Distraction (Club Destiny #8)(18)
Dylan knew that time would heal his wounds and it had. They weren’t as fresh, not nearly as painful, but sometimes he did wake up in a cold sweat, reliving the day that Meghan died all over again.
Eleven fucking years later.
He was torturing himself. No doubt about it.
“I’m still going to the AA meetings. Minimum of once a week, sometimes more. Not my favorite thing in the world to do, but I’m trying. I know it’s important. And they help.”
Several more minutes passed as he continued to stare up at the sky, the drizzle making it difficult. His thoughts drifted to other things he wanted to tell her about. And then he remembered the CISS party last weekend.
“I saw Sarah again,” he said, casting a quick look around. “Remember her? She was the girl I’d been dating before you and I started going out.” He smiled at the memory, but that quickly faded and he was brushing away another stray tear. “I know I’ve never talked about her since high school, but a few years ago…”
No. Dylan stopped himself before he could go on. The last thing he wanted to do was to rehash that night, to bring about the memories of Sarah and all that he’d denied himself. It had taken everything in him to stay away from her for these last few years. But he’d done it for her. Or so he told himself. Sarah deserved so much better than a fucked-up cowboy like him.
That didn’t mean he didn’t want her. He simply knew it would never work out between them, even if the sex had been fucking phenomenal. And it had been that. But the thoughts that had run through his head that night… Sweet Sarah Davis couldn’t handle what he would want from her. And since Meghan died, Dylan had promised himself that he wouldn’t hold back, wouldn’t cut that part of himself off anymore.
He barked a laugh. He was pathetic. He had made that promise to himself, yet he’d spent the past eleven years grieving. Drunk and focused on no one but himself. Okay, so maybe he hadn’t been drunk for eleven years, but sometimes it felt like it. In fact, the drinking hadn’t started until Nate’s senior year of high school. At that point, Dylan’s hopelessness had taken over. Without kids at home to take care of, he felt the loneliness creep in, and he found that drowning himself in a bottle had helped.
“Meghan,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Tell me to go away. Tell me to stop buggin’ you and I will. But if you don’t, I’m only gonna keep comin’ back. I’m lost without you, babe, and I know that’s crazy. Pops and Ashleigh are worried about my mental state. Still. After all this time.” A small smile tipped the corner of his mouth. “Ashleigh told me she’d go to AA with me if I wanted her to. I think she still has her doubts. Not that I blame her. She’s dealt with me at my worst, and I was pretty good at pretending there for a while.”
When his sister had first suggested it, Dylan had told her she was fucking crazy. He hadn’t had any intention of spilling his guts to a stranger, much less a room full of them, but he certainly wasn’t going to do it with his family present. Truthfully, Dylan needed those meetings, needed to be able to voice the issues he was facing, know there were others going through the same thing. After years of denial, Dylan accepted that he had a serious problem.
His nostrils burned with unshed tears as he stared at the engraved letters on the stone in front of him. Meghan Ann Thomas. January 13, 1975 – November 9, 2004. His beautiful wife had died less than three months before her thirtieth birthday.
God, he needed a drink. Something to settle his thoughts, to numb the ache in his chest. Whenever he allowed himself to drift back into the past, he felt the little pieces he’d worked so hard to restructure just fall apart again. He wasn’t whole; hell, he wasn’t sure he ever would be again. But yes, time was dulling the pain. Except for days like this. The horrible fucking days when the memories would invade, taking over his world, reiterating the fact that he would never get to celebrate anything else with the woman he’d loved more than life itself. It was cruel that he did it to himself, but as he’d told Meghan, he didn’t think he could move forward.
No matter how desperately he now wanted to.
His throat burned and a sob racked his chest, but he refused to cry anymore. He’d done more than his fair share over the years.
“Honey,” he whispered, “I need you to tell me it’s okay to let you go. I need you to tell me that it’s okay to be me again. I can’t keep hiding from everyone. I need something … someone. I know Sarah doesn’t deserve the hell I’ll likely inflict on her, but … I want her in my life. There. I said it. It’s true. I want to feel alive again and … God, Meg … she makes me feel that way. I didn’t think it was even possible.”
The next thing Dylan knew, despite the effort he put forth to avoid them, the tears were coming, but so was the rain. The sky had opened up, and fat, cold raindrops began falling on him until he could hardly see more than a few feet around him. But rather than run back to his truck to try and escape, he remained right where he was and used the rain as another excuse to let the emotions go.
One day, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to cry anymore, and maybe then he’d figure out a way to move on. But until then, Dylan feared this was his destiny.
chapter FIVE
ONCE SHE’D HUNG UP THE phone with her mother, Sarah had immersed herself in housework. She’d pulled out the vacuum and run it over every inch of her two-thousand-square-foot house. Not only on the floors but the corners of every room, the ceiling fans, the couch, and the baseboards. Did she have a problem because she did this at least three times a week? Perhaps. Then again, Sarah knew that having two cats made vacuuming a requirement, so she wasn’t going to apologize for it.