Letters of Faith, page 2
He asked too much.
I can’t keep the promise he asked me to because I can’t even make a stupid phone call. How am I supposed to not be angry when that feeling claws at my chest, ready to burst out?
Anger replaces the fear, and enough air enters my lungs for my vision to clear just a little.
Nurses look back at me, concern flicking across their faces, but I ignore them, turning my full attention to the man who is now frantically yelling at me.
I need him to stop. I need this all to stop.
“He’s gone.”
The words are out, ripping from my throat and delivering a punch to my sternum, taking all the air I had left.
As the edges of my vision fade to black, I hear Grayson say, “I’m coming, Georgia. I’m coming.”
______________________
“Georgia, we need you to make a decision,” the funeral director says kindly.
That’s all I’ve been doing—making decisions. What should he wear? What flowers for the coffin? Speaking of—is this coffin okay? Nate wanted to talk about these decisions before he passed, but I couldn’t stand the thought of it. We put it off, always waiting for a better time, and now I’m out of time.
Question after question—thrown at me so fast that it makes my head spin, and that’s not even the worst part. No, the worst part is that I have to consider everyone’s opinion when deciding.
Nate was loved—is still loved—and because of that, people have opinions, but I can’t please everyone, specifically his younger sister. I’ve never been able to please her.
If I like pink, she likes purple. If I say yes, she says no.
Right now, just once, I wish we could be on the same page.
“What am I deciding again?” I ask.
Harper’s laugh is sardonic as she crosses her arms across her chest and rolls her eyes to the ceiling.
I’ve been in a haze since Nate died—unable to concentrate on anything, and her attitude doesn’t help. I want to lie in bed, curl into a ball, and cry, not put up with her snarky remarks. Losing my temper won’t benefit anyone, though, and she’s hurting just as much as I am. We’re just dealing with it in different ways.
She’s mean, and I’m—checked out.
Grayson, who is sitting beside me, narrows his eyes at Harper, and I give a subtle shake of my head. He hasn’t left my side since I called him with the news. He’s slept on the couch at my house every night, sending my mom and dad home to rest until they return the next morning. Everyone’s waiting for me to break, and the truth is, I am too.
The funeral director looks between Harper and me, his eyes tightening as he tries to navigate the awkwardness.
“You–uh—I mean, we were deciding the speakers for the visitation and burial,” he says, eyes continuing to bounce between us.
Harper’s husband, Cole, sits beside her, arms crossed over his chest, looking angry at the world. Though, I’m not sure what he has to be angry at. He and Nate weren’t even close. Nate expressed his opinion of the man many times to Harper before they got married, and none of what he had to say was good. It’s likely that Cole’s angry that he has to be here in the first place—despite the fact that his wife’s brother just passed away. He’s not a fan of anything that puts him out.
Nate’s mom sits on the other side of Cole, but unlike her daughter, she has no opinions.
I lean forward so I can speak to her. She’s staring at the wall directly in front of her, her face blank.
“Ellie,” I say, calling her attention to me. “Who do you think should speak?”
I love Ellie, and while Nate was my husband, he was her son first.
“We should ask Coach Jones. He’s always said Nate was his favorite player,” Harper pipes up.
I see the muscle in Grayson’s jaw tick out of the corner of my eye.
“She didn’t ask you, Harper,” he says through clenched teeth. “She asked your mom.”
If Harper dislikes me, she despises Grayson for reasons I can’t comprehend. The two are more alike than they like to think. Nate and Harper’s dad left when they were in high school. Nate was quiet about it. He dealt with it and moved on, but Harper was like Grayson. She held on to that pain, letting it fester. The difference is Harper didn’t let anyone in, while Grayson had me and Nate. Nate tried to be there for Harper, too, but she was too lost in her anger.
“Why are you even here, Grayson,” Harper throws back. “It’s not like you’re family.”
Wincing, I turn to Grayson, ready to throw myself between them if he decides to throttle her, but when my eyes land on him, he’s stone-cold, hands clenched in his lap. The only inclination that he heard her is the way his icy blue eyes narrow by just a hair.
I turn back to Harper and hear Grayson say, “Say what you will, Harper. I’m here for Georgia.”
“I bet you are,” Harper coughs under her breath.
“Enough,” Ellie’s voice bounces off the walls, ricocheting until they hit their intended targets.
In all the years I’ve known her, I’ve never heard Ellie raise her voice. I squeeze the tissue in my hand, my veneer cracking. We haven’t even made it to the funeral yet. How will we survive that if we can’t handle planning it?
“Georgia,” Ellie says, her voice calmer now. “The speaker seems like it’s important to Harper. Can we let her decide this one?”
“Yeah, Ellie. That’s fine.”
When I answer, I avoid Grayson’s eyes. I know what I’ll find there—disappointment.
Chapter 3
Grayson
12 months ago
Spots swim in front of my eyes as I step out of the dimly lit church. The tie around my neck is suffocating, and it’s only marginally better when I pull at the knot pushing into my Adam’s apple. Unbuttoning the cuffs of my sleeves, I roll the material over my forearms, revealing the tattoos that wrap around them. A fresh one stings at the base of my wrist where my shirt has rubbed over it the past two hours. It’s an orchid, small and unnoticeable—a promise. Compared to the others surrounding it, it’s feminine but fitting all the same.
Taking the steps two at a time, I descend into the crowd of people milling about in the parking lot—neighbors talking among neighbors—but as I walk through them, their voices become hushed, eyes turning judgmental.
I don’t lower my eyes, making direct eye contact with each person I pass. If the townspeople had their way, they would have run me out years ago, specifically when I was a teenage menace, drinking too much for my own good and wreaking havoc. But I’m not that kid anymore, and I’m not easily pushed around. It’s what makes me a good businessman, and my business has brought them a lot of job opportunities over the last couple of years—not that they will ever acknowledge that. They can ask me for donations for their kid’s softball team, but heaven forbid they appreciate the boost in the local economy.
The feeling is mutual, though. I despise this town, yet I willingly choose to be here for two reasons—and two reasons only. Well, one reason now, I guess.
Pain stabs my gut as I let my eyes wander, searching for the sole reason I will continue to stay. After several seconds, I find her standing at the edge of the parking lot, politely smiling and greeting people as they walk by her.
Georgia, the town’s sweetheart, their darling girl, and my best friend’s wife is putting on a brave face so no one worries, but just one glance should tell these intentionally blind idiots that she’s hurting underneath that polite smile.
Her eyes land on me, and a plea for help burns in those green irises.
For one minute, I pause, considering the weight of the letter burning a hole in my pocket—a letter that, if anything, will only add to her heartache today. Guilt eats at my insides when I think about what it means for me—for Georgia—but now’s not the time to think about it. I place my guilt back in the nicely wrapped box it came from, intending to leave it there forever.
Dropping my shoulder, I push through the people waiting to talk to Georgia, not bothering to apologize or listen to the protests behind my back.
When she called to tell me Nate was gone, I was sad—of course, I was sad. The man was my best friend, my only friend, but my sadness was overpowered by the fact that the strongest woman I knew was breaking—and if she broke, so would I.
I promised myself that day I would do anything to protect her—even if it meant protecting her from herself.
Georgia is a perpetual people pleaser, and I can see that coming out in her today. She refuses to tell anyone she needs space because she doesn’t want to hurt their feelings. Standing by the coffin before the service, she flinched whenever someone touched her. It took everything I had not to intervene—it wasn’t the time. She needed to feel like she was giving to someone else so she wouldn’t fall apart—but now it’s time she let it happen.
Stepping in front of her, I block the path of the crowd that continues to smother her and place my hands on either side of her face, lifting it so she’s looking at me. I notice Harper shaking her head out of the corner of my eye. Her husband stands by her side, glaring at everyone around him. I ignore them both. Harper has a lot of opinions, but none that matter to me.
“What do you need me to do?” I ask. My voice is low, so no one else can hear. I might not be afraid of offending the people here, but Georgia is. She hates upsetting anyone—hates confrontation—but if she needs me to take the fall and get her out of here, I will because she deserves as much peace as she can get today.
“I’m fine,” she says, but it’s a lie. Her breathing is becoming shallow, and I know if I don’t get her out of here soon, we will have a repeat of what happened a week ago.
“You’re not. You don’t have to pretend with me. I’m not one of them,” I say, jerking my head to the people behind us.
She starts to protest, reaching to push my hands off her face, but instead, her fingernails dig into my skin, holding on for dear life as her breathing quickens.
That alone makes my decision for me.
I gently pull my hands away from her face and grab both her hands in one of mine. Then I turn so she’s behind me—hidden from all the vultures who can’t seem to understand that this is not how she needs to grieve. Lowering my eyebrows, I glare—making eye contact with each of them until a chorus of “hmphs” resounds through the crowd, but I’m not here to be liked.
I’m here for Georgia.
“That will be all,” I say, my voice low and menacing—leaving no room for argument.
I don’t wait for them to respond to my threat. With Georgia’s hand still in mine, I pull her along so that she stays behind me, away from the crowd, and when we reach my truck, I open the door, pull her in front of me, and lift her by her waist into the passenger seat. Tears swim in her eyes, waiting to spill over her long eyelashes as her chin wobbles.
“Let it out, Georgia,” I say, my thumb rubbing gently across her wrist. “You don’t have to be strong—not today.”
As the tears start falling onto her cheeks, her emerald eyes lift so I can see all the pain she’s hidden over the last year. It’s enough to bring me to my knees.
“Thank you,” she whispers, and those two words finally drive home the trouble I’m in.
______________________
The road in front of Georgia and Nate’s house is packed with cars. I let out a curse that has Georgia throwing me a glare. It’s a sign of life, and I’m tempted to let another drop just to see it again.
“Do you want to decide what to do, or do you want me to?” I ask, throwing her another glance.
She looks so small in the front seat of my truck, her black dress swallowing her frame. She’s lost weight in the two months since she found out that Nate was terminal. Dark circles line the undersides of her eyes, making her look sick.
“I should probably go in since everyone is here,” she says, avoiding eye contact.
Slamming on my breaks, we stop in the middle of the subdivision road.
“Georgia,” I say, leaving one hand on the steering wheel and the other gripping the center console. “I didn’t ask what you think those people expect you to do. I asked what you wanted to do. You don’t owe anybody anything. I know it’s not in your nature, but today, it’s okay for you to be selfish.”
Her brows knit together as if she can’t fathom the thought, and the truth is, she probably can’t. “They’re waiting on me. It would be rude not to show up. Besides, where would I go?”
My knuckles are starting to turn white on the steering wheel. Everything in me is screaming at me to pull my truck into her driveway and kick every one of these overbearing busybodies out, but I won’t, at least not until she tells me that’s what she needs.
“Let’s pretend it wouldn’t be rude to leave. Would you want to stay then?” I ask.
“No,” she whispers.
“Why not?” I prompt.
She’s folding the hem of her dress between her hands over and over again, worrying it and creating wrinkles. Her eyes stay on her hands as she says, “It hurts to be in that house.”
It’s answer enough for me.
Throwing my truck in reverse, I place my hand on the back of her headrest as I watch behind me, avoiding cars until I can turn around.
“What are you doing?”
Coming to a stop in a driveway down the street, I turn back around and throw the gearshift into drive.
“I’m doing what you asked.”
She looks at me, confused. “I just said that I wanted to go in there.”
“No. You said that you should probably go in there. Then we played pretend, and you said it hurts you—so I made an executive decision.”
“An executive decision,” she questions.
“Yeah. We’re leaving.”
“And going where?”
“My house.”
Her mouth falls open, and she stares at me, bewildered. Color fills her cheeks for the first time in months. Before he died, I went to visit Nate every day, and each time, I would find the same picture when I walked in—Nate asleep in the hospital bed they had brought into the living room and Georgia sitting beside him, watching him as if he might take his last breath if she looked away. Loving Nate through his death took a toll on her.
“Grayson,” she chides.
“Georgia.”
“We have to go back.”
I shake my head. “We don’t have to do anything. Besides, I need to talk to you about something—alone.”
This piques her interest, and she finally lets go of the hem of her dress, turning her body towards me.
“About what?” She eyes me warily. The woman has been dealt a bad hand here lately, and I don’t blame her for being suspicious.
“Your plans now that—well, you know.”
“Didn’t you just tell me I didn’t have to make any decisions?” she asks, anger lacing her voice. “I don’t know, Grayson. I don’t know what I’m doing because all I can think about is that my husband is no longer here. How am I supposed to make any decisions when that’s all I can think about?”
She’s worked herself up to where she’s practically yelling. Sadness shutters over her eyes. When I brought it up, I knew this would be a topic she wouldn’t want to discuss, and she’s right—she shouldn’t have to make any big decisions right now. But eventually, she will have to, and when that time comes, I want to make sure she’s taken care of. Nate was my best friend, and I owe it to him to take care of his girl.
I’ve never been one to talk about feelings or share my emotions—life never cared if I was sad, but I’m trying for Georgia—for Nate. So that’s why I say, “Look, you don’t have to make any decisions yet, and I know how you’re going to react to this—but before you react, hear me out, okay?”
“No.” Her answer is firm, immovable, like a brick wall, but she doesn’t realize I learned to be a wrecking ball a long time ago.
“You haven’t heard the question yet,” I say.
“I don’t need to. I know you. You’re going to offer to take care of something that isn’t your place to take care of. It’s what you’ve always done—for both Nate and me—and while I love you for it, I can’t let you.”
Love me—I’m a traitor for how those words make the hairs on my neck stand up. There was a time, before she was Nate’s girl, when I thought one day I would deserve a girl like Georgia, but then I realized that girls like her are always meant to end up with men like Nate. So—I stepped aside and cheered my best friend on as he got his girl.
“Then you should also know that I’m not one to give up easily,” I deadpan. “Anyway, this would be as much for you as it would be for me.”
“How so?” she asks, wary once again.
“As you know, I’m not much of a people person—” I start.
Georgia coughs, “Understatement.”
Shooting her a look, I shake my head. It’s another sign of life.
“As I was saying, I’m not much of a people person, and my assistant retired last month. I haven’t gotten around to interviewing anyone. I don’t know what your plans are for going back to work, but maybe you could take the job and save me the hassle. It doesn’t have to be permanent—just until you’re ready to find something else.”
I don’t look at her, afraid she will see right through me if I do. The moment stretches to a minute, the silence stomping on each one of my nerves.
“I don’t know, Gray.”
“Today has been a lot for you, and I wasn’t planning on throwing this at you. Take your time. I don’t need an answer right away. You and Nate are two of my best friends. This isn’t a pity offer. This is me wanting to help my friend. Plus, I may not be a people person, but I’m not as grumpy with you. Working with someone who doesn’t constantly get on my nerves would be nice.”
A smile wavers on her lips—brief, and then it’s gone—but it was a smile all the same.
“How do you know I won’t get on your nerves? Nate says I’m a handful. Said—Nate said.”
The mood, while not exactly happy before, plummets into despair.
