Page 90 of All I Have Left

Every muscle inside me tightens, straining, my chest constricting.

Isn’t that enough? It should be. But is it?

He’s not locked up for life. He got twenty years for first degree rape and another fifteen for first degree attempted murder.

That’s not enough. It never will be. I swallow over the lump in my throat.

The tightness in my chest twisting. My hands shake, hell, my entire body is shaking with pent up anger I didn’t know I still had for this situation and him.

He tips his head. “Truth is, me fucking your wife’s ass is my best memory of her,” he says, the words piercing through me.

My vision blurs, my body burns. I close my eyes, drawing in a deep breath.

Inhale. Exhale. When I reopen my eyes, he’s staring at me.

Waiting. For a reaction. The revenge he wants me to attempt.

My brows knit together, pain radiating through my jaw.

I wait another beat before I answer him.

“I wish you were dead. I wish you had blinding headaches and nightmares. I wish… someone brutally raped you and took every ounce of security you felt and ripped it away. I wish for what you did to my wife , and me, to happen to you. Over , and over again until you die. If not physically, but mentally. Emotionally.” He doesn’t say anything but he’s listening.

Maybe not caring, but he’s listening to the words I’m saying.

“So no. It’s not enough that you’re behind bars.

” I have to force the words out through the swell of emotion in my chest. “It won’t ever be enough.

But I have her. She’s breathing, living a life with me , in my bed every night and I know that kills you.

” I let go of him and he falls back into the metal chair. “That’s revenge.”

His jaw flexes again, his eyebrow curved in question and then he nods to the men standing against the wall. “Guard?” he barks, keeping his death stare on mine. I bet if he had a bat, he’d take another swing.

The guard comes forward but before he reaches Shane, he leans in and smiles, hard and tight.

“I’m not sorry for what I did to you.” His nearly black eyes reflect nothing.

That’s when you know a man is truly gone.

When you stop seeing emotion. You see a shadow of what used to exist. It’s like a black hole now. “I’m only sorry you survived.”

I damn near flinch at the anger in his voice, an echo of my own tone used. There’s a buzzing sound, a door opening and closing next to me. I laugh and stand from the table. I wonder if I look as confident as I’m trying to be, despite wanting to kill him. “Try harder next time.”

Maybe he will try again. I don’t know.

Does it scare me?

No. It doesn’t. Couple years ago it might have, but not now. Not when I have everything he wanted. I watch him disappear behind closed doors before I leave. I shove my hands in the pockets of my jeans and breathe in. It does nothing to calm me down.

I take my time leaving the prison. Ethan’s waiting in the truck. I look up, sweat beading at my temples as I trudge through the parking lot. The sun reflects off the metal fencing, blinding me momentarily.

I swallow over the ever present lump, unsure what coming here got me. Satisfaction of knowing he hasn’t changed?

Maybe.

As soon as I open the door to the truck, Ethan is pummeling me with questions. “What did he say?”

I stare at the prison in the distance. “He’s sorry I survived.”

“Seriously?” Ethan sucks in a sharp breath beside me. I look over at him. “What the fuck?”

Taking my cell phone out of my pocket, I notice I missed a call from Evie.

I hold it up between us. “We have bigger issues here.” Evie doesn’t know I came here today.

I told her Ethan and I were driving to Nashville to pick up a Fender guitar for Taliyah’s birthday.

That’s true. We did that, but I made a deter at the Limestone Correctional Facility in Harvest. And I think if Evie put two and two together, she knew. She had to of.

Ethan’s smile forms, amusement on his face. “She’s going to kill you.”

“That’s what grand gestures are for.”

A stifled laugh rakes through him. “Uh huh. If you were smart you would have turned off your location on your phone before we stopped here.”

Shit. He’s right. Turning on the truck, a blast of air conditioning hits my face, finally giving me some relief from the heat outside. Now to think of what I’m going to tell my wife when I get home.

“I can’t believe you went there,” Evie snaps, pacing the floor in our bedroom. “On our daughter’s birthday of all days.”

I sit in silence on the bed, staring at my hands, waiting for the implosion. I don’t have an answer for her. Not one she’s going to be satisfied with. “I didn’t intend on going there,” I tell her, knowing lying isn’t the best way to approach this conversation.

She turns to face me, glowering at me with tears in her eyes. “Bullshit you didn’t, Grayson. I know my husband. You wanted to go there. That’s why you went to Nashville.”

Marriage isn’t always pretty. Just because you say I do and promise forever doesn’t mean your life is wrapped up in a bow with a stamp of bliss on it.

Evie and I fight. Over stupid shit sometimes.

Like who stole the blankets in the middle of the night or who didn’t put the clothes from the washer into the dryer.

But we also forgive. And listen. That’s marriage.

Seeing past your faults, and theirs, to where the love resides.

Marriage is sucking up your pride and remembering that vow and keeping it. For better or worse .

I had to put this into words that she’d understand. I couldn’t say, you went to see him, so I did. Because that wasn’t fair. My reasoning, had nothing to do with hers. She wanted closure. Me? I wanted him to see me. Living. Surviving. I wanted… him to know I had her.

My jaw works back and forth. Truth is, I’m angry that she’s questioning my intentions and making me feel guilty. But on the flip side, I should feel guilty though. I was so mad at her when I found out she went to see Shane without tell me, and I did the same to her today.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t intend to go there. I didn’t,” I tell her, my voice firm. It’s not a lie. “It wasn’t until we left Nashville that I wanted to go.”

“See, I know that’s a lie, Grayson Gomez ,” she grumbles, narrowing her eyes. “You have to get clearance to go there. And apply months ahead of time for a visitation. You have to be approved by the inmate.”

Standing from the bed, I stare back at her, reaching for her hands.

I force her stop pacing and face me. I cradle her cheeks in my hands.

“I did not intend to go there. I actually told myself not to. Yes, I got clearance.” She blinks, slowly, as if she kind of believes me, but she’s confused.

“Franklin, that guy I did concrete work for his mom, you remember him?” She nods.

“He works at the prison and got me clearance and basically told me I could show up and he’d get me in if I wanted.

But again, when I left for Nashville this morning, I didn’t think I was going to stop. ”

Tears roll down her cheeks. Slowly. It’s like pouring acid on my heart seeing her upset with me. I don’t cry. I don’t even want that emotion inside of me right now, but I can’t help it when it swells in my chest. There’s a flash of an image, one of her screaming for me, begging them to stop.

She cries, breathing harder than before. “What did he say?”

This is the part where I want to lie. She doesn’t need this. Not today. Not when we should be healing. But it’s on me. I knew when I walked into that prison this conversation would happen. And if I didn’t want to have it, I shouldn’t have went.

My throat dries up. I fight to swallow as my heart does to beat a regular rhythm.

I can feel it pounding in my temples with every thump.

I search her eyes, so green and still, even after everything she’s been through, innocent in some ways.

“He said… the only thing he’s sorry for is that I survived. ”

“He fucking said that?” Evie steps back, as gasp leaving her lips. “Are you serious?”

I nod.

“What a piece of shit,” she snaps. “I should go there and make him say that to my fucking face.”

Part of me is strangely turned on by her anger.

I have half a mind to lay her on the bed and have her take some of that frustration out on me.

Sighing, I hang my head and stare at the floor.

I can hear the kids laughing downstairs, their footsteps as they run through the house.

I think about building this house and all the hard work that went into it from the structure to the roof.

All things to protect what we have inside.

Our family. I would forever protect them no matter what.

For that reason, I couldn’t tell her everything he said to me.

Taking the guitar off the bed, she adjusts the bow on it and starts to leave. I catch her hand. “Don’t go… tell me you’re okay.”

She won’t look at me, but she stops. Her body tense, her blonde hair falling into her eyes.

“I love you, Grayson, with every part of my heart and soul, but you really pissed me off today by going there and bringing this up on Taliyah’s day.

I don’t want to ever think about that man again, and you keep making me. ”

The slamming of our bedroom door resonances off the walls and into my temple, competing with the angry beat of my heart. I keep making her?

I think about those words longer than I believe she meant for me to.

The dig deep, down to where his “I’m only sorry you survived” comment is festering.

Trauma doesn’t go away. It’s a simple fact of life.

It’s like a crack. You can heal it, fill it with the strongest glue known to man, but there will always be a crack.

And if you look close enough, you find it. A weak spot.