Forgetting August(102)

“Yeah.” I smiled as I fell into his loving arms, finally feeling like I’d come home, safely in his embrace.

* * *



It seemed time really was the cure to healing even the deepest of wounds. With each passing day, the damage August had done seemed a distant memory and I felt myself falling more deeply in love with Ryan.

Time moved on.

Love grew once again.

But there were still dark days when I couldn’t help but pick at that scar, like a disobedient child picking at a scab. Sometimes I just needed to remember.

To mourn.

On days like this I would disappear and take the long drive to the other side of the city, and submerge myself in the memory of him. The little spot under the bridge was no longer mine. No longer private. When I came here, all I could see, all I could feel was him. The memory of the smooth cadence of his voice haunted me; thoughts of his lingering touch gave me chills.

Did he ever come here to remember? Did he still mourn the loss of my touch?

As much as I loved Ryan, a part of me would always love August. Two vastly different lives and yet I would have been happy in either. How could one heart love two completely different souls?

The gravel crunched behind me, and I turned to see approaching headlights. I wasn’t the only one who knew of this spot. In a city of millions, it was impossible to have a place of your own, but this car I recognized. This intruder I’d requested.

The lights dimmed and the car door creaked open. I stepped forward and met him halfway.

“It’s been a long time,” Brick said, a warm smile creasing his aged face.

“It has,” I said. “Too long.” I closed the gap, wrapping my arms around him in a long embrace, holding back the tears that threatened to make an appearance.

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “I won’t tell.”

A strangled laugh fell from my mouth as the floodgates opened up and moisture gushed from my eyelids.

“I’m happy now,” I managed to say through the sobs. “But why does it still hurt?”

He pulled back, his kind eyes finding mine. “It will always hurt. It never stopped the first time. You just had anger to replace the pain.”

“I want to be angry at him. It would be so much easier if I hated him,” I confessed.

“I know. Me too.”

“He’s shut you out, too?” I asked, curiosity piquing as I turned to him in the darkness.

“For the most part. Every time I call or visit, he’s busy or has an excuse. He’s changed and not for the better.”

“It’s Trent. He’s like a parasite. The moment he came into our lives, everything changed. And now he’s back, and our August is gone for good.”

“August chose his path,” Brick said, rubbing my shoulders to ward off the chill in the air. “Now, all you can do is chose yours. The pain will lessen with each day and soon it will feel more like a distant memory instead of a sharp burning ache in your gut. Live your life, Everly. Let him live his.”

“You won’t tell him about this, will you?” I asked as we both turned toward the bridge. I wrapped my hands protectively around my chest as the breeze whipped around us, making me very aware of the late hour.

“He’d have to return my calls to even make that a possibility…but no,” he answered. “What is said between you and me is confidential.”

“So, should I expect a bill in the mail?” I joked, nudging his shoulder. He chuckled. It sounded like the gravel had when he’d parked his car next to mine, deep and ragged.

“No. You know I only make house calls for my non-clients. This was strictly one friend visiting another.”

“Good,” I answered. “Because I’m pretty sure my therapist is strongly against house visits.” I looked around, and laughed. “Or bridge visits,” I corrected.

“That wouldn’t surprise me in the least,” he answered, a slight smile tugging at his lip. His arm curved around my shoulder as we made our way back to our vehicles. He stopped short, taking my hand in front of the driver’s side door.

“The next phone call I get from you will be a happy one,” he said with confidence.

“How can you be so sure?” I asked.

He squeezed my hand and smiled. “Because you are a survivor, Everly. You’ve been surviving one bad break or another ever since you were little. You will survive August Kincaid as well.”

I nodded, knowing he was right. Knowing I’d already taken the first steps. That agonizing pain in my gut that had doubled me over for weeks no longer ruled my life. Slowly, it had reduced itself to a dull throb that flared up from time to time.

And during those flare-ups, I would mourn.