you might get a kick out of seeing them." When I passed her the notepad, I saw that her eyes welled with tears. "Hey!" I chided, "less of that."
"Sorry, I’m being silly."
I grinned at her. "Sure are. Trust me, I wasn’t a wordsmith with these."
She hugged them to her. "I’ll love them all the same. Thank you for letting me have them."
Leaning over, I chucked her over the chin. "Read them another night? Tonight's for smiling, for thinking about the now, not the then."
Her eyes were soft as they danced over my features. At first, I thought she was going to argue, but she patted the seat at her side and murmured, "Sure."
I made a space for myself on the sofa, Twofer huffed and growled but he let me weasel in beside her, and I raised an arm that she immediately settled under.
She heaved a sigh as we sat together, among my plants, photos on the wall of me and her, of our kids, music from the street party serenading us as we took a moment to just be.
To process.
Our little girl wasn't so little anymore.
She'd overcome so much, become so fucking strong that, some days, I didn't recognize her as the frightened, scrawny fairy who'd come down to Coshocton in desperate circumstances.
She was an Olympian.
My kid, a fucking Olympian.
Screw you, Mom.
"Think she’ll be happy?" Keira asked, breaking into my thoughts.
"He’d better make her happy," I grumbled. "I have a twelve-gauge, and I ain’t afraid to use it."
Dear Keira
This is going to be the last letter I ever write to you because, baby girl, I don’t have to write shit down anymore. You’re at my side, so that means I can just tell you.
You probably don’t know how freeing that is for a man like me. I don’t have to be ashamed, I don’t have to hide, I can just speak with you because you’re there. You’re not on a pedestal—even though you’re still my fucking angel—you’re my Old Lady.
My woman.
My fucking life.
These letters aren’t to upset you, just to make you realize the dipshit I was back then, and hopefully for you to see how much I’ve changed. For you. Always for you, baby girl.
You took a piece of shit, some scum, and transformed him into a man you believe is worthy to stand by your side because I know that if I wasn’t good enough, you’d have tossed me out years ago.
I’m proud of myself. At long fucking last. I’m honored that you’re my Old Lady. I’m honored that you’re my wife. But more than that, I’m so thankful that you’re mine. That you forgave me enough to give me another chance. That you loved me enough to see us through.
I will cherish you until the day I die; know this, know that I adore you, know that I will kill and walk through hell’s fire itself for you, and know that there is no Storm without his Keira.
I love you, baby girl.
Asher
** Trigger Warning **
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Epilogue
Forty years after August 8th
Sarah Cothran - As The World Caves In
Never Let Me Go - Florence & The Machine
I watched her take her brush and slowly drag it over her hair. It was thinning out, and I knew she was losing it in clumps. She hated that, and I hated it for her. I didn’t care if she was bald, but she did. She’d lost it all back when she got breast cancer at fifty, but my Keira was a fighter. She’d come back stronger than ever. There was no fighting it this time though.
We both knew it.
Pancreatic cancer. Stage four.
She was dying.
And though I had my illnesses, for which I took a pharmacy worth of meds, I wasn’t there yet. Which was cruel considering the way I'd treated my body over the years. That she should be taken first told me that there was no justice in this world.
That didn’t mean that today wasn’t my day to die though.