Chapter 30

Damien

It’s quiet.

Eerily quiet.

Not that I should have expected anything different at a graveyard. Still, there is something about the way the wind is muted against the snow-packed ground that makes it feel too quiet. Even for a graveyard.

I pull my rental alongside the section where I know my mother’s body rests and shift it into park, cutting the engine before I change my mind. I stare off at the manicured lawn, trying to settle my nerves but more aware of my surroundings than ever.

It’s the same section where we buried my grandmother and grandfather. My parents bought the plot alongside of them after my grandparents died. They insisted it was the right thing to do, because they didn’t want to leave their children with the difficulties that come with losing a loved one plus the cost of burying them. My sisters and I thought it was morbid and unnecessary, but after facing death time after time, I finally got it. It wasn’t about choices or even the cost. Losing a loved one, especially a parent, is one of the hardest things you will go through in life. This was their way of trying to lessen that pain.

Not that all their planning did that.

At least for me it didn’t.

I lean forward and place my head against the steering wheel. I pull air into my lungs and release it slowly, trying more than ever to prepare myself for what I’m about to do.

I have to do this.

No, I need to do this.

I need to see where she rests, but most importantly, I need to talk to her. I know it’s just her body buried six feet down, a shell and nothing more. But her body is all that is left of her, of the woman I called my mother.

I’m not sure how much time passes while I sit and battle the emotions raging inside of me, but a tapping on the window pulls me away from the turmoil. I turn my head and see my father standing on the other side, his eyes filled with a knowing sadness.

He steps back, and I get out of the truck, catching sight of the blue sedan my sister’s driven for years as it pulls out of the graveyard.

“Thought I’d find you here,” he murmurs softly, studying my face for my inner thoughts. It was something he always did with me, like he was trying to figure out how to relate to me. He offers me a half smile before turning away. I follow as he slowly makes his way to her graveside and the bench placed strategically next to her. He sits, places his cane in front of him, and rests his chin on it.

I sit beside him, and only then do I allow myself to look down at the stunning headstone inches from my feet. Her name, etched carefully and artfully into the stone, stares up at me.

Starla Regina Reynolds.

Loving wife. Dedicated mother. Free spirit.

Never had any truer words been spoken about her.

She was everything to my father, to her children, to me.

She lived life to the fullest every day, moved to the beat of her own drum.

Losing her was the hardest thing I’ve ever experienced, and I’ve been to war, seen members of my team, my brothers, die before my eyes. But she was more than a mother. More than my best friend. She was everything good in the world and so much more.

I can only imagine what it’s been like for my father, the man quietly sitting beside me. She was the other half of his heart, his soul, and now she’s gone. Seeing the man he’s become, I know it wasn’t easy. Physically and emotionally, her death had a profound effect on my family, and it’s been difficult learning how to live without her.

The thought of living again makes me think of the woman waiting for me at home. To say I never expected things to develop the way they have between us is an understatement, but it’s this moment right now when I realize how special what I have with her is.

Despite the circumstances of our meeting, she is everything I know my mother wanted for me. A good balance to the man I am. It’s like she just knew how to exist with me and what it would take to pull me back into the light.

Her light.

If I’m completely honest about everything, I never thought I’d know the kind of love shared between my parents.

Then she walked into my life.

Penelope.

She is my saving grace.

My lucky penny.

But she did more than pull me from the shadows; she breathed life into me. My heart. My soul. The man I was always destined to be. My family.

She taught me what it means to be loved and to love.

Unconditionally.

She’s exactly who my mother would have wanted for me.

“Mom used to say things happen in life for a reason.” I look over at my father and study his profile, committing the sight to memory. “I don’t think I ever really understood what she meant, until now.”

“Your mother was a smart woman,” he murmurs as the corners of his mouth lift into a smile. A soft chuckle sounds from his chest.

“And funny, apparently.”

“You try having the same conversation about something she said for the fifth time.” He looks over at me. His amber-colored eyes are filled with understanding.

“My sisters?”

“Each one of them.” He leans back and looks up to the sky. “And like your sisters, your translation will be what you need it to be.”

“Meaning there’s no right or wrong answer.”

“The only answer that matters is the one you need it to be.”

I close my eyes, letting my truth behind it wash over me.

“If she hadn’t died…” I trail off, afraid to admit the rest. The sheer power of the words fills my body with pain. Even thinking about them makes me sick.

“You wouldn’t have met her?” my father finishes for me. Hearing the words from someone hurts just as much as if I had been the one to say them.

“Yes.”

“Do you really believe that?”

I take a moment and think about it. Letting myself feel the darkness I’ve beaten back since Penny came into my life. If my mother hadn’t died, I still would have left the military after the attack on the team. Only the darkness that came into my life afterwards wouldn’t have been as strong, and I would have been able to beat it back with one conversation with my mother.

“I wouldn’t have been in the right state of mind needed for my recent assignment,” I tell him and hang my head. The thought nearly guts me, because the last thing I want is to imagine my life without her in it.

“You met her on assignment?”

“We kind of saved each other.” I lift a hand and run it through my hair.

“She’s the reason you’ve come home, isn’t she?”

“I should have come home a long time ago.” I nod my head. “She makes me want to be a better man.”

“Good.” He pats me on the back before continuing. “I don’t care how you got here, Damien. I’m just happy to have you home finally.”

“I should have been here for you.” Fresh guilt gnaws at my gut. How could I have been this uncaring toward him? “She would’ve wanted me to be—”

“You’re wrong,” he interrupts and holds up a weathered hand. “She would’ve wanted you to mourn the way you needed to. I get it, son. If I could have left, I would have.”

“Dad, please, stop trying to justify what I did. Nothing you say is going to make what I did right. I was selfish and an asshole.” I sigh before looking over at him again. “Coming home would’ve been hard, but it would’ve been the right thing. I was angry. At everyone and at no one, but mostly at myself. How could I not see what was happening right in front of my face?”

He nods his head, and for the first time in my life, I feel like he understands my heart. “But she didn’t want you to. She knew you wouldn’t have left otherwise, and that would’ve been a mistake.”

“Bullshit. The team would have been fine without me. I should have been here with her. Taking care of her. Of you.”

“She didn’t want that, son.”

“What about what I wanted?” I ask, regretting the words as soon as they leave my lips. My anger surges forward, and I know I shouldn’t take any of it out on him, but I can’t help it. I’ve bottled it up for a long time.

“And what did you want, Damien? To see her at her absolute worst? To remember when she finally became too weak to get out of bed to piss or shit. Did you want the memories of her crying because she was ashamed when she couldn’t keep anything down?” I swallow, feeling my anger disappear and taking the raw anger and hurt pouring from my father. “Did you want to watch as she wasted away in a bed, crying for another morphine shot because the pain was too much, only to tell her no because you’d given her one not ten minutes ago?” He stares me down, the memories fresh in his mind. “She didn’t want any of us there—”

“But you stayed,” I whisper, taking his hand in mine. “You wouldn’t let her chase you away.”

“She was my wife, through sickness and health.” His body shakes from emotion pouring out of him. The way he does it, desperate and wild, I know he’s bottled a lot of it, too. “It was my job to take care of her.”

“Dad—” I try, but the moment his tear-filled eyes meet mine, I close my mouth.

“She wanted you to remember her like you always knew her.” He pauses for a breath, and then continues with agony seeping into his voice. “Do you think I like knowing what it was like for her in the end? I hated watching her waste away into nothing.”

He’s right. I didn’t want those memories.

“I didn’t get to say good-bye,” I mutter under my breath, finally giving words to the reasons behind my anger.

“Is that what this is about? Because you didn’t get to say good-bye?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just forget I said anything.” I turn away and stand, ready to go home and forget the childishness behind my reasons.

“Damien Andrew Reynolds, you wait a damn minute,” my father calls after me, using the same tone he used when I used to get into trouble as a kid. He struggles to stand but manages to do so without too much trouble. “I understand you’re upset, but you don’t get to act like a petulant child about this. You got a good-bye, the only good-bye she could give you. Despite the love and life I shared with her for twenty-five years, you were the one she was most worried about. She knew you wouldn’t take losing her easy. She knew you wouldn’t show up to her funeral. She even knew it would be a long time before you came home again. She made us each promise her that we would wait for you and promise to welcome you home with open arms.”

“Dad—” His words strike me in the chest, and I feel like I can’t breathe.

“No, I may have promised your mother I’d wait, but I didn’t promise to keep my mouth shut. You aren’t the only one who was affected by her passing, and I’m not talking about myself—”

“My sisters,” I interrupt and hang my head.

“They didn’t just lose their mother. They lost you, too. We all did.” His voice shakes, and I look up at him to see the truth of his words slipping down his face. “I’ve missed my boy more than I can put to words, and I’ve prayed every day to see his face again. My prayers were finally answered last night, and with him came the most beautiful angel.”

“Dad—”

I close the small space between us and wrap my arms around my father. I never thought my absence would affect any of them the way he is telling me it did, and if I’m honest, I was too selfish to see it.

But he’s right.

They didn’t just lose a wife and mother.

They lost a son and brother.

And she knew it was going to happen.

My father holds on to me like his life depends on the connection we have. He’s never been the kind of man who shows a lot of emotion, but I never doubted his love and devotion to us. I feel the gentle quakes and shudders rolling through his body as the emotion he’s held in for so long pours out of him.

After a few moments, he begins to losen his hold and reaches up to grip my face. His typical seriousness has returned to its spot deep in his eyes.

“She might not have been able to say good-bye to you the way you wanted, but,” he says and releases me. He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a white envelope. I swallow hard when I catch my name written across one side, in my mother’s perfect script handwriting. He holds it out to me, and I stare down at it, afraid. “This is one of the last things she managed to write before the pain became too much.”

A lump forms in the back of of my throat, threatening to choke me. “Dad, I can’t—”

“You will,” he insists and places the envelope in my hand. “This is what she wanted.”

“I don’t know—” I try handing it back to him, but he steps back.

“I’ve been carrying that letter with me for five years, looking for your face everywhere I went,” he chuckles. “No more running. The answers you’ve been desperate for are right there in your hand. The question is, now that you have them, are you ready to hear them?”

I close my eyes, dragging a slow breath into my lungs, asking myself the same question.

Well, am I?

*****

Damien,

Stop being a little shit.

I know you’re angry.

Get over it.

Don’t hold it against them. They didn’t want to keep it a secret from you. I couldn’t bear to say good-bye to the boy who stole my heart the moment he breathed life. At least not in the way I know he’d wish he could have.

Your heart might hurt right now, or even for a long while, but that’s okay. It will get easier. Don’t let your grief and your anger consume you. Don’t let it stop you from living. Don’t let it stop you from falling in love.

Remember me the way I was, that last day before you shipped out. When you pulled me out of my chair in the middle of the kitchen because my favorite song had come on and I wanted to dance.

I am always with you, in the light of the day and the glow of the moon, forever and always. I love you, my beautiful boy.

Love,

Mom