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Jared
When we get back inside the garage workshop, Slider moves to the bench and reclaims the wrench he was using before I called him over. My gaze darts back toward the antiques store across the street, back to Nia. For the first time in a long time, my interest was piqued by a woman. That hasn’t happened since Robyn died. No one has managed to turn my head, but there is something about her. She’s a little quirky and she definitely has an air of independence about her that reminds me of my late wife.
I push those thoughts aside, feeling like the worst jerk on the planet for even considering another woman. After what I did to Robyn, I don’t deserve to move on with my life. My sole focus needs to be on my son and my business.
“She seemed nice,” Slider says as he saunters over to the hood of the car he’s been working on all morning.
“Yeah, she does,” I mutter back, returning to the vehicle I was repairing.
I don’t know what possessed me to go over there and help her out, but doing it has opened a door I’m not sure I want to step through. I’m equal measures scared and hopeful that feeling something for another woman—even if it was just a brief tingle of emotion—is a good sign.
“You like her?” Slider questions, and I see a hint of a smile cross his face.
He and Beanie both moved out here after Robyn died. I fell apart. My world ceased to turn, and I blamed myself for her passing. If I hadn’t insisted we visit my mom, if I hadn’t stopped the car where I stopped it—a hundred thousand ‘what-ifs’ rolled through my brain in the months after the collision. The other occupants of the car were okay, although the driver went to jail for dangerous driving. He’d crossed the center line and careened into oncoming traffic. He hit another vehicle before he plowed into the side of our car with enough force to roll us down the verge.
I didn’t get any punishment, although I should have. It was my fault for parking up where I did. I put us there, in the line of fire.
But Slider and Beanie saved my life. I was lost, floundering with a new baby to take care of. They moved to Louisiana and became my rock. I bought the garage and took them both on as mechanics. It was the least I could do after they dragged their asses across the country for me.
Until today, I haven’t thought about another woman in that way. I can’t. Robyn doesn’t get a second chance, so why should I?
“I don’t like her. I mean, I like her as a person, but not in the way you’re thinking.”
Slider sighs and rubs his hand over his shaved head. We’ve been out of the military for years, and still he cuts his hair regulation short.
I went the other way.
Mine is long enough to tear my fingers through, which my three-year-old often has me doing.
“It’s okay to move on, J.”
His words lance through my chest. He’s always been astute, but I didn’t realize he could see through me this easily. I bring my shutters down immediately.
“I’m not looking to move on.”
“Man, what happened was terrible, but your life didn’t end too.” He speaks these words quietly, but it’s like a grenade going off in my head.
I wish I had died instead of her.
I throw the wrench across the workshop floor and, like a teenager, I storm to my office. As soon as the door shuts behind me, regret floods me. This isn’t his fault. If I’m being honest with myself, I’d admit I know deep down it wasn’t my fault either. Bad things happen. This was just one of those chain reactions that couldn’t be stopped.
I tilt my head back, interlacing my fingers at my nape, and stare at the ceiling.
What the hell am I doing?
I haven’t lost control like that since the early days after her death.
I sink into my chair. I once told a buddy he needed to forgive himself for injuring our brother-in-arms. Luke’s accident was no more his fault than Robyn’s was mine, but giving advice and taking it are completely different ball games.
Truthfully, I thought I had let things go, but then something comes up to remind me I’m still wading in the mud. It’s hard because I look at my son and I see a child growing up without his mother—because of my actions.
There’s a knock on the door and then Slider pushes in without waiting for a response.
“Are you done with your tantrum?” he demands, sounding a little pissed. I don’t blame him. I acted like a kid.
“Yeah, I’m sorry. It’s just…” I break off with a shrug, unable to put into words what it ‘just is’.
He runs a hand over the fuzz covering his head. “It’s okay, man. I get it, but you’ve got to stop punishing yourself for wanting to move on. I know it hurts, but Robyn’s gone. You’re not. You need to live your life. You deserve a chance at happiness.”
