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“You have nothing to apologize for.” I swallowed against the lump in my throat, but it wouldn’t ease.
“She t-took your d-dad with her!” He fully broke down as though deeply ashamed, the guttural cries spilling from his lips tearing my heart in two.
“It was meant to be. You had nothing to do with it, Preston,” I whispered and allowed my grief to flow alongside his.
We sat and cried together, the walls finally down where we could find solace in each other. I breathed in the scent of vanilla as my tears dripped onto Preston’s hair. His fingers tangled in my shirt, holding on for all he was worth. And I clutched him tight, touching him gently, assuring him with my hands that I didn’t blame him for my father’s death.
Eventually, the emotions spent themselves, and silence settled over us.
Exhaustion clung to me, every part of my body aching from grief.
I rubbed Preston’s back in a soothing gesture, recognizing a sense of thankfulness as well. While I hated to have lost my dad, I was truly glad he’d gone with Jacqueline, so they could be together in whatever afterlife there was.
Fuck knew I wouldn’t be able to survive without my other half beside me.
Chapter 33
Preston
It had taken a few days, but we finally went through the box the lawyers had brought back with them from Greece. Devlin’s old watch wrapped around Drake’s left wrist, and his and Jacqueline’s wedding bands hung on a chain around his neck. I hadn’t wanted to keep anything of hers, nor did I untie the leather strip that held my mother’s journal closed.
I had no clue what I would find written on the cream pages—feared it, even.
But after two meetings with a grief counselor with Drake by my side, I decided I needed to. In typical fashion, I chose to wait for privacy so I could process on my own whatever emotions her written words roused. Drake finally knew everything inside my head and heart, and although I’d come to the realization that I could no longer hide from him, I wanted to be alone with my memories of Jacqueline.
Drake left for the gym, his way of dealing with and working through his own emotions, and I curled up in the corner of my couch, the journal in my shaking hands.
“I’ve got this,” I murmured to myself while struggling to untie the strap.
The first entry was dated the day they’d left for their tour around the world, and without giving myself another second to chicken out, I dove in.
Devlin suggested I give journaling a try since I have extra time on my hands. It’s a good way to reflect over my life now that I’m retired. And while I’m not exactly keen on putting my innermost thoughts where anyone can read them, I’m going to trust my dear husband, as he’s never once let me down in the thirteen years that we’ve been together.
So, to start, I’m willing to admit to myself that there are things in my life I have put aside for far too long. But I’ll begin with the incident that planted the seed of change in my heart that made me agree to this writing journey.
She explained the fear and anxiety she’d experienced when I’d been stuck in the elevator with Drake for four hours. Although she knew I would be okay because I had my stepbrother with me, who’d always looked out for me, she had been hit with the truth that a sudden turn of events could take loved ones from her life.
That night, she’d been reminded of the child she’d carried, the first time hearing my heartbeat, then the flutterings of movement in her abdomen. She remembered the joy after giving birth but had then suffered from terrible postpartum. Casswell Global had to take a backseat, and she admitted to feeling resentment for the toddler who cried incessantly and followed her around the penthouse, not allowing her a moment of peace.
While I couldn’t remember doing what she’d penned on paper, after being faced with potentially losing her son, she wondered if two-year-old me had only wanted to be seen. Heard. Held and assured of her love she’d been much too busy to give.
Same as her parents had been when dealing with her as a child.
My eyes leaked tears onto the carefully inked pages, but I continued to turn them one after the other, reading over my mother’s self-reflection that deepened with every day while on vacation.
Jacqueline wrote that she and Devlin had talked for hours, him coaxing her to share her emotions, something she’d never been good at. They’d watched videos together and read articles about self-reflection, being vulnerable with others, and narcissism, which she admitted to herself she tended toward, as had her father.
My heart broke for Jacqueline’s bold descriptions of her own childhood trauma, some of which she had told me over the phone. She promised herself that once she and Devlin returned to the States, she was going to find the best therapist in New York and work through her issues so she could be a better mother and hopefully someday grandmother.
She told the story of a gay couple sitting beside them at a restaurant in Madrid the Thursday evening before that phone call that had changed the course of our relationship. Candlelight and soft live music in the background had created a beautiful setting. The gentleman seated had smiled like the sun lit his face, agreeing to marry the one on bended knee beside him.
Rather than focusing on the bitterness of negative memories their engagement roused, Jacqueline had found herself curious. She’d studied the way they hugged and kissed immediately afterward as others in the dining area politely clapped and offered heartfelt congratulations. The two men had spoken to one another, heads together, their words too quiet to hear, but the love in their eyes had struck her deeply.
She recognized the emotions they shared, for she and Devlin experienced the same toward each other. Her heart still continued to beat, she’d claimed, for the man who’d been faithful and loving regardless of how often she lost her cool or lashed out with hurtful words. Devlin had been the second best thing in her life after me, she’d written, and seeing those two men agreeing to commit to each other changed something inside her.
It also brought back a memory from the night she’d been too caught up in her own head to recognize what she had been seeing.
She explained how Drake had hovered over me once we’d been freed from the elevator. His protective nature wasn’t new to her, but she realized in that moment while the gay couple got lost in their own little world that the way Drake had looked at me had revealed his heart. Then she recalled his steady gaze on me during brunch, as sure and potent as Devlin’s on her. The small touches of reassurance so much like his father’s. How Drake had stepped close to me like her husband would whenever he felt the urge to offer affection and comfort.
