Chapter 9
Let It Go
Amberly
Friday, December 4th…
I sat in a pair of black leggings and an over-sized, long-sleeved shirt, staring at the muted television screen. A rerun of some reality show was playing. Tears coated my face in a clear, discreet liquid. I had told Cricket I needed today to myself, asking her if she would tell Adam I wasn’t feeling well. She knew the truth. She hadn’t kept track of the days like I had. She had thought today had come and gone and I had made it through without any setbacks. Days ago, she thought it had been a year already. It hadn’t and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t face anyone today. Thoughts of Haylie confiscated my mind, memories playing like a torture movie. The crash. Her body. Headlights lighting up the dark sky with flashes of lightening following. The sound of clashing metal and the smell of burnt rubber assaulted my ears and nose. There wasn’t escaping the anxiety I felt today, the one-year anniversary of the end to Haylie’s fight.
I had received a text message from Eric that morning. A simple, I miss you. I didn’t answer, instead parking my body in the living room that was void of comfort. I wrapped the blanket, a simple quilt I’d found at a garage sale, around me and waltzed to the bathroom connected to my bedroom. I started the hot water in my bathtub, a rush of it filling the bottom. When I let the blanket fall to my feet, I heard a knock on the front door. I ignored it and peeled my shirt off when the knock came again, not allowing me to pretend I hadn’t heard it the first time. I fumbled with my shirt, yanking it back down over my chest.
With a huff, I stomped my feet to the front door, opening it. Bryant stood, extending his hand that held a can of soup. His eyes scanned over me, in the most horrible state he could ever find me in, and he brought his hand back to his chest.
He cleared his throat and let his eyes fall down to his feet and then back up to meet my face. “Cricket said you weren’t feeling well.”
Uneasiness washed over me. I propped myself against the door frame. “I’m fine.” I lied, sweeping a hand over my face. I could feel the stickiness of the tears that’d been plaguing me all morning.
He shifted his weight, silence falling down on us.
“Come in.” I took notice of a few thin, plastic containers tucked into his opposite arm.
He obliged, turning to me when I shut the door. “Today is…” His words trailed off, sliding into the emptiness of the room.
I held in a sob. “Yeah.” I croaked, my voice somehow breaking on that one, single word. I felt weak that I couldn't even get one word out without it revealing all the emotions I had defeating my confidence.
We stared at each other, the only sound piercing through the awkward moment was that of running water.
“Shit!” I stumbled into the bathroom and shut the water off. It had reached an inch below the top of the tub.
I released the clip that’d been holding my hair up, cringing at my reflection in the mirror. My face was red, my eyes swollen with hopelessness. I fluffed my hair out before shaking my head. I didn’t care what I looked like. I had a right to look like shit one day out of the year.
I approached Bryant who had sat the can of soup on the kitchen counter and spread the containers across the coffee table. Disks sat in them. “Sorry, I was just fixing to jump in the bathtub.” I mumbled, pointing my thumb over my shoulder towards my bedroom.
Bryant’s eyes were guarded with a baseball cap, a firefighter emblem stitched into the front. He wore a gray shirt, the sleeves tight around his biceps. He adjusted his cap, pulling it down a little further than it was. “I was on a call and decided to drop by when I saw you hadn’t come into work this morning.” He cleared his throat, his footsteps starting for the door. “I’ll go.”
Had I ever seen Bryant in a hat? No, I don’t think so. God, he looked incredible. Too incredible. I wanted to use him to drown my sorrows away. I wanted him to make me forget. If I wasn't careful he would be my next addiction.
My arms were folded, creating heat across my chest that I was desperate for. Without thinking, I stuck an arm out. “You don’t have to.” I spoke with an air of confidence that was borrowed, not my own.
“I brought you some soup and movies. I figured if you were sick you’d want something to pass the time with.” He swallowed, wiping a hand across the area between his nose and top lip.
“Thanks. On a call?” I asked, curiosity seeping into me.
I hadn’t known that Bryant worked for the fire department, but the hat, covering his half inch of dark brown hair, revealed this detail about him.
He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Grass fire. A couple of teenagers set a field on fire this morning. I got the page while I was at work, figured I would drop by to see if you needed anything before I headed back to the shop.”
“I don’t.” The words spit forward without my ability to retract them. They’d been delivered much harsher than I intended. “Thank you though.” I tried, struggling to recover from my slip up.
Bryant held up three fingers. “I’ll pick you up.”
“What?”
“Number one, I pay for your meal. Number two, no messy eating. And,” he paused before shrugging, “number three is I’ll pick you up when I ask you out on a date.”
I smiled and felt myself relax. Bryant had been busy all week, not once naming off another ‘dating rule’. I had felt like he’d forgotten about it so the pressure of us going on a date seemed to dissipate.
“Number four is no dressing up.” I added to the list, loving the feeling of the light conversation. Three rules remained unless he added another one.
“So, no button-up shirts?” One of his eyebrows lifted up.
I considered it for a moment, my mind doing its best to conjure up the image of him in a button-up shirt. “You can wear whatever you want, I’m not dressing up.”
Dresses weren’t my choice of clothing. If I had to dress up, I kept it simple with jeggings and a nice top. Sometimes, I wore heels and other times flats were my footwear. I hoped, despite my casual mention of leaving the choice to him, he would opt for a button-up shirt.
“Fair enough. Uh…” he walked to the coffee table and picked up the DVDs, “I didn’t know what kind of movies you would like so I got a few.” He pulled a title from the list and sat the rest of them down. “I’m going to take this one back.”
I inched his way, tugging the dvd down so I could see it. The Fault In Our Stars. I eased it out of his grip. “I haven’t seen this one.”
“Glutton for punishment?” He asked.
I let my fingertips trace over the title, protected by the plastic case. “I guess I’m not done crying.”
He nodded, lifting his head up enough to where I could see his eyes. The brown in them was softer, fitting perfectly with his gray shirt. “I’ll put it in for you.” He offered.
I unfolded a blanket that was on the back of the couch and sat down, letting it float down to my legs. I watched him as he stuck the DVD in and switched the channel. His movements caused his shirt to tighten around him, the muscles in his back presenting themselves. Bryant was a bigger man, with plenty of muscle to offset any kind of weight gain. He reached nearly six feet, which put into perspective how short I was. I wasn’t sure if it was the way he looked at me or any of his other physical attributions, but I was curious about Bryant Kessler. I wanted to be next to him for whatever reason. That was a bad thing, but I couldn't control it.
When the movie started, he made his way to me, kneeling by the couch. “You have my number, if you need anything, text me.”
I contemplated my next move. Being around Bryant gave me a sense of weird relief. I wanted him to stay for no particular reason. “Adam needs you?” It was an invite for him to stay, without me saying it.
“Not really. It’s slow today. Do you want me to sit with you?”
I didn’t answer and was somewhat sure I didn’t even nod. Still, he lifted himself and turned to sit on the couch. He scooted to the side, lifting my feet and laying them over his lap. He pushed my leggings up an inch or two and glided his fingertips across my skin. I shivered from his touch, feeling it deep in my spine.
His head turned and he peered over at me, the emotions on his face unreadable. I felt my breath catch.
“What happened?”
I needed to talk about it. If not to a therapist, someone. Cricket let me talk to an extent, figuring taking my mind off it would be more therapeutic than reliving the moment over and over. It had worked since I gave myself permission to grieve Haylie, truly grieve her, two days out of the year. Her birthday and the day she found her place in heaven.
With a steady breath, I told him the story. I told him how the other driver had been intoxicated but the crash had been ruled accidental due to a malfunction in the brake system. I told him a field sobriety test was done, and anyone within a five-foot radius could see the other drive had been inebriated. I recited that day verbatim, leaving nothing to the imagination. There were details I missed because I couldn’t remember, whether the driver of the other vehicle was man or woman, what the other cars make and model was. His expression changed throughout, sadness sweeping through his eyes like an unrelenting cyclone.
“Why didn’t you demand an investigation?” He inquired, his fingertips keeping their motions.
My breaths came slow. I couldn’t concentrate. Not when he was touching me like that.
I let my head fall back against the arm of the couch. “That was the last thing on my mind. I suppose I cared more about my daughter living than revenge at the time.”
"And now?"
I had the sudden desire to scoot forward and ask him to lay down behind me. I didn't though. Not because I didn't want to but because I was scared I would like it too much if he did.
"Now I want whoever is responsible to pay for what they did. I can't bring Haylie back but I can fight for justice."
“You could still ask that everything from that day be reevaluated.”
All the energy I had for crying slowed down more and more as he spoke. “Really?”
He moved closer, relocating his fingers to my lower back. I suppressed a moan, but my body reacted to him. It betrayed me in the best way.
“I think so. I’ll have my buddy look into it.”