Chapter 2:
Lost It All
He’d had another
nightmare.
This was nothing
new. He’d relived those awful minutes nightly for a year after that night
and would always wake screaming for Baylee. It was only in the last
several months that the dreams had died down to two or three times a week.
This was the
fourth consecutive one this week.
Sitting on his
back deck, staring out over the ocean, he shivered in the warm breeze. He
could still hear the screech of rending metal, the smell of rubber burning, and
always, always Baylee’s screams that were always cut short. Too short.
Cupping his hands
around the mug of tea in his hands, he tried to draw warmth from the steaming
liquid. It seemed as though his bones were permanently encased in ice,
and, in two years, nothing had been able to penetrate the bone-deep cold he
carried inside.
His therapist had
told him that he needed to forgive himself before he could ask Brian for
forgiveness. That he would never recover if he didn’t accept the events
of that night and try to move forward.
What did she know?
He scowled into the orange-scented steam rising from between his hands.
Had she ever killed her best friend’s child? Had she ever made such a terrible
mistake, one that she would pay for throughout the rest of her miserable
existence?
Yeah, right.
He was utterly
alone and completely believed that he deserved to be so.
It didn’t matter
what his therapist said or what Leighanne—fuck him, Baylee’s mother had
forgiven him, so he was certain she was smoking something incredible these
days—told him. He tuned out whatever Kevin or Howie, even AJ, tried to
say with all of their platitudes.
Brian hadn’t
looked at him since the night he’d offered to take Baylee bowling, so the kid
wouldn’t be cooped up on the tour bus during the thunderstorm. Not once
had Brian come to see him in the aftermath, and Nick hadn’t been in any shape
to seek him out during the funeral.
Most days, it was
hard to look himself in the eyes, even in the mirror, but he wanted Brian to
look at him, to scream at him, to wish him dead, to do…something.
Anything. As long as it meant he could see Brian again.
He missed Brian
the way he’d miss his arm if he’d lost it. It throbbed in him daily, and
he hated seeing the sympathetic look on everyone’s faces whenever he asked
about his old friend and whether he was ever going to come see Nick.
“Nick?”
He turned his head
away from the ocean to the back door and managed a grim smile. “Hey,
Kate. How’s it going?”
“You tell me,” she
replied briskly as she walked to him, knelt, and looked directly into his
eyes. “You had another nightmare?” When Nick nodded, she frowned.
“They’re happening more than usual this week, aren’t they?”
Nick felt the
tears burning behind his eyes but didn’t let them fall. He didn’t deserve
to cry. “Today’s the anniversary,” he whispered. “Two years.”
Her lips firmed
into a line, and she nodded, her dark curls waving slightly in the ocean
breeze. “I see. Well, when you’re done with your tea, we should get
started for the day.” She pressed a hand to his shoulder in comfort.
“Don’t take too long, okay?”
When she
disappeared back inside, he sighed. Some days, he admitted to himself
that, if it wasn’t for Kate’s daily presence, he probably would’ve slit his
wrists by now. There was something about her no-nonsense attitude that
pushed him to make it through another day, even when he didn’t see a point in
continuing his miserable life.
He tossed back the
last of the now-cold tea, set the mug in his lap, and maneuvered his wheelchair
back into the house.
***