Page 80 of All I Have Left

GRAYSON

W e all make stupid mistakes from time to time. I’m the king of them so don’t you dare think you can take my title. It’s mine.

But I’m learning. Slowly.

Most therapists will tell you that the power to change your situation is all on you. They’re right. It is. It’s not up to a girlfriend, a wife, a mom, dad… it’s on you. And most of the time spent in therapy is getting to the point you understand that and don’t fear change.

But how do you forget?

It isn’t easy.

I see a therapist once a week. He’s fucking crazy if you ask me, but he’s a war veteran and through his talks, I have less anxiety than I did before.

When tragedy happens, most people ask the same question.

Why me?

Who am I after this?

Very different people, that’s for sure.

And then some questions linger longer. What is the meaning of this? Why is there so much pain? Why am I afraid? Why can’t I let go ?

It’s similar to the stages of grief. Because really, you are grieving. Your life will never be what it was.

When the relief doesn’t happen right away, you turn to other distractions. Drinking, drugs, sex, you name it. The problem is, it’s a distraction. Nothing more. A fraction in time where you feel better and you can escape.

I didn’t want our life to turn into a distraction. I wanted to move on, and so I did.

And then I broke. I fucking broke into a million tiny pieces right before her eyes that night of my sister’s wedding and that was our turning point.

We didn’t get there until we had nothing left but to heal.

You can only fight the stages for so long before you have to just let them go and move with it.

I changed for me, but also Evie. She deserved better than the way I had been treating her those first few months after I was released from the hospital.

And then I think about Matt and what he went through. I couldn’t save him, but as I soon discovered, maybe it wasn’t my place to save him. Maybe him dying saved me, so I could, in turn, find my way back to Evie.

All I know is miracles, life, all of it works in mysterious ways and I don’t think we’re meant to know why. Just that it happens.

I will say this, we’re stronger now than we’ve ever been. We’ve been through hell and back and came out the other side.

Today is the one-year mark from that day. Exactly. As I wake up that morning, I remain in bed longer than I usually do. I think about Shane. It’s not the first time he’s crossed my mind, but I make a conscious effort not to think about him.

The other five guys who were there had been charged with attempted murder and assault. Shane, adding rape to his sentence, is set to serve twenty years in prison. The others, ten.

It’s nowhere near enough in my eyes, but at least they are held accountable for what they did. Twenty years is a fucking slap in the face for what they did to us. If I ever see any of them again, I can’t guarantee I won’t kill them, just saying. It’d be worth jail. Probably.

Dragging myself from inflatable mattress on the floor, I head downstairs to the kitchen for some coffee.

I’m finally able to work, and drive. I wouldn’t say I’m a hundred percent again, but I’m certainly better than before.

My hearing in my left ear is at about 50 percent now.

My vision still hasn’t improved in my injured eye, but I can finally stand up without seeing stars, so I’d say blurry vision is the least of my worries.

I still get blinding headaches that come out of nowhere, but I’m off the seizure and blood pressure medications.

My moods? They could use some work but unfortunately this will be something I might struggle with for a while. It’s getting better. I think. I get called an asshole a lot less if that tells you anything.

I find Evie in the kitchen, bent over boxes and cursing that she stubbed her toe, again, on the sander in the middle of the room.

She spots me and frowns. “You said you were going to move that.”

“I know, but I didn’t.” I shrug, winking at her. “I’ll move it tonight.”

“You’ve said that every night for a week.”

I wrap my arms around her shoulders. “That’s your fault.

You’ve distracted me every night this week.

” Ethan honks his horn in the driveway. “Don’t be late tonight,” I tell her, kissing her forehead as she searches through garbage bags for a pair of gloves.

She’s working outside today planting flowers around the pergola with my mom.

Evie doesn’t work anymore and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I feel better knowing she can relax and do what she wants to. I make pretty good money working construction, but she keeps telling me someday she’s going to college.

We haven’t officially moved into our new house that’s about three miles from my parents’ house, but we’re in the process of building it on my grandpa’s land he gave to us. And living out of boxes amongst a half finished house. We have electricity though. We didn’t last week. Plumbing, not yet.

We split the land Grandpa gave us with Ethan and Frankie, five acres each, and though I regret being their neighbor most days, it’s nice to know family will be nearby.

“Shit, what day is it?” Evie asks, pouring herself another cup of coffee and one for me to go.

I chuckle. Usually nobody asks me that anymore, but my memory is getting better. Good enough to remember what day it is. There’s a lump in my throat at the reminder. “June twenty-ninth.”

She knows the day, but neither of us say anything.

There’s a hesitation in her eyes, a slow swallow following.

“I’m never late,” Evie tells me, holding up the gloves she found.

“You’re the one who is always late. And don’t forget, we have therapy at three,” Evie reminds me before I make it out the door to work.

I groan. Damn it. I forgot about that. “Do we still have to go? The guy’s a weirdo.” If I thought my therapist was weird, the one Evie and I see together is a fucking nut job. “He told me last week I have nice hands.” I stare at her, blinking. “Who says that?”

“You do have nice hands.” She winks suggestively. “They do a lot for me.”

“Stop that. You’re going to make it an awkward drive to work with your brother. Can we skip this one?”

“It’s our last session.” Evie laughs, rolling her eyes. “And if you had to listen to other people’s problems all day long, you’d be weird too.” She kisses my cheek. “We have emotional damage. We need to go.”

“No, we don’t,” I argue, reaching for my spare jeans so I don’t have to sing tonight in my work jeans.

“I don’t think we need to keep going. We’re all better.

” I tell her this all the time, but the truth is, it’s a lie.

We’re healing, and I use that term loosely, believe me, but better? No, probably not .

Looking like she wants to slap me with the gloves, she gives me a skeptical look. “You’re going.”

“Nope, got it.” I chuckle but am a little annoyed. “Three, right?”

Wrapping her arms around me, she kisses me on the lips. “Yep.”

I notice my mom out of the corner of my eye, her smile secretive. She knows what I’m doing tonight for Evie. I draw back, holding her by the shoulders. “And then I have a surprise for you.”

“I hate surprises.” Evie groans, rolling her eyes. “They give me anxiety.”

“Maybe you should see a therapist about that. I know a guy who likes man hands.”

She bursts out laughing but then stops, pointing her finger in my face. “You’re going to be late for work. And no surprises later.”

“You’ll love this one,” I tell her, winking and not waiting for her to argue with me.

Ethan’s in the driveway, his windows rolled down in the truck, music blaring.

“Why is the music so loud?” I ask, wondering what’s up.

“It’s better than a screaming baby.”

Four months ago, Ethan and Frankie welcomed a screaming, very grumpy Wesley Brooks into the world. Little Wes, he’s pissed off most of the time and his cry will give you an instant headache. Frankie says he’s a grumpy pooper, but whatever the reason, they get very little sleep these days.

I reach for the knob on the radio. He frowns. “Don’t ruin my day.”

“I’m not. I need to talk to you about something.”

“You can marry my sister,” he says, knowing exactly what I wanted to ask him.

“How did you know I was going to ask that? ”

“You’re sweating. Get your shit together and ask her to marry you already.”

“It’s June in the south. It’s hot. That’s why I’m sweating,” I point out.

“That’s not why.”

He has me there. “I’m asking her tonight.”

The truth is, I’m nervous. I’m a fucking wreck over this.

For months I’ve been thinking about asking her, waiting for the right time, wondering if we were ready. My answer, after nine months of therapy and working on ourselves, and healing, it’s yes. We are finally ready for this step in our relationship, and I want to create a new memory for this day.

I always thought that a gentleman would ask permission before asking a woman to marry him, but since Evie’s father isn’t around, I decided to ask Ethan. I’ve already asked her mom and got a yes before I even finished the words. She even helped me with getting Evie’s ring sized.

“You aren’t even going to drill me on shit?” I finally ask.

“On what? I know you can take care of her. You know I could say the same thing here. I married your sister. It would be a little hypercritical of me if I said no to you.”

“I mean with everything we’ve been through.” Pausing, I run my hand over my head, the bumps from my scar still present. It’s a gnarly one, from my temple, around my ear to the base of my skull in a crescent shape. “Do you think we’re too damaged?”

Ethan looks over at me as he merges onto the highway. “Well, you’re both fucked up, but most people wouldn’t have survived what you two have been through. That right there tells me your love for my sister will last a lifetime. That’s all I care about.”

I nod, not knowing what to say. “Thanks, Ethan. I just want you to know that I love her more than anything and I know you don’t want to hear that sentimental shit any more than I do, but I’d do anything for that girl.”

He smiles. “Hey, as long as you don’t let her stop our love for music, I don’t have a problem with all this fucking love talk. ”

“That won’t be a problem, I assure you. Which reminds me, I’m doing it tonight on stage.” We’re playing at The Point tonight. First time in a while, but now that we’ve gotten back into music again, it’s been a nice change of pace from doctor’s appointments.

“Tonight?” His eyes widen. “She’s gonna kill you. Does she realize the date?”

“I think so, but I don’t know for sure. I’m almost certain she does, actually.”

“And you want to do it tonight?”

I think about it for half a second. “I want new memories for this date. Not the reminder of something he took from us.”

He nods. “It makes sense.”

It does make sense and tonight, I’m asking her. We’re far too young to be so goddamn broken, and it stops now. With a question and a promise of forever. She deserves forever.