Brody laughs and shakes his head at me. “First, you didn’t say no. Second, I’m feeling a little emasculated after that beautiful showdown, but I’ve never been prouder to say, ‘that girl’s mine … I think.’”
“You think?”
“Is this real? You and I?” he asks.
“You and me?” I correct him with a snicker.
“Me and you. Us. We—just like this.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Brody.”
“Good, now open the bag.”
I close my eyes and pull in a sharp breath before reaching into the bag, feeling the cool glass of a bourbon bottle slide across my fingertips. “I should have figured,” I say.
“What is it?”
I pull the bottle out, and Brody turns the overhead lights on. I study the bottle—the unfamiliar with the name of the bourbon. I know every type Dad ever made, but never a type called Bourbon on the Rocks. It’s a good drink. I know that, but it isn’t the name of a bourbon—not our bourbon. I twist the bottle around, finding a description typed onto the label. I read it out loud:
My Journey - this brand of Quinn Bourbon is all yours. It’s the gift to set you free, the gift to give you hope, a gift to celebrate the start of a new beginning. This bottle isn’t meant for consumption. This bottle is intended to let you release your pain without creating more. Go to where it hurts the most and set the bourbon free. When this bottle is empty, you will be able to refill it with stories of new adventures, memories, and moments worth saving in words. The bourbon will seep into the cracks and crevices of this world and forever be the reminder of the anguish you set free. Continue to love, continue to give, continue to hold onto what’s important, but there’s plenty of room for more because your journey has barely begun, sweetheart. Move forward and keep going. I promise you there are enough bottles with your name on it. The bottles are covered with enough words of wisdom to last you the life you have to live without me.
My heart aches—the raw pain of knowing what it is I have to do. Dad knows the place that hurts me the most. He knows forgiveness for myself is not something I can accomplish alone. He always called me his strong girl—his warrior, but this is my weakness. Letting go and accepting fate is extremely hard. He wouldn’t want to see the tears, so I try my hardest not to cry. But, the burn is there. I feel the need to fall to pieces and scream into oblivion until the core of my body feels hollow. I’ve kept it all inside like a shaken carbonated liquid, ready to explode.
I exhale through pursed lips, calming myself from the truthful words.
Brody gives me the time I need to compose myself. “It’s okay to be mad and to feel the pain of what you’ve lived through, but he’s right.”
“The road I told you not to go down,” I say, my words barely forming a whisper. “It’s where I need to be.” Brody locks his gaze to my face, waiting for me to say never mind or take me home. “Please.”
“All you have to do is say the word, and I will pull over and turn around, okay?”
I nod, agreeing to his offer.
The ride takes about fifteen minutes until we pull off the exit I avoid. “It’s a mile ahead on the right.” The truck is quiet, and I can hardly hear the engine above the heavy beats of my heart. My eyes are closed when the truck comes to a stop. The dirt on the side of the road crushes sharply beneath the tires, and bile threatens to rise in my throat. “I feel sick.”
“You will be okay. Try pouring out the bottle instead this time,” Brody says. He’s out of the truck before I have found the handle. Brody opens my door and offers me his hand. I never take a hand. I do things the hard way. This feels better. He squeezes his hand around mine and walks me toward the ledge. “You don’t have to look.”
My breaths grow heavier and faster. “I have to.”
I slowly open my eyes, finding the same pile of rocks that have survived damage, debris, cold, hot, floods, and tears. My hand is shaking furiously, so Brody wraps his hand around the neck of the bottle and loosens the top. “Come on. You’re strong enough to do this.”
I remove the cap and place it in my pocket, then hold my arm out in front of me and slowly tip the bottle, feeling the contents spill out. The sound of a trickle becomes a splash, then droplets, one after another. The bottle is empty, light in my hand, free of the burning substance that has been waiting to be released.
I swallow hard and take a few deep breaths, feeling the sensation of nausea pass. I stare up at the stars and speak out loud, “Okay, it’s empty.”
My foot slips on the rock I’m standing on and tumble down the hill a couple of feet. I land on my butt, knocking the wind out of my lungs.
“Journey!” Brody shouts, making his way down after me.
“I’m okay.” I press my hands into the rocks on both sides of me and stare down into the dark cavern.
“Are you sure?” Brody sits down beside me and places his hand on my knee.
“Yeah,” I say, twisting my head to look at him. As my gaze scans across the rocks, something glistening catches my eye. It’s a few more feet down. “Do you see that?”
“What?” Brody asks, looking around.
“Hold this,” I say, handing Brody the empty Bourbon bottle. I carefully lower myself a couple more feet, careful not to go too close to the ledge. I see the glistening object again and reach into the crevice, feeling metal touch my fingertips. I press my hand in farther, feeling the scrape of the sharp edges against my hands. “There’s something here.”
