Chapter Twenty-Five
Windsor
Present Day
I have had the dream too many times to count. The elaborate church is filled with people all wearing black in some form or another. I’m in the middle of the aisle walking toward the front, kind of like what happens during a wedding. Except it’s a black veil that hides my face, and no one turns to look as I pass by the pews. Their eyes remain forward, staring, weeping…trying to come to terms with their grief. I walk the long length alone, my gaze trained on the dark wooden coffin highlighted by a single spotlight. White flowers surround it like they’re trying to hide the ugly truth. During the dream my chest hurts and my breathing never comes easy. Though I’m crying, my face is never tearstained. My high heels echo on the hard floor, the only noise other than the wails of anguish that break out every couple seconds.
I never understand the magnitude of my loss until I reach the coffin. I fall to my knees and that’s when the tears come, wild and fierce and unstoppable. I lift my face to the ceiling and scream. The pain is unbearable. The loss cuts me inside and outside, and sears every good thing about my being. Resting my hands on the side of the sleek wood, I ask for another chance. I beg for another opportunity to do it all over while simultaneously thanking God for the time I did have. The pain of heartbreak is different when it comes hand-in-hand with death. There isn’t an option of maybe sometime in the future, and second chances don’t exist. This was of course, just a dream.
I sit in the very back choking on the memories of my nightmare as I watch Morganna Sterns, powerhouse, walk to the front of the church, tears streaming down her face so quickly that she wouldn’t be able to stop them if she wanted to. They’re the uncontrollable kind of tears that have a mind of their own. They won’t stop until you’re dehydrated or finally pass out from exhaustion. Her flat-soled shoes don’t echo and she doesn’t bother with a veil. Morganna is fractured, irretrievably broken by Stone’s death. Maverick is by her side, holding her up, forcing her forward, toward the coffin. This is their reality. It’s also the first time I’ve seen Maverick since the hospital. My stomach flips, without my permission. It’s weird to be in love with someone who almost seems like a stranger.
I haven’t spoken to Morganna since she invited me to the funeral. I didn’t find out about Stone’s death until after I got home from the fateful trip to the hospital to visit Maverick…and his wife. Morganna explained away the marriage easily, almost too easily, and I wondered what she got out of confessing these things. Surely breaking confidentiality isn’t something she makes a habit of.
I’m not sure why I haven’t called Maverick or why he hasn’t called me. It doesn’t matter. I know the man I love is gone. Sure, he may be somewhere inside, but his life song is altered indefinitely. People come into your life for different reasons. Some give you something you didn’t know you ever needed. Others take things you didn’t know you should give. Stone gave Maverick love. What happens to a person when the only person who gives you unending love dies? I don’t know specifics. I’m not sure exactly how he died. I know they were together.
An older pair with silver streaked hair stand and hug both Morganna and Maverick. Phillipe leans over and whispers, “Stone’s parents.”
Maverick’s back is to me, a fact I’m thankful for. I’m not sure what seeing his grief will do to me. Distancing myself from him has been hard enough. I’m sure I’ll crack any day and forgive him for lying about his wife. Part of me thinks that it won’t be enough. That some other unspoken grievance hangs over us. The urge to comfort him is overwhelming. Why doesn’t he want me to do that for him? I respect Morganna enough to not hassle her for details. Keeping my distance is the only way I know how to react.
Kathy visited me for a few days after I came home from the hospital. We got along, surprisingly. I think it was because she sympathized with my plight. Or was happy she was right about Maverick. Whatever the reason, she was there for me in a way that still confuses me. Although she did leave after she got a phone call from Bill, number five, because he wanted to come back home. She wanted to be there when he got back from whatever “vacation” he claimed to be on. She didn’t listen to me when I told her that’s not what love is about. Spouses don’t just leave and return whenever they please. She responded by shoving my life’s mistakes back into my face. I obviously didn’t know what love was either, or I wouldn’t have fallen for a married man. My mom has me so delusional that I honestly question whether she’s right. A person, who loves you doesn’t just stop talking to you during a time of need. If anything they need you more. My mind plays awful tricks on me. I hope Maverick comes around.
I’ve planned what I want to say to Maverick a million times and changed it a billion more. I remember when my Dad died everyone said the same things to me because there are certain things that must be said. Not because they mean them. It’s because it’s what they think they’re supposed to say. Some higher power dictates that. They hugged me awkwardly, and told me how sorry they were for my loss. I’m not sure if I hated them more or less for their hollow words. I play by the rules, so I had to respect that they were doing what they were supposed to do. Deep down I wanted to scream for everyone to fucking shut up and tell me what was really on their minds. My sensibilities won over today, and I compiled a few generic sentences to say to Maverick if I run into him. I don’t want to make him even more upset than he already is. If possible, I want to be a neutral element in his messed up world. The impossibly cruel heartache I have over his whopper of a lie takes a backseat to Stone. Death always has a miserable way of showing you what is really important. I wonder if I promised never to take anything for granted if the grim reaper would be less nasty. Probably not.
I hold Gretchen’s hand the entire service. Funny photos of Maverick and Stone flash across a huge screen. They make me happy and undauntedly sad at the same time. From the time they were children right up until the second he took his last breath, it’s obvious that Stone loved Maverick like family…like a brother.
I cringe when Maverick walks to stand on the stage, the microphone in front of him like a weapon. He puts his hands on his hips, accentuating his much too small waist. His black uniform would look like sex-in-cotton-polyester-blend on any other occasion. Not right now, though. I cover my mouth as a sob escapes before he even says a word.
“Stone wouldn’t want a lot of fanfare. Actually, I know he didn’t because he told me so. He did want everyone to know that you shouldn’t feel sorry for him, or say his life was cut too short. He lived. Oh, he lived. It may not be a full life compared to the average person, but his life was complete. And Stone was anything but average.” Maverick clears his throat and stares straight ahead, his gaze focused on something high above our heads. “He had a life many would kill to have. He loved his job. He loved his wife even more,” Maverick says, finally searching the sea of faces to find Morganna. I let my eyes fall to my lap. The sadness in his eyes when he looks at her is palpable. He goes on, “Thomas Sterns was a hero in every sense of the word. His honor and his love for his country is why, in his darkest hour, I am alive today. I could say that it was a debt for his country, or that he died doing something he was trained to do, but that would be a lie.”
I watch his neck work, as he swallows. “Thomas…Stone died so that I could live. It sounds so selfish when I say it out loud. Like he chose me over his life. Over his wife…and over his career, but his act of selflessness shouldn’t be undermined by my own feelings. He died so his brother could live. Every day I wake up and take a deep breath, it’s because he is no longer breathing.” Maverick balls a fist and brings it up to cover his mouth, his eyes wilting in the corners as he silently breaks down.
He looks down to the coffin. “You saved me more times than I can count, brother,” he whispers, though it still echoes in the church. “I love you, Stone. We all do.” He walks off the stage and finds his place next to Morganna. She envelops him in her arms. I’m thankful they have each other.
It’s all I can be thankful for.
A memory is resilient enough to destroy the strongest individual. So much so, that nothing is left in its wake. Complete and total annihilation form in remembrance. Kathy’s words about remembering ring true, in this specific scenario. I wonder how much longer I can fault her actions. I wonder if I should have ever faulted her. Because when I see what a single memory is capable of all I feel is guilt…and pity.
The lights dim and the spotlight on the casket gleaming with golden trident pins is the solitary focus. All of Stone’s teammates banged their tridents into the lid out of respect. Maverick openly weeps, his face covered by both of his hands.
About those memories? Nothing but destruction.
*****
I didn’t approach Maverick at the funeral. I hugged Morganna and told her to call me during a lull when Maverick was with the other guys. I’m a coward at best. I snuck out of the church and cried all the way home while Gretchen drove. I haven’t cried in public like that for a while. I don’t let myself cry for Maverick anymore. At least not in the relationship sense. I used up all the sympathy cards with Nash. No one should have to deal with Windsor’s broken heart ever again. So, I don’t let anyone know just how much I’m hurting. Today, I let the floodgates open because seeing the type of pain Maverick and Morganna are in is terrible. Mav once told me that funerals are commonplace in his community. He said most of the time he didn’t know the person that well, but sometimes he did. He said you try not to be affected by death outwardly, that you deal with it and move on. Because who wants to have a job that has an expiration date? That’s scary, and I don’t care who you are or how much you bench press. Doom and gloom constantly take a toll on morale.
Goose greets me when I push through the door. I pick up my fuzzy dog and retreat to my room. I glance at the cards on my table. The week after Maverick sent a bunch of flowers, he had cards sent. Each one was valid for a long weekend away with him. I was so excited when I got those cards. Fate had other ideas. Fate is a bitch.
“Call him,” Gretchen says from my doorway.
I kick off my shoes, shaking my head. “I don’t even know what to say. I’m not sure what we are anymore.”
“Even more reason to call him.”
I shrug my shoulders. It would be the polite thing to do. Somehow I know he won’t answer anyway. I pick up my phone and pull up my speed dial. I hit number one, because I refuse to remove him from that spot, and tap his name. It rings once, and then again.
Phillipe’s voice says, “Maverick’s phone.” I scrunch up my brows and look at the phone. I definitely dialed Maverick and not Morganna.
“Windsor? Hello, Windsor?” Phillipe prompts.
“Yeah, I’m here. Why do you have his phone?” I ask.
“I’m fielding calls for both Mr. Hart and Morganna now. Do you want to leave a message?”
I shake my head. “Yeah, tell him Windsor called and that I want to…,” I stutter. “Just tell him Windsor called.” I can’t force myself to utter the generic condolences. Phillipe voices noise of approval and I imagine him scribbling my name down on his pad of power. “That was so damn weird,” I tell Gretchen.
Gretchen sighs. “Go to his house to talk to him in person. He’s not giving you much of a choice.”
I widen my eyes, already shaking my head no. “No way in hell.” Gretchen doesn’t say another word. She leaves my room, clicking the door closed.
Feeling sorry for Maverick and myself, I fall asleep crying, Goose licking my face the entire time. I wake several hours later to a pitch black room and my phone buzzing next to me.
Maverick’s handsome face is on the screen, signaling his call. I hit the green answer button quickly and pull the phone to my ear. I hear Maverick breathing on the other end and it surprises me. I guess I expected Phillipe to pass along a message.
“Hello,” I croak out. Maverick sighs long, and hard. “Are you there?”
“Yeah. I got a message you called today,” he slurs. “And I just wanted to call you back to tell you…I got your message.”
Maverick is completely shit faced. I’ve never heard him like this. While it warms me everywhere just hearing his voice, I know he probably won’t even remember talking to me or calling me in the morning. “Are you okay, Maverick?” I realize how freaking stupid the question is the second I speak it.
“No,” he whispers simply.
“Do you want me to come over? I figured you wanted space…you haven’t reached out since…you know,” I say. I palm my forehead. I sound like an idiot.
I hear liquid splashing and then he coughs. “I called to tell you not to call anymore.”
“Okay. That’s counterproductive; you could have just ignored the message, like you’ve ignored me for the past few weeks. I’m not stupid. I’d understand what that meant. I know you’re hurting Maverick. I forgive you for lying about your wife. I wanted you to know that. Morganna explained everything. I forgive you and I miss you,” I say, pushing Goose off my face for the thousandth time since I answered the phone. Maverick laughs bitterly. I sit straight up in bed—dread filling my stomach.
“You forgive me?” he rasps, coughing once again. He is absolutely sloshing drunk. “Well, I don’t forgive you.”
“What?” I yell. “I know you’re drunk, Maverick. I can smell it through the freaking phone. You aren’t making any sense.” He cuts me off with another laugh.
“You killed him,” he says. I hear him take a pull from a bottle. “I don’t forgive you, Windsor. Don’t leave messages anymore.” As he says the last sentence he sounds stone cold sober.
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone screen for several long seconds before putting it down and pulling Goose into my lap again. I’d like to think he’s just drunk and talking crazy, but deep down I truly believe he thinks his accusations are truth. Who am I to tell him he’s wrong. I fall asleep for the second time in one day with tears streaming down my face.
It will be the last time I let myself cry over Thomas Maverick Hart. Tomorrow I plan to move on with my life, knowing I made another mistake. This time though? I’ll learn from it.