LIGHT SPILLS in from the large window beside me, the warm June sun heating my skin. I tilt my head towards the warmth, basking in it like the plants lining the windowsill while admiring the amazing view this spacious office offers.
I can see the ocean from here, and I swear it’s calling to me, begging me to dip a toe in its chilly depths. I probably will, later.
Right now, my time belongs to the professionally dressed woman sitting across from me.
There’s a faint smile on the woman’s face as she peers at me over her glasses, assessing me clinically like she always does. “You look good, Amelia.”
Her words summon a smile of my own. “I feel good.”
Gaze flickering to the notepad on her desk, the pen in her hand posies to write. “How would you describe your mood today?”
“Happy,” is my simple answer. I learned quickly that straightforward honesty answers are best and easiest.
“You’ve been sleeping?”
I nod, fidgeting in my seat slightly.
“Any more nightmares?”
“None.” My answers evoke a pleased hum from Dr. Resnick, the sound of scribbling filling the air as she jots down notes.
It’s been a whole month since my last nightmare. Night terrors, I think they’re technically called, the kind where you wake up coated in sweat and whimpering, swearing up and down that what you just experienced was real. Technically, it was real. At one point.
I was a victim of an abusive relationship.
And I was in an accident that almost killed me as a direct result of that relationship.
They got better after Dylan was convicted, when I knew for sure that he wasn’t going to show up at my apartment in the middle of the night or attack me in the middle of a work shift.
“Have you made plans for the summer?”
I nod again, the question evoking a flurry of nervous butterflies in my stomach. I’m going back to Carlton for the entire summer. Three whole months in the town I ran from, surrounded by people who know exactly why I ran.
“And how are you feeling about that?”
“Good,” I answer unconvincingly, my fingers toying with the hem of my dress. A few seconds of feeling Dr. Resnick’s intense stare is all it takes for me to sigh and elaborate further. “Nervous. A little scared. But good.” The fact that I’ll be surrounded by family helps combat my apprehension. I feel settled with family, with Nick and Cass and Dad and the rest of the Morgans. If they’re by my side, I can live with the inevitable staring and whispers that I’m sure are to come, like they’ve come every other time I’ve gone back.
“That’s understandable.” Resnick scribbles some more, pausing briefly before continuing her questioning. “And how is the driving progressing?” she asks carefully, slowly, anticipating my tense reaction.
I stiffen slightly, eyes drifting to my bare legs. A jagged, healing scar catches my attention, where a hunk of metal from my destroyed car lodged itself in my thigh. There’s another on my calf, where my tibia snapped and pierced my skin. Permanent reminders of what happened to me, in case my memory ever fails, to accompany the faint one I already had, all on the same leg which makes me feel weirdly unbalanced.
Absentmindedly, I rub my recently-freed limb. I only got the cast off a week ago, and I’m not used to being without it yet. I still find myself favoring my other leg, limping a little, more out of habit than need or pain. I wonder if I’ll ever break that habit, or if it’s another permanent alteration.
Dr. Resnick says my name softly, reminding me that she asked a question. I meet kind eyes when I look up, patient eyes. I went through two other therapists, useless pushy women who I’m positive spent more time judging me than trying to help me before I found her. Resnick never pushes, only encourages. She… I don’t know, she gets it.
“It’s… ” I struggle for the right words. “I can get in a car without crying, if that’s progress.”
In the months since the accident, I haven’t been able to bring myself to drive. It took me weeks to even be able to be in a car without losing it. Getting behind the wheel is the next goal we’re working towards, and it’s proving to be harder than anticipated. Harder than banishing the nightmares and overcoming my mountain of guilt, which says a lot.
I find it funny how the accident with Sam never had this effect on me—sure, I didn’t particularly like driving after the first accident but it never instilled a deep-rooted fear of driving. Resnick didn’t find it funny; she found it to be a wealth of traumatic information. She says it’s because I experienced a loss so great, it drowned out the fear, and that the guilt caused by that loss drowned out any concern for my own life.
Why would I fear driving if I didn’t fear getting hurt?
“How was the drive here today?”
“It was fine,” I shrug. “Nick drove me.”
“Ah.” The corner of Resnick’s mouth quirks upwards. “The handsome man who camps out in my waiting room every week?”
Automatically, I finger the chain looped around my neck, fiddling with the charms as I bite down on a brewing grin. “That’s the one.”
Every session, every week, he waits patiently for me. Even if he’s not the one to drive me here, he’s always here to collect me. After the first couple of sessions, I was a mess and he had to practically carry me out; the one-hour appointment often stretched into several hours cowering in Nick’s car, trauma-induced tears soaking his shirt as he held me tight to his chest.
Resnick likes him. She says it’s good to have a solid support system in place, and he’s the figurehead of mine, unsurprisingly.
Though, I don’t think what I have could be called a support system. I have people coming out of my ears. I have a village. I have more than I need a lot of the time but I’m grateful all the same because I can’t begin to imagine what this would be like if I had no one.
The hour passes quickly. Resnick gives me some new exercises to do to help with my newest biggest fear. She’s big on journaling; I’ve filled almost four in the couple of months I’ve been seeing her, and I have a feeling I’m about to fill a fifth with all the reasons why I’m terrified to get behind the wheel of a car again.
Dreams, nightmares, every bout of anxiety, everything is recorded on those creamy lined pages. It took me a while, but I get why she does it. It helps to look back, to see how far I’ve come.
When the hour is up and I leave her office, I barely take a couple of steps before I spot him. Slouched in a chair, flipping through a magazine, looking effortlessly hot and completely oblivious to how the receptionist is drooling over him right now.
I didn’t think it was possible, but somehow he’s gotten even hotter in the last few months. I think it’s the sun, to be honest. I swear to God, it favors him. He’s all extra golden and extra bronzed and extra annoyingly perfect.
And all mine.
The love of my fucking life.
His eyes flicker up to meet mine when he senses me approaching. A slow smile spreads across his face as he stands, grabbing for me the second I get within reach and pressing a short, sweet kiss to my lips. I have to resist the urge to smile triumphantly at the receptionist, maybe offer a tissue to wipe up the drool off her computer.
Nick wraps an arm around my waist as we leave the office building, his fingers skimming the tops of my thighs as he toys with the hem of my dress. “Everything okay, querida?”
Grinning, I stretch my neck to kiss his shoulder, the closest I can reach without practically having to climb the mountain of a man. “Everything is perfect.”
“We’re here!” Cass hollers as he shoulders open the front door, his voice ricocheting around the house.
The sound of chairs scraping against the floor greets us as we wander through the hallway, a crowd of smiling faces welcoming us into the kitchen.
“Hi, sweetie.” Dad approaches me with open arms, hugging me tightly. I hug him back before stepping back and gesturing to my cast-free leg, wiggling it triumphantly. The last time he saw me, I was still bandaged up and suffering an intense array of cuts and bruises.
Instantly, he switches from Dad to Dr. Hanlon, prodding and pawing at my leg, interrogating me about my pain level. Rolling my eyes, I kick him away right as I’m swept up in another pair of arms.
“How’s my girl?” Lynn murmurs, her voice rife with emotion as she holds me close. Since the accident, we’ve indulged in numerous lengthy phone calls, way more often than we used to, but they don’t nearly match up to seeing her in person.
Her hands sweep lightly over my cheeks, a slight wince overcoming her features. Luckily, the gashes on my face healed a lot better than the ones on my legs. They’re barely visible now, but of course, Lynn manages to spot them. A sheen develops in her eyes as she cradles my face. “I’m glad you’re home, honey.”
The sound of a throat clearing interrupts our reunion. Our attention is drawn to Cass standing beside us, eyes narrowed, a playfully wounded expression on his face. “Your girl is fine. Your boy, however, is feeling neglected.”
Lynn rolls her eyes, muttering something about needy men under her breath before giving me one last squeeze and moving to greet her son. Over their shoulders, I spot Nick lurking in the corner with his family, clearly attempting to give us some space.
Sofia catches my eye and her face splits in a grin before she’s tearing over to me. The young girl pounces, almost knocking me over as she hugs me. She only loosens her grip when both her brother and her mother chide her gently.
“Tenha ciudado, minja anjinha.” Nick grips his sister by the shoulders, a teasing tone to his voice. ‘Carga preciosa.”
“Peste,” I fire back my favorite insult.
Ana laughs as she pulls me into a quick but warm hug, kissing each of my cheeks before steering her chattering daughter out of the room.
Mischief glimmers in Nick’s eyes as his hands skim up my arms, tugging me to him by the straps of my dress. “Have I mentioned you speaking Portuguese is really fucking hot?”
I bite down on my bottom lip, blinking up at him innocently. ‘Uma ou duas vezes.’
His eyes darken a shade, but whatever he was about to say is drowned out by my squeal as a pair of arms wrap around me from behind and yank me away from Nick. James engulfs me in a bear hug, smacking a big kiss on the top of my head. “For someone who almost died a few months ago, you look fucking great.”
“James!” Several people exclaim at once.
My eldest brother grins and circles around to face me, eyes roaming as he gives me a quick once over. Something strangely forlorn flickers across his face at the sight of the new additions gracing my leg, but he quickly covers it up with his signature grin. “Damn, Tiny. Kind of badass.” He whistles long and low, gently poking at my thigh. “Almost as bad as what Nicky boy did to you last time.”
“Jesus Christ.” Lynn and I groan in unison, the former slapping her son upside the head.
Nick’s hand lands on my ass, squeezing sneakily as his chest shakes with barely contained laughter. Cass can’t decide whether to scowl at James or Nick, so he settles for punching them both. I shove James away, but he doesn’t go very far. Instead, he bumps Nick out of the way and slings an arm around my shoulder. “Where’s your dad?” I ask him.
“Work. He’ll be home soon. Wouldn’t dare miss the miraculous return of the Prodigal daughter.”
I roll my eyes at his dramatics, poking his stomach.
Catching my hand and peering down at me, a more serious expression overcomes James, his grip on me morphing into something protectively tight as he murmurs, “Glad you’re okay, kiddo.”
Throat tight, I knock my hip against his. “Careful. Your feelings are showing.”
“What can I say, near-death experiences bring out my sentimental side.” He pecks my temple. “Love you, Tiny.”
I gaze up at James, studying his sincere, protective expression. It’s always been Cass and me with the unbreakable sibling bond. My relationship with James was always a lot more playful, a lot more casual, not as close-knit but he was my brother all the same.
The one who settled countless silly quarrels between Cass and me, the one who protected me when Cass wasn’t there, the one who comforted both of us when we were lost in grief. I seldom think about what it was like for him to watch his two younger siblings completely disintegrate into shells of themselves, yet be unable to do so himself. He knew and liked Sam too but he always put us first.
Resting my head against him, I wrap my arms around his waist. “Love you too.”
The walk to the cemetery takes less than half an hour.
I nod politely at the few people scattered around as I weave through the stones sticking up from the ground, the light wind whipping my dress around my legs.
My heart catches in my throat when I find what I’m looking for. A small, sad smile stretches my lips as I rest on my haunches in front of the white marble gravestone with his name etched in beautiful cursive letters.
Sam Davis
Loving son, brother, and friend
The song in our hearts
Setting the bound sunflowers in my hand down, I kiss my fingers and press them to the cool stone. “Hey, Sammy.”
I swear a breeze curls around me in greeting as I sit down. Against my will, a seed of guilt blossoms in my chest. This is the first time I’ve been to his grave; I was too out of it, too lost in grief, in the weeks before we moved away to even consider coming here. “I’m sorry it took me so long to come see you.”
I’m not sure what I believe in but I know he’s somewhere, watching and listening and probably yelling at me occasionally for being a fool. In my mind’s eyes, I picture him sitting beside me. The image of him is so young, and it both blows my mind and hurts like hell that I’m somehow older than him now. Three years older than he ever got to be.
I already want to cry, but I refuse to, not until I say what I came to say. I take a deep breath to steady myself, blinking away the tears.
“There are so many things I want to say to you.” My voice is quiet, broken, trembling as I speak but I force myself to continue. “I guess I’ll start with I miss you. So much. Cass does too. He doesn’t talk about it much but I can tell.”
There was a moment this morning, a brief one, when we drove past the old baseball field Sam and Cass used to play on. Both of us paused, overcome by memories for a moment. The pain in Cass’ expression was fleeting, but it was there.
“I wish you were so I could thank you. For loving me. I’m sorry I was so mad at you for leaving me. I hope, wherever you are, you know how much I loved you. I’ll probably always love you. You were everything to me, and I’m so grateful to have been loved by you, even if it wasn’t forever.”
I swipe the few stray tears that escape away, replacing them with a weak smile. “It took me a long time but I found someone. I think you’d like him. Cass, my dad and James do, so that says a lot. He loves me and he treats me how I deserve to be treated.”
Silent tears are streaming freely now, I couldn’t hold them back if I wanted to. Tugging my cardigan tighter around me, I pretend it’s a pair of arms comforting me. “I hope you’re proud of me, Sam. I’m kind of proud of me, to be honest.”
Sucking in a shuddering breath, I rise slowly on shaky legs, brushing blades of grass from my dress. Once again, I kiss my fingers before touching the cold stone, gripping it tightly. “Thank you for saving my life,” I whisper. “I’m sorry I was so careless with it for a while.”
The stream of tears slows but doesn’t stop as I leave the graveyard with a smile on my face and a weight lifted off my chest.
I don’t get very far before my eyes land on a tall figure leaning against a parked car. A pair of sunglasses hide his golden eyes, but even from a distance, I swear I can see those dimples.
He’s waiting for me patiently, like he always is. Like he always will.
My heart doubles in size, a sob-like laugh escaping me as I realize I’m in the same place as the two men who loved me right.
When I get close enough, I don’t hesitate to throw myself at him. I’m quickly engulfed in his grip, his arms acting as my safe haven, as usual. Sliding the sunglasses off his face, I lean up to kiss him softly, craving the comfort. He wipes away my tears, kisses my damp cheeks, whispers an ‘I love you.’
The sun shines down on us, reflecting in twinkling gold eyes. Smirking, he murmurs against the corner of my mouth. “Need a ride?”
A laugh leaves me and floats through the air at his oh-so-familiar question, one of the first things he ever said to me. Lacing our hands together, I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him again, grinning against his lips.
“I’d rather walk.”
