Unexpected Gift(16)
Why am I meeting with the lawyer? Does Brandon have a letter for me that he wrote before he died? Fuck, I can’t handle that right now. “Damn it!” I slam my fist on the dresser, and the lamp teeters off the edge and falls, shattering the bulb.
“Why’d you have to go, man?” I say out loud like Brandon can hear me. “I know I shouldn’t be mad at you, but I am. I’m so fucking angry that you left. I’m angry that son-of-a-bitch drunk driver walked away from that accident with nothing but a scratch. I’m angry Amelia isn’t here anymore. What about Posie? You left her. You left me!” I scream, tears prickling my eyes. “You left Molly. What is she going to do? What are we going to do?” I hit my chest with the palm of my hand. I start to pace the floor, shaking my head because none of it makes sense. This doesn’t make sense.
They wouldn’t just leave.
“You were here. I just talked to you. We made plans.” I whisper and sit on the edge of the bed again. “We made plans,” I repeat and smooth my hands over my face. The stubble on my cheek scratches my skin, reminding me I need to shave. “I can’t do this without you. You were the closest thing I had to a brother. I don’t know what to do. A part of me is missing.”
I start to laugh as tears fall down my cheeks. My stomach starts to hurt from it. “You would think I was being such a bitch right now. You’d tell me to suck it up. Life goes on. You would say, ‘Caden Jackson doesn’t show emotion. Get your shit together.’” I wipe my face, hating myself for crying again. I never cry. I wait until I’m alone to let my grief take over. A man never shows his true colors. At least, that’s what my father used to say. “But you aren’t here. And I have no one to tell me otherwise.”
I press the heel of my palms against my eyes, holding in the tears. I don’t want to shed another one. “I know it wasn’t your fault. You wouldn’t choose to leave, but it doesn’t mean that I’m not angry because I am. I’m so mad. I don’t know what to do with it all. I feel it every day. It consumes me. All of me. My hands shake from the turbulent emotions and boiling blood. I want to scream. What do I do with it? I have no one now.” Brandon was my person. I don’t have any family. I have Charles, but that friendship differs from Brandon’s. Brandon helped me through med school. I was failing out, and I got myself in with the wrong crowd, but he noticed my struggle and helped me through it.
I can't help him now. I can’t return the favor. It’s too late, and I’ve never felt more alone. To let that show, though? Never. Men aren’t allowed to do that. Especially men like me. The good-looking, charismatic neurosurgeon, always smiling and laughing. I have to look strong for everyone, even if I have a moment of weakness.
At least, that is what my father used to say. He used to say a lot of things before he died.
The clock shows that I’m officially running late. Five minutes to be exact, but I don’t care. I know I need to meet with this attorney for Brandon.
I would have thought burying him would have brought me closure or some sort of peace, but I’m still all jumbled up inside. I don’t know what would set my soul at ease. A part of me doesn’t want to ever feel peace. Don’t ask me why, I don’t know why yet. I don’t like to feel lost, but right now, it’s better than meeting with an attorney that would only solidify his death more.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and a lump lodges in my throat when I see the voicemail notification from a week ago. My cell likes to remind me of the things I haven’t checked yet, this being one of them. I’m pretty sure it is the last voicemail Brandon ever left, but I’m not ready to hear it. I swipe the notification away and shove the damn device back in my pocket. Out of sight, out of mind. Isn’t that the saying?
“Get your shit together, Jackson.” I push the strap of my briefcase up my shoulder and walk toward the front door. “I can do this. He needed me to do this. So, do it.” The door slams shut behind me, practically kicking me in the ass, telling me to get a move on.
I look left and right, seeing if anyone is out and about enjoying the beautiful day, but not a soul lingers. My keys jingle in my hand as I fidget. I stand in the shade, knowing once the sunlight hits my skin, it will take away some of the angst weighing me down, and I’m not ready to let that go—not yet. But the lawyer isn’t going to meet with himself; I told my brain, which told my leg to take a step, taking me closer to my car.
It amazes me how the brain works. All the nerves firing off to one another, telling each other to do something. Without that, no one would be able to take a step. I wouldn’t be able to move. It’s a part of the reason why I became a neurosurgeon. I want to know everything about the brain. I’ve cut into so many different personalities and people. I hold everything in my hands that makes that person a person. It’s pure privilege.
Brandon always thought it was the coolest thing in the world. He told me if he ever needed brain surgery, he wanted me to do it because he said he’d come out a better man after I got done with him. I chuckle out loud, remembering when he said that. He knew he was the best guy around, and brain surgery wouldn’t affect that, unless I were to nick something I shouldn’t have. That would be bad.
The one time I could have helped him, he had already died, and nothing can overturn death. Except, maybe a god, and I don’t know if I believe in that. I believe in science and medicine. I believe in what I see, touch, feel—facts. If there is a god, I hope Brandon stands by him now. He deserves that.