11
GABE STOOD AT the door of his apartment, hesitant to go inside. Dread coiled tight and heavy in his chest. It was like a black hole, sucking out any joy and contentment he’d been able to find and leaving nothing but a darkness so black it could engulf him completely. There had been a time that it had. For about a year after the accident, that black hole had swallowed him entirely. He’d barely been able to fight his way to the surface, but with therapy and intense workouts, he’d been able to find a new normal. But there were days when it came back, swallowing him up again. There were only three of those days a year now, when no matter what he did he couldn’t stop the grief that tore through him.
The day he’d married Natalie, the day Mason was born, and the day he’d buried them.
Today would’ve been Mason’s eighth birthday. The memories flooded him no matter how he worked himself to exhaustion. They took over and he felt guilty if he even tried to stop them. He was alive. His family wasn’t. The least he could do was remember them, even if it hurt like hell.
He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, fanning the ache in his chest. Slipping his key in the lock, he pushed open the door and turned on the lamp. Usually coming home after a grueling workout felt good, but today there were too many ghosts here. He let his gaze move from the neatly kept granite countertops in the kitchen to the chair and sofa in the living room, as if he might see one of those ghosts waiting for him. With a sigh, he tossed his gym bag onto the floor by the door, toed his shoes off, and walked to the kitchen.
He took the carton of food marked Tuesday from the fridge and tossed it into the microwave, not bothering to check the label. Despite running five miles that morning and again that afternoon, a long sparring session with a training partner, and some time with the free weights, Gabe wasn’t hungry. All he wanted was to go to bed, but he knew he needed nutrition or he’d feel even worse tomorrow. He ran his hand through his hair, still damp from his shower at the gym, and leaned against the counter, completely drained. Because even though he’d spent the day punishing his body, it hadn’t been enough to stop the ache in his heart.
Nothing ever was.
The microwave dinged and he gingerly took out the hot container and dropped it onto the counter. Before he could dig in, his cell phone rang. He wasn’t surprised to see his mom’s name on the screen. She always remembered the special days. “Hey, Mom.” He’d wanted to let it go to voice mail, pretend he was in the shower and he’d never heard it, but he couldn’t. She’d lost them too.
“Gabe!” She sounded pleasantly surprised that he’d answered. “I’m so glad you picked up. I called earlier and it went straight to voice mail.”
He’d seen that she’d called and hadn’t had the heart to call her back. She was calling to check on him, and as much as he loved her, he didn’t want to talk about Natalie and Mason. Not today. He still didn’t understand how she could bring them up so easily, as if it didn’t tear her apart to talk about them. “Busy day. Buck had me sparring with a new guy who put up a fight.”
“I hope you weren’t too hard on him.” But she eagerly added, “Did you crucify him?” There was no mistaking the pride in her voice. She really had no idea what his training was like, but she had always been supportive, even when he’d been a kid and she’d covered her eyes as she watched him at karate tournaments.
“No, I save that for real fights. How was the cruise?” She and her new husband, Brian, had gone on a cruise after Christmas. Standing at the kitchen counter, he ate his dinner as she told him some of the highlights.
Finally, she said, “Natalie’s parents stopped by earlier.” Then she abruptly stopped talking. “Sorry, sweetie, I didn’t mean to bring that up . . . yet.”
He swallowed thickly, forcing down the acrid taste of the dread cloying at him. He should ask what they wanted, or at least act like a normal person who didn’t die a little inside every time her name was mentioned. “It’s okay. What did they want?” He kept his voice calm, his words measured.
“Lindsay is getting married this summer, and they want us to come to the wedding.”
He closed his eyes against the ache swelling in his chest. Lindsay had been a senior in high school when he and Natalie had gotten married. Though Natalie was four years older than her sister, they’d been very close, and Lindsay had been her maid of honor. It didn’t seem right that she was old enough to get married, but shit, she’d be . . . Jesus, she’d be in her late twenties now.
A strange combination of anger and despair came over him. He was angry that Natalie wasn’t here to be part of it. He was unreasonably angry that life could move on without her, that Lindsay could move on and have this whole other life that Natalie knew nothing about. She’d met a man, gotten engaged, and was planning a wedding. Pretty soon she’d have a kid or two and Natalie wouldn’t know them. His hand started shaking, and he realized it was because he was holding the phone in a death grip.
“Gabe . . . are you okay?” His mom’s voice wavered, and he knew she was reacting to his silence, trying to hold back her own pain to be strong for him.
“Yeah.” But it was a lie. He wasn’t okay. He’d never be okay again.
“What do you think I should tell them, sweetie?”
“I don’t . . .” He paused and forced a level breath to keep the pain back. “I don’t think I can do that.” Natalie and Lindsay had always looked so alike. He couldn’t go and watch a version of Natalie walk down the aisle. He couldn’t go and be around people who’d loved her, knowing that he was the one who’d taken her from them.
“The Walterses love you very much. They watch all of your WFC fights.” She paused, and when he didn’t answer, she said, “They’re very proud of you, and I think it would mean a lot to them.”
He still didn’t understand how they could love him. Despite the therapy, despite the way they had hugged him at the funeral, despite the years since that horrible accident, there was one thing that couldn’t be changed—Natalie and Mason might be alive if it weren’t for him. If someone else besides him had been at the wheel, or maybe if he’d been paying closer attention and seen that semi a second sooner, they’d still be alive. But he’d been driving and he hadn’t seen the trailer it was towing start to wobble until it was too late. He hadn’t reacted fast enough to keep them from driving off that overpass. When he’d woken up in the hospital, they’d been gone.
As if she’d read his mind, she said quietly, “No one blames you for what happened. You know that.”
“You’ve told me that before,” he answered. But he blamed himself. Not as much as before, but enough that he knew he didn’t deserve a second chance to get it right. “Look, I’ve gotta go. I had a long day.”
She sighed, and he knew she could tell he was trying to get out of a difficult conversation. “Okay, but will you promise to think about it? It’s months away, and I think it’d do you some good. Give you some closure.”
Although he knew the answer would be no no matter how long he thought about it, he decided to placate her. “Yeah, I’ll think about it.”
“Okay, thank you.” She let out a breath. “I’ve been thinking about you today. I still remember getting that call in the middle of the night eight years ago, and you telling me that Natalie was in labor.”
He gritted his teeth, fighting back a lance of pain that stabbed him right in his chest. How could there be a smile in her voice as she remembered the night Mason was born? Gabe didn’t understand. Every year he hoped that he’d find a little bit of the happiness she got from the memories, but the joy never came. Only ever pain. Sorrow. Grief and loss.
“Mom . . . I can’t do this now.” He managed to force the words past a throat that wanted to seal itself shut. To distract himself, he tossed his fork in the sink and threw the empty food carton in the trash.
She was silent for a minute before she said, “I understand. I have to go anyway. Brian and I are going to a movie.”
He rubbed his chest, stuffing down the jealousy that she was somehow able to live a normal life. “Have fun. I’ll talk to you later.”
She was quiet again before saying, “I worry about you, Gabe. I hope you know you can talk to me.”
“Please don’t worry. I’m just tired. I’ll talk to you later,” he said again and almost hung up, but felt like an asshole. “Thanks for calling, Mom,” he added.
“I love you, sweetie.” Then the line went silent.
He put his phone on the counter and opened the cabinet where he kept a bottle of scotch. Pouring three fingers in a glass, he downed it. It burned going down, but that burn was nothing like the ragged pain of his loss. He’d laid off alcohol a lot over the past few years, limiting himself to the occasional drink. But tonight called for more than one. He needed that comforting numbness. Picking up the bottle and the glass, he set them down on the coffee table and went to his closet to get his shoe box of mementos. When he got back to the couch, he poured more scotch in the glass and drank a few swallows before opening the box.
He already knew what he’d find inside. It was his ritual to look at them on those three days every year. His way of honoring them, holding them close and cherishing them, even though they were gone. The picture on top was his favorite. It was the three of them about a month before the accident. His mom had taken it one day when they’d all gone to the beach. It was a casual picture, not posed. They were sitting on a blanket watching three-year-old Mason playing in the sand. He was oblivious to their adoring smiles. Natalie had reached over and put her hand on Gabe’s shoulder, her fingers twirling in his hair, though he hadn’t let it grow long then. It was something she’d done all the time.
Beneath that was a picture of them in the hospital the morning after Mason had been born. Despite being exhausted, Natalie looked beautiful. Her dark blond hair was in a loose ponytail as she smiled at the tiny baby in her arms. Gabe was smiling down at both of them, an arm around her holding her close. He’d felt on top of the world that day. Little had he known that he’d only have a few more years with them. He shuffled through the rest of the photos. There were several wedding pictures, along with random ones Natalie had taken of him and Mason.
He finally settled on one of his baby boy. Natalie had taken him to one of those photo studios in the mall, and in the picture, he sat on a wooden horse, his chubby baby cheeks dimpled as he smiled at the camera. His curls bounced as he pretended to ride. When he closed his eyes, Gabe could still hear the squeals of his laughter filling up their small apartment. And he remembered waking up with that tiny arm over his waist, because once they’d moved him from his crib to his racecar bed, he’d started finding his way into their bed more and more often.
He sucked in an aching breath. He hated these days as much as he morbidly looked forward to them. The memories were good ones of happier times, but they always came with so much pain.
He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there when his phone rang, jolting him out of his memories. Wiping a stray tear from his cheek, he moved the box to the side and stood to get the phone off the counter. The room tilted, and he realized how much he’d drunk. A glance at the bottle confirmed that it was about half-gone.
His heart pounded against his ribs when he saw Megan’s name. He was annoyed that she was calling him but also weirdly . . . relieved. They hadn’t spoken since he’d left her sleeping in their room at the Palms. He’d wanted to stay, which was why he’d left without even saying good-bye.
His phone continued to ring, and he thought about letting it go to voice mail, but then he reached for it. She’d been on his mind every day since their night. Not even a week had passed and he’d already been thinking about ways to talk to her again, to see her, even though he knew it was a bad idea. But she was so full of light and sweetness, and fuck, he needed some of that right now.
“Hi, Megan.”
“Gabe. Hi, how are you?” Her voice was unnaturally light, as if she was nervous.
Nevertheless, the sound of it was like a balm to his pain. Somehow just hearing it made him feel a little better. “I’m okay.” A lie, but what else could he say? He sat on a stool at the breakfast bar, unsteady on his feet. “You?”
“I’m, yeah, I’m good.” She took in a breath and a silence fell between them. “I’m calling because my editor at Mosaic really liked the first article. He says it’s gotten a great response from our readers, and he’d like me to do another interview with you. It’d be a great way for you to reach out to your fans. What do you think?”
Gabe wasn’t interested in opening up about his reasons for fighting any more than he already had. He’d read the article, read a few of the comments, so he knew she’d want to dig deeper this time. He’d already dodged all those questions once, and after everything they’d shared, he had a feeling he’d have a harder time saying no to Megan again. “I think we covered everything the first time around.”
“Oh . . .” She sounded so disappointed. He was afraid she might hang up and then he wouldn’t have a reason to talk to her again. His sluggish brain scrambled for some way to keep the conversation going.
“I read your article. It was good.” He winced at his rusty conversation skills.
“Thanks. That means a lot coming from you.”
“You’re wrong, though. There’s nothing more to me than what you see.” He frowned at the way the words ran together.
“Gabe . . . are you okay? You sound . . . different.”
He glanced at the bottle of scotch sitting across the room. He’d tried to keep his voice steady so she wouldn’t know he was drunk. He let out a long sigh. “It’s been a rough day.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Anything you want to talk about?” A pause. “Off the record, of course. This isn’t me, you know, being a journalist, right now.”
“No? Then what are you right now, Megan?”
“Someone you can talk to, if you want.”
His heart dropped as he realized that he did very much want to talk to her. The box on the couch taunted him, but he turned his back on it. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—talk about them. He’d let her talk, let the sound of her voice soothe the ache in his chest. “Are you close to your family, Megan?”
“Yeah, pretty close. I think I told you my parents retired to Vegas a few years ago.”
“Yeah, you did.” He settled in, latching on to his need to know more about her. “That’s why you’re here? To be close to them?”
He could hear the smile in her voice. “Yeah. I miss Boston a little, but I love it here. I love being able to pop over for dinner sometimes and not just on holidays. We were close when I was growing up, but they were both lawyers who were rising in their respective firms. It’s good to see them taking it easy now and to be able to spend time with them.” She paused and he could imagine her smiling as she thought about them. “What about you? Are you close to your mom?”
“Yeah, I am. She put up with a lot of shit from me, and she did it on her own. She’s pretty great.” He didn’t mind talking about his mom, but he really wanted to know more about Megan. “I meant what I said. You’re a great writer, Megan.”
She hesitated. “Thanks.”
He knew he was all over the place, rambling because of the scotch. “Are you happy writing articles?”
“Oh.” A small sound that reminded him of how she’d felt and tasted underneath him. He knew he’d caught her off guard with his interest. “I am . . . for now. I’d eventually like to work for a big publication as an editor, or maybe transition into broadcast journalism.”
They settled into talking more about her career. Gabe liked uncovering all these little pieces of who she was. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said she was a great writer. If he wasn’t the subject of her inquisition, he’d want to read a follow-up article by her too.
They’d avoided talking about the night at the hotel, but it sat between them, filling the silence with longing. Despite the fact that he’d made them agree to one night, he wanted more. As many nights as it took until he could walk away with some of her light to keep him warm. But that was selfish. It would only hurt her in the end, and he wouldn’t risk that.
They’d exhausted their line of conversation about her work, and normal rules of conversation said that this was the point in which he was supposed to offer up something about himself, but he wasn’t ready for that. He also wasn’t ready to stop talking to her. Maybe it was her, or maybe it was the scotch, but after listening to her voice, he hurt just a little bit less.
Taking a deep breath, he said, “Megan.”
“Yeah?”
“When did you want to schedule a second interview?” He knew it wasn’t wise, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He’d find a way to dodge her questions.
A man in the shadows, chasing the sun.