But without him, it wasn’t peace. It was just a tomb.
“Do you think you want kids?”I had asked him that morning.
“I think so,”he had said.“I think I’d be a good dad.”
A sob threatened to tear out of my throat, but I swallowed it down, tasting bile. I looked back at the photo. At the boy who wanted to retire to the trees with me.
I had saved him. That’s what I told myself every single day. I had saved him from the ruin of my family name. I had saved him from the politics that would have buried him.
But looking at the photo, I didn’t feel like a savior. I felt like a thief.
I stared at it for a long time, memorizing the curve of his shoulder, the light in his eyes. Then, I placed it at the very bottom of the box, face down.
I put the lid back on and shoved it into the darkest corner of the closet, behind a stack of my grandfather’s old flannel shirts.
Stay dead, I told the memories, wiping my face with the back of my hand.Please, just stay dead.
YEAR FOUR - THE REED LAND, NORTH CAROLINA
Now playing: Pink Skies - Zach Bryan
Mygrandfatherpassedinhis sleep.
It wasn't a tragedy, he was ninety, and he was ready, but the aftermath left me reeling in a way I hadn't expected. He left the house to me.
Suddenly, I wasn't just a guest sleeping in the spare room. I was the owner.
I walked through the empty halls at night. The house creaked and settled, the timber groaning under the weight of a century of weather. It sounded like footsteps. I felt like a ghost haunting my own life.
The ghosts of my dad’s childhood were here. The ghosts of my uncle’s demons were in the walls. And now, the ghost of the career I threw away moved in with me.
I sat in his old leather armchair in the living room, staring at the blank wall, waiting for a feeling that never came. I didn't know how to grieve him. I realized, with a jolt of panic, that I didn't know how to grieve anything anymore.
I was just empty space.
YEAR FIVE - THE REED LAND, NORTH CAROLINA
Now playing: Ghost Of You - 5 Seconds Of Summer
“Youfixedtheporch,”Evan said, leaning back in the rocking chair. The wood groaned under his weight, muscle weight now, not just bulk. He looked different than the kid I knew. He was wealthy. Famous. He carried himself like a guy who knew his worth.
“Yeah,” I said, staring at the condensation sweating down the side of my iced tea glass. “Replaced the boards in April. Sanded it down. Painted it. Trying to make it… mine.”
It was high summer in North Carolina. The air was so thick with humidity you could practically drink it, and the sound of cicadas was a deafening buzz in the trees.
Evan took a long pull from his beer. He had driven hours from Charlotte just to sit here for an hour.
“So,” Evan said, trying to sound casual, though he was bad at it. He picked at the label of his bottle. “How’s Amanda?”
“She’s good,” I said automatically. It was the script I used with my dad. With Scott. With everyone. “She’s a trauma nurse, so she gets the weird hours. She’s kind. Grounded. Completely removed from wrestling.”
“That sounds… healthy,” Evan said.
“It is,” I insisted. “It’s easy. She doesn’t ask me about spots. She doesn’t ask me about the industry. We just watch movies and eat takeout.”
Evan nodded, but his eyes were sad. He wasn’t buying it. He looked at me, at the hollows under my eyes, the way I was gripping the glass too tight, and he knew I was playing a role.
We sat in silence for a long moment, watching a hawk circle the field.
