And in love.
Irrevocably.
And terrified.
Constantly.
My stomach churned as I thought about what would happen after we got home. She’d go back to smiling all the time and touching me every chance she got. Then one day, I’d wake up and she’d already be awake. At first, I wouldn’t be sure if it was because she’d gotten up early or if she’d never gone to sleep. As the days passed, the answers would become clear while she slowly faded into a hollow pit of nothingness right in front of my eyes.
She’d insist she was fine.
I’d have a nervous breakdown waiting for her to fall apart.
And then, two months later, we’d be right back on this plane, headed to the very same post-traumatic stress treatment facility she’d left way too soon.
It wasn’t her fault. None of it.
Unfortunately, I’d learned over the last few months that my feelings of helplessness often manifested in frustration. I wanted to help her. I wanted to fix us. But all I could do was sit in the middle seat beside her, a mere passenger on her journey.
The flight attendant arrived with a stack of napkins and a trash bag. I watched, numb and emotionless, as they joked about the pilot owing her a new drink.
There was a whole chaotic process of the flight attendant retrieving a bottle of club soda, then a lemon, then a woman behind us piping up to say lime actually worked best. The man in front of us teased that we were close to a fruit salad. Then the male flight attendant came over with a towel and informed us that if we added a little gin to all that soda and lime, we might forget about the pants altogether.
They chatted and laughed and carried on like everything was so damn normal.
It wasn’t though.
They had no clue that beneath those beautiful eyes and bright smile was a fucking tragedy.
And there was not one damn thing I could do to make it better—for either of us.
The plane shook again and this time it was accompanied by a stomach dip. The pilot was on the overhead speaker in the next beat, informing us that we were beginning our descent into Atlanta and the rest of the ride might be bumpy. Equal parts relief and dread washed over me.
We were almost home.
Fuck, we were almost home.
Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t watch her fake it anymore.
Yet, I would.
Day after day.
Until I took my final breath. Because not having her in my life wasn’t an option. It would suck. It would hurt. It would shatter me. But I’d do it. I would fucking be there for her.
At least, that had been my mindset before I realized the world owed me nothing.
There had been so many times over the last few months when I’d told myself we were at rock bottom. Things couldn’t possibly get worse. However, being engulfed by the flames of hell once didn’t mean you were exempt from them in the future. The odds of lightning striking the same place twice were so small it should have been an impossibility. But it must have happened at least once for there to have been odds at all.
As I listened to Sally clicking her seat belt and the flight attendant collecting trash up and down the aisle, I was oblivious that it was about to happen again.
If I’d known—if only I’d fucking known.
I would have grabbed her face and told her that, despite everything we’d been through, loving her was the single best thing I’d ever done in my life.
I would have dropped to my knees and begged for her forgiveness for not having been more patient when she’d needed me.
I would have kissed her and made sure she knew that, no matter what happened, there would never be a day when I didn’t love her with my whole heart.
I would have pulled her into my arms. I would have made sure she wasn’t scared. I would have made sure my Sally went out of this world cocooned in the very same unconditional love she’d always offered me.
We weren’t a hundred years old after having spent the better part of a century together. We didn’t have kids, much less grandkids. There was no porch swing. There was no crawling into bed together before whispered I-love-yous. But dammit, if I had only known it was the end, I’d have gone with her. Wherever it was, whatever that looked like. I just wanted to be with her.
However, I didn’t know.
So, when she leaned in close, the scent of alcohol ghosting over my cheek as she murmured, “Come on, Bowen. I know you didn’t fall asleep that fast,” I pushed her away.
I didn’t even open my fucking eyes to steal one last glance.
“Leave me the fuck alone, Sally.”
Yeah. That was what I said to her. The very last words I said to the woman I loved more than my own life were “Leave me the fuck alone, Sally.”
And hers to me?
She sighed, kissed my cheek, anchored her hand to my thigh, and mumbled, “Right. Love you too, jerk.”
The world owes you nothing.
I knew this because, not ten minutes later, it stole my entire life.
Bowen
My hands rested motionless on the keyboard, a spreadsheet open, but my eyes were aimed at my desk. Staring without seeing, I’d been sitting there for hours. A million thoughts swirled in my head, crashing and colliding, ricocheting off each other. I was too numb to make sense of anything.
It was all so fucking empty.
My life. My chest. My ability to put one foot in front of the other without feeling like I was going to buckle under the pressure of it all.
But there I was at work, wearing my best façade to hide the agony, when all I really wanted was to disappear.
“Bowen?” Emily, my new secretary, called over the intercom.
I startled, straightening my tie before clearing my throat to reply, “Yeah. What’s up?”
“Your mom is on line one.”
No surprise there. It was a miracle I’d almost made it all the way to noon without her blowing up my phone.
Sighing, I scrubbed a hand over my beard. I’d been growing the damn thing for over a month, but after thirty-two years of sporting the smooth-as-a-baby’s-butt look, it still felt foreign. Truthfully, I hated it, but I’d desperately needed a change. Something, anything to make the outside feel as different as the inside.
Sally would have hated it too.
I screwed my eyes shut and let out a loud groan.
Leave me alone, Sally.
Just thinking of her sliced me to the core. It had been six months since the plane crash, yet the searing pain made it feel like only yesterday that I’d lost her. It never changed or disappeared. It hadn’t even faded with time the way everyone swore it would.
Day in. Day out. It just fucking hurt.
To an extent, I’d gotten used to living with the pain. However, on days like that one, it was impossible to ignore.
I picked up the phone and hit the blinking light. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hey,” she breathed. “How ya doing, sweetie?”
I rocked back in my chair and stared up at the ceiling. “I’m good.”
“That bad, huh?”
“I said I was good.”
“Yeah, but you lie, so I assume the opposite of whatever you say.”
“Fine. I’m terrible then.”
“I knew it! Dammit. I told your dad I should go with you today.”
I chuckled, and because it was my mom, it was almost real. “No. You shouldn’t. I don’t want this to be a big production.” It was a huge fucking production, but downplaying the severity of my broken heart was something of a full-time job for me. “I’m going to sneak in, sit in the back, and sign whatever my lawyer needs me to sign. Then I’ll go home to chug a bottle of Jack and throw the ball for Clyde and Sugar until my arm falls off or one of us passes out. Whichever comes first.”