Page 23 of Salvation (Clover-Hills #1)

Wesley

I t was exactly two in the morning when I woke to my mom screaming. The kind of scream that would haunt anyone for the rest of their life. So blood-curdling and bone-chilling that I thought she was dying.

She may as well have been.

It’s not something you think is possible when you’re young.

Your parents are invincible, especially your father.

I didn’t cry at first; I couldn’t feel anything other than blinding, unbearable pain as my brain tried to catch up with what I was hearing and seeing.

I could only watch as Wyatt held my mom as she sobbed and shook while my father’s body was wheeled away.

Our house was lit with flashes of blue and red.

Sirens rang and orders were barked, but nothing except the sight of my dad’s pale, blue face mattered.

What were our last words? I couldn’t remember, and I hated myself for the fact that I couldn’t remember.

So many moments I took for granted because I was na?ve enough to believe he’d live forever.

That I’d die before him. That he’d go peacefully.

I didn’t know what to do, and didn’t know how to console my mother or my brother, so I raced through the front doors and ran.

My brother yelled for me, maybe the sheriff too, but I ran, and ran, and ran until my lungs burned, my vision blurred, and I had no choice but to drop into a heap of exhaustion on the grassy ground.

It didn’t take long for her to find me. I felt her before she spoke and wasn’t surprised when Blake fell to her knees beside me.

Her presence was like a tether to this world.

A pull I could always rely on and could always find.

Not saying a word, she wrapped her arms around me.

She didn’t say ‘I’m sorry’ or whisper any comforting, useless words into my ear.

Just held me as I finally broke. What could one say in a moment like this, anyways?

What kind of words could comfort a loss so huge?

Nothing could, I realized. Because this was the cold, harsh reality of life.

Full of pain and sorrow and unforgiving changes you never see coming.

I didn’t have my dad or any feelings other than grief.

But I had Blake. And she sat with me before our favorite pond, with our knees digging into the cold, wet ground as we cried until there was not a single tear left to shed -

”You alright?” My brother clasps a hand on my shoulder, his tense and tired voice bringing me back to the present day. I look at him, his face a mirror of my own pain as he watches our mother place roses on our father’s headstone.

“Just reminiscing. Hard not to think about how different life would be if he were still here.” He nods in understanding, and we don’t say anymore, not needing to. We both feel it, this mutual emptiness but desire to be strong for our mom every time a reason to visit our dad rolls around.

I stare as tears slip from my mom's chin and splash on the deep red of the rose petal. “He is so proud of you boys,” she tells us.

I know she’s right. Our dad was always supportive. Proud of us, even when we both deserved a good walloping. But it’s hard not to doubt it some days. Even from the grave, the aspiration to be everything our father hoped we would be is a weight so suffocating it’s a miracle I haven’t drowned.

***

My keys swing from my hands as I walk from where I parked my truck a few shops down from Buddies’.

Harper had texted me that it was dead tonight, so I cut her shift early and told her I’d come in to take over.

I could just have her close the bar entirely but coming in and doing something sounds a hell of a lot better than sitting on my couch at home, mourning another one of my father’s missed birthdays.

When I see Blake swinging open the entrance to the bar, I pause and duck behind the side of the building.

I nearly started banging my head into the brick wall for letting her ward me off from my space.

Regardless, I’m still pathetic enough that I don’t move from my hiding place, choosing to whip out my phone and pull up the bar’s cameras instead.

There’s no audio, so I can’t hear anything, but I can see the way she pauses when she walks in and takes in the inside.

How she pauses when she sees her untouched booth. I curse at the sight.

Harper comes into view shortly after, and they chat for some time.

Blake says something that has Harper tipping her head back and laughing.

I decide then to tuck my phone away and lean against the hard wall.

She must be picking up food, not stopping in for a drink.

So, I wait until I hear the door open again and only peek around to make sure she’s walking away before I come out from my spot and head inside.

When our bell chimes, Harper whips back around, likely thinking it’s Blake again or a new customer, but it’s just me.

She throws her hands on her hips and cocks her head. “Were you hiding outside?”

“What?” I feign confusion and scoff. “No.”

She hums, clearly not believing me. She takes off her apron and hangs it on the hook behind her. “Well, I’m off then. Call me if you need me to come back in.”

“Thanks, Harper.” Only when she gathers her stuff and leaves do I see Mr. Sanders sitting at the end of the bar, again, with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Keep looking at me like that, and I’m going to start feeding you rat poison, old man,” I threaten.

He only laughs into his mug and goes back to playing his crossword puzzle.