Chapter 27
Sylas
“Knock-knock,” Chick says poking his head around the edge of my front door before letting himself fully inside my house.
“Toss ‘em in the fridge,” I say dispassionately, nodding my head toward the case of beer in his one hand and the whiskey bottle in his other.
“Check and roger, boss,” he salutes, poorly. “So you wanna tell me why I was summoned to an emergency bro’s only event?
“She’s leaving. Again.”
“Oh,” Chick exclaims with his mouth rounded into the shape of an O and his eyes darting side to side before finally settling on me.
“Yeah,” I huff out a big breath of air and down the second half of my beer in one shot. “I thought I had won her back. The real Rae. I thought she was with me. Not the bitch on TV playing the political game and all that shit. I mean my Rae. She spent these days with me, and I thought for sure I’d won her over—fuck Chick, I basically proposed to her and I swore to myself I saw yes in her eyes.” I groan tossing my head back into my couch cushions as I pinch my eyes shut. “I don’t fuckin’ get it.”
“Well, I’m shit in the long-term, committed relationship department but I’m a crack sidekick in terms of getting thoroughly drunk. So, as your best friend it is an honor and a privilege to get you rum-dumb wasted tonight. Let’s do this,” he proclaims, grabbing the bottle of whiskey and two glasses from my kitchen. He slams them down roughly on the coffee table in front of me and pours us both a large amount of booze. Chick shoots his in one gulp. I sip mine, my brain too concerned with working out the puzzle that is Rae to be tempted by the idea of getting blackout drunk.
“Maybe you should try to talk to her momma. If there’s somethin’ she knows that you don’t, she’ll sing like a bird. That woman can’t keep a secret, not even for Rae.”
“What’s the point? If Rae is not willing to see what we could be together, if she’s not willing to try to work this out, then why bother asking her momma anything at all?”
“Closure?” He shrugs, pouring himself another round of whiskey. I don’t bother responding because while half of me thinks closure would be smart, the other half, the Gabriel Oak half of me refuses.
I watch for the next hour and a half while Chick gives me terrible advice as he drinks enough to get both of us drunk. I pushed the alcohol aside an hour ago, too lost in sorting out my own thoughts to want to muddle them further with booze. “C’mon, Haas,” I grunt as I lift Chick up from the chair he’s half passed out in. “Guest room for you.” I shoulder his weight and basically carry him to the room down the hall. I drop him on the mattress and toss the blanket from the foot of the bed over him. Chick falls asleep soundlessly and I’m left alone with my thoughts and aching heart.
Wandering over to the built-in shelving in my living room, I browse over the things I’ve tucked away on these shelves. My eyes land on the picture of the guys and me from my second tour in Afghanistan. I ache looking at their faces, the loss of their lives a deep wound that never quite heals.
Is the loss of Teddy what has changed Rae so much? Can she not stand to look at me because I remind her of her brother’s service which ended with his death in combat? My brain tells me it’s a very real possibility but my gut isn’t onboard with that hypothesis. I’m missing key information. I can feel it. If I could only find out what it is, maybe she’d come back. My pride rebels, screaming fuck her. But my heart, as always, resides with Rae, the traitorous thing.
As though I can’t help myself, my eyes land on the novel that was the fight bell that clanged loudly at the start of things. This copy of the book is the same one from 10th grade. It’s the same one I read with determination just to find out what made Rae tick. She had disappeared between those pages that summer, several times by the looks of it. She had been fascinated with the characters and I was fascinated with her. I took this same copy with me to boot camp, to training where I became a radio operator for the United States Marine Corps, to war twice… now it sits on a shelf, silent with all its war stories and grand adventures and love found then lost, broken men and a guarded, enigmatic woman. I pull it from the shelf, fanning the pages with the pad of my thumb. Long ago I took a highlighter to my favorite parts. When my highlighter dried up in the arid climate overseas, I began marking my favorite passages with folded gum wrappers. I always had plenty of that. Some pages are just folded in on themselves to make for easy reference. I open the old book and turn to the place I feel drawn. My eyes read over the lines, the lump in my throat aching, my vision growing blurry. “Goddammit,” I huff, blinking away my emotion. Without another thought, I rip the page from the book and grab my keys. I don’t have to have the page in my physical possession. I know the passages by heart. Every line, every word. I don’t have to have it in my possession to recall every letter that made up the magic bits. They’re written on my heart, burned into my mind same as Raegan Kennedy Potter.
Chapter 28
Raegan
The floorboards still creak in the same places and fortunate for me I recall all of them from my youth. I would hate to wake up my parents and in reality saying goodbye again, when I don’t plan on returning if I can at all avoid it, is something high on my list of things I’m not in the mood for. Instead, I said my goodbyes last night, enjoying a quiet evening with them.
I scribble a note on Momma’s grocery list notepad stuck to the refrigerator then sneak, silently from my childhood home. The toad with wheels lights flicker once when I click the unlock button on the key fob. I carefully load my belongings into the hatchback then round the car to find an envelope wedged between the frame and the door. I inhale deeply through my nose and pluck the envelope up, rolling it in my hands in search of a name. It’s blank but my gut tells me it’s something from Sylas. Instead of opening the envelope, I opt to stow it in my bag, slipped inside my closed laptop between the keyboard and screen. Deciding I’ll open later once I am out of Palmetto Grove, I try to pretend it isn’t there, weighing heavily on me. God knows what’s inside the envelope and if I know Sylas it’s likely something that is going to make me question everything. No, it’s safer to put it away.
The flight home was smooth sailing and though I would normally love that first moment when I open the door to my apartment and the scent of the home I’ve created for myself hits me. Today I can’t bring myself to love the smell or to be happy to be in my home.
So far away from Sylas, Regret adds nastily.
It is the only path forward. We have no choice, Self -Preservation levels Regret with a look that says to sit down and shut up. I drop my bag on the foyer console and wheel my luggage to my bedroom. A voice somewhere in the back of my mind—not of the inner circle variety—thank fuck—whispers to me that I’m busying myself around my place so I can pretend to forget all about the envelope tucked into the closed laptop in my workbag when the reality is I should just rip the Band-Aid off. Get it over with.
I just can’t.
Once I have showered, cleaned the place up a little, caught up on emails, filed my nails, dusted the silk plant in my kitchen and cleared my fridge of anything old, I grab a bottle of red wine, a glass and meander around the place feeling like a house guest instead of a woman in her private space. There is a disconnect that I can’t understand. Is this what going home does to me or is this what Sylas does to me? Is this feeling caused by the fact that I have no friends here and I work twenty four seven in an industry that thrives on the worst of the worst of human nature? Perhaps it’s a custom brew of all of the above. I drag my sock feet across the wood floors, shuffling down the hallway to my guest room. I flip o the light and go into the space that no one has ever used. I furnished it nicely and decorated with care all the while knowing I’d never have someone over to enjoy my efforts. I tug the door of the closet open and scan the cardboard boxes for one in particular. I pull it from the shelf and drop it to the floor at my feet.