++++
It was a dreamless sleep. Void of anything. Black. My exhaustion won out, and I probably have that to thank for the short reprieve from my reality. When I wake fourteen hours later, Tahoe is sitting in the chair across the room, his head tilted back, mouth open, sleeping like the dead. Running my hands through my hair, I sit up as every muscle in my body protests. I’m still in my goddamn dirty uniform. Mud caked camo pants and white shirt stained yellow from sweat.
“You’re awake,” Harper says, strolling from the hallway. “How are you feeling?” Her eyes are wide, apprehensive, terrified by what she’s going to find. “I let myself in. I hope you don’t mind. I still had a key from…before.”
Seeing Harper tears a wound open I didn’t know existed. I close my eyes because the pain is back, but now it’s multiplied by a thousand. “I need a shower,” I reply. Tahoe snores, completely out for the count. I approach him slowly and shake his shoulder.
“What, what? I’m up,” Tahoe says, eyes flickering open and meeting my gaze.
“Hit the couch,” I say, hiking my thumb over my shoulder. He goes without saying another word, collapsing in a heap. He’s back asleep before his head hits the pillow. Turning back to Harper, I swallow hard. “Shower,” I repeat to her. “I’m fine. You don’t have to hang around. Tahoe is here.” My traitorous gaze flicks down to her bare legs and short ripped jean shorts with lace peeking out the bottom. A sliver of her stomach peeks out from her loose T-shirt. She crosses one leg over the other, self-conscious of my obvious appraisal.
“Benny,” she says when my gaze finally finds hers. “Talk to me.”
I shake my head and let out a small laugh. “I can’t talk to you, Harper.”
“Why not?” she asks quietly, peeking over my shoulder at Tahoe.
“He can’t hear us. He’s out for another half a day. We’ve been up for more than a day.”
Harper wants to reach out for me. I see it in the way her hands flex by her sides. That’s enough torture for now. I flick my gaze forward and pass by her without saying another word. I enter my bedroom and find it has been cleaned up, just as Tahoe promised. Norah’s stuff isn’t in sight. I see several boxes in the corner and my chest aches.
Because my friend knows me better than I thought, and because it’s all that’s left of my future. I have nothing tangible except things. I don’t want things. I don’t need things. No one does, really. That’s not what we as humans crave. The door clicks closed.
“I’m so sorry. Ben, I’m sorry. I feel so awful. I’m not even sure how to process something like this.”
Sniffing my shirt, I wince and pull it over my head, while focusing my gaze out of the window. It smells like Norah’s lotion in here. I know how fragile life is. How it’s here one second and gone the next, but this sensation is new to me. Harper calls me again.
“What?” I yell, spinning on her.
“Why are you sorry? Why do you feel awful, Harper? You don’t have to process anything. This is mine to deal with. I can’t make you feel better about this. I can’t save you this time. My wife and daughter are dead. So process how you want to, but do it on your own because I’m trying to figure out how to go on without them. I can’t be on Harper duty this time.” I shake my head and turn away when I see tears falling down her cheeks.
Harper walks forward, unperturbed by my harsh words. “I know you’re upset,” she says, reaching out for my hand with hers. “Your pain is more than I can comprehend.” When I don’t take her hand, she lets her arm fall back down to her side.
For a few moments I breathe and look at her. I feel better. Which makes me feel even worse. “You need to leave, Harper,” I admit. “Just go.”
Her whole body shifts, as if I stabbed her instead of spoke to her. Pain is etched into her facial features. She’s not allowed to feel an ounce of what I’m bearing. “I’m serious,” I whisper, gazing at the floor. “I can’t be around you right now.”
“Why?” she asks, striding forward and placing her hands on my arms. She grabs me firmly, grounding me to this moment. “Why?” Her eyes plead with me. She wants the truth.
I’m a glutton to give it. “The grief is killing me, dismembering my heart. The kicker?” I say, breathing several times to keep the tears at bay. “You’re the cure I need. But you’re out of my price range. Untouchable.”
She shakes her head. Harper was expecting that and it’s comforting and infuriating at the same time. “I won’t leave you here by yourself. I don’t care what you see when you look at me. I’m not only the woman who loves you, I’m your best friend. The person who’d die to take an ounce of your pain away if I could. Don’t complicate this. I’m your friend first, Benny.”
I look at the ceiling because the tears came anyway. “What if relieving my pain means you leaving and never coming back?”
Going up on her tip-toes, she grabs my face to force my gaze to hers. Her eyes are glassy, but she’s holding it together. Because that’s what I need from her and she knows it. “Then that’s your pain to bear because I’m not going anywhere this time. I should have stayed here all those years ago. By your side. I should have loved you through everything up until now, but I refuse to leave you during this. I’m going to love you through it. You will get through it.”
My eyes widen as my mind, a clusterfuck of dark as the devil thoughts, processes her words. Her light. Her life. “What I wouldn’t give to hear those words before. Love me from afar because that’s what I need. That’s what I want. Maybe forever. Definitely right now.” Voice loud and overbearing, Harper winces away from me.
“That’s what you want?”
No.
“I have to tell you something.” Her eyelashes flutter closed and little lines form in between her eyes. It’s anguish so great I’ve never seen her wear it before.
I stay silent and gesture with my hand for her to continue. She shifts around on her little black flip-flops, completely terrified by what she needs to say. “Did they tell you who was driving the other vehicle?” Harper asks, not meeting my eyes. In fact, she stares at the floor as she says it.
My stomach turns. Taking a step back, I sit on the bed. “No. You’re about to tell me, though.”
