Page 104 of Here With Me

“I woulda died if it meant it could save her,” I say, choking up at what I put my childhood friend and my family through. “I tried takin' my own life even knowin' it couldn't bring her back.”

Jase steps closer, but I purposely keep my head down to avoid his gaze.

“When?”

“Three weeks after.” My voice cracks as I swallow down the lump in my throat. “I felt like I couldn't exist in a world where she didn't. The pain suffocated me until I couldn't take it any longer.”

He blows out a sharp breath. “Does Mom know this?”

I look at him watching me. “She does.”

He frowns. “She never told me that.”

“She was tryin' to protect you while livin' in her own personal hell. She needed someone to point fingers at, and I willingly accepted it because no matter what anyone told me, it was my fault.”

“How'd you try to kill yourself?”

“You remember my friend Damien?”

“Yeah. He brought me gifts every year on Christmas and my birthday.”

“Oh. He never told me that.” Sounds like him, though.

“Braxton didn't like him comin' around. He thought Damien was one of Mom's triggers. She'd spiral for the next few days after he left. But I liked talkin' to him, so she let him stay.”

“I only see him about twice a year for the same reason,” I admit.

“What does he have to do with Lyla?” He sits next to me.

If I'm going to come clean, I might as well face both of my children.

“It's what I asked him to do for me. Do you wanna know the full story? I've tried to spare you the details because it's not somethin' I'm proud of, but it explains why I was gone. At least for those first two years.”

He pauses briefly before nodding. “Yeah, I wanna know.”

I inhale deeply, preparing my mind and heart for a deep dive into the past after already doing it with Noah. But he deserves to know just as much.

“Lyla's death felt like the lowest point in my life until three weeks later when I asked Damien to shoot me, and I realizedthatwas my lowest. You and your mom blamed me, and I had nothin' to live for. I thought death was my only out.”

I explain what happened that day and how I felt when I woke up in the hospital. Jase hangs onto each word, but with his flat expression, I'm not sure how he's taking it.

“You don't just get to ask someone to murder you and walk away from that. Especially to a detective.” I shake my head at the irony. “Damien knew I needed help and if I didn't get it, I'd eventually succeed. The grief and pain gutted me, hollowed me out until I was nothin’ but a shell, which led me to spendin’ two years in a behavioral health facility. I missed you like crazy, but your mom couldn't forgive me, so we divorced. She didn't want ya to know where I was, and at the time, I agreed with that. I worried about how you'd take it. Later, I realized it left too much room for interpretation of why I was gone. Not tellin' you had you believin' I abandoned you.”

“Yeah, I did. Mom said you decided to travel for work because bein’ at home was a constant reminder of Lyla,” he says. “I remember wonderin' why you never called or sent a postcard.”

A pang of sadness hits me in full force. Each word of truth that leaves my mouth is accompanied by a dull ache in my chest.

“I had it in my mind that you'd written me off like your mother. She said y'all were better off without me, and I assumed it to be true. I thought not comin' around was makin' it easier for y'all to move on. I didn't wanna be a reminder of what happened.”

“Well, it wasn't true.” He takes a shuddering breath as if he’s fighting his emotions, too. “I lost a sisteranda dad within a month. Practically a mom, too. She was a mess, for years, and it wasn't until Braxton came into the picture that she was somewhat back to her normal self.” There’s a moment of silence as he turns his focus back onto the ground. “I really needed you.” His voice is low and filled with pain as he rips up pieces of grass.

Though I don't blame Mariah for how she coped with everything, I wish she'd been honest and not made me feel like Jase didn't want me either.

“Jase.” I sigh deeply and don’t say another word until he peers at me again. “I have so many regrets. I spent the past eight years between therapy and grief counselin'. Every appointment or group session I went to, I talked about my goals. My number one was findin' a way back into your life. I knew I had a lot of explainin' and apologizin' to do. I'd screwed up, and I needed to find the courage to come back. I'm so sorry I let you down.”

“I remember feelin' a mix of happiness and anger when you called me last year. Happy because I was overwhelmed to hear your voice. Anger because I realized how easy it woulda been for you to do that ages ago. I wanted to see you and help you get a house, but I wasn't sure if I wanted a father-son relationship.”

I nod, reaching over and squeezing his shoulder. “I wish I could go back and do things differently. Trust me. I will live with that regret until the day I die. The only excuse I have is that the pain took over. Even once I left the facility, I wasn't the same man you knew as a child. But I'm here now, and I wanna be in your life if you'll let me. I'll go to family therapy with you, or we can find a grief support group. Whatever it takes. And I know ya don't owe me a goddamn thing, so if you're not ready, I'll respect that.”