Is someone’s entire existence reduced to their worst hour? The final moments of someone’s life?
I can’t help but think the human experience is more nuanced than that.
No part of me excuses any part of what my dad did. No part of me apologizes for the things he’s done. But sometimes I miss the good times we had before he ruined everything. And while I’ll never stop loathing him for the last hours of his life, a part of me can’t stop hating myself for still loving who he was before that day.
How can a good person miss a monster?
The conflicts physically churn in my stomach, making me nauseous.
It’s just a small part of why I try toneverrevisit the past.
Which, thanks to the two Grady brothers, is now swallowing me whole.
I head to Weston’s cabinet, grabbing a glass and filling it with water from the filtered pitcher next to the sink, then taking several gulps, practicing my breathing as I do.
It’ll take me a while to calm down, but in a day or two, I’ll be normal again. Back to pretending my past isn’t the specter over my shoulder no matter how fast or far I run. It’s not like I haven’t been going through this for fifteen years now.
I just need Weston not to fight my battles for me again.
After a moment of deep breaths I turn back to face him.
“I have a thing with men trying to defend me,” I admit. “I don’t want to get into it, okay? Just please don’t do that again. I’m not some delicate little flower that will get crushed without you. I’m strong and hard to fucking kill. I don’t need the macho bullshit.”
His gaze steadies on my eyes, tries to read me for everything I’m not saying, and he nods. Weston opens his arms and I fold myself into them, nuzzling into his chest as he wraps his strong arms around me.
“You got it, darlin’. I’ll be here if you need me though, okay?”
I nod against his chest, not having the strength to argue that point.
I won’t need him. I haven’t needed anyone but myself in all these years.
SEVENTEEN
WESTON
If the past week and a half is anything to go off of, my brother is somewhere on the pissed-off scale betweenno longer welcome at family dinnerstodisinvited from my niece’s future graduation.
According to the text I got last night, Wyatt’s notquitemad enough at me not to let me cover the shop for him while he’s gone.
Ticked off enough not to talk to me for a whole nine days, sure, but seems like his seasonal trips to the Big Apple for his wife are so important even his fuckup of a brother can’t derail them.
Guess I have seventeen or so years to get back into his mid-graces in time for the little one’s high school graduation then. It’s a tall order, based on the icy silence I’ve been blessed with ever since he walked in on the aftermath of the best blowie I’ve ever gotten in my life.
Though, I will say, one bonus of all of this is that Amelia and I can just betogether.
No bullshit, no hiding it.
Wyatt’s the only one who cared in the first place, his weird little obsession with keeping my dick dry, as Amelia puts it. Andwe haven’t had any more hiccups like that night, with Wyatt out of the picture. No more arguments between her and I either, just good times.
I was a little worried about how worked up she’d gotten after Wyatt walked in on us, but she’s back to normal and doesn’t want to talk about it, so I guess that’s that.
The best part is she’s been able to come over alot.Her flexible work schedule and me busting through my painting projects has been working in our favor lately.
The Heights isn’t quitedonedone, but it’s getting there. Soft opening of downtown is in just over a month. Grand opening with the whole shindig’s not until August, but everything should be open and operating as normal long before then. Most of the buildings downtown are fully ready at this point, and a bunch are already open to the public.
Which means my work here will be done before long.
With the amount of jobs I got given while here, shit, I could coast for close to a year, probably more, before needing to go find another gig.
