Eleanor & Grey(41)

“We’ll talk later, alright?”

He always did that, ending the conversations early, which was probably for the best. Otherwise, I would’ve just held on to the cell phone, listening to his erratic breathing and wishing we weren’t the people that we were.

“All right, Dad. I love you.”

“Yeah, you too. Buh-bye.”

He hung up without giving me the words I needed to hear most, the ones that might’ve given me a bit of comfort.

I love you, too.

It was hard to believe there had been a time when my father and I were close. Time had the ability to change relationships in ways we never thought possible. Death did that to people—turned their souls into something new. Sometimes, it was for the better, and other times it was for the worst. Over time, life forced people and their relationships to shift.

Some days, I wished I could ever-so-slightly shift my father back toward the man he used to be.

I missed that man every single day of my life, and I secretly prayed to Mom that she’d help him find his way back to me.

I fully believed in my mother’s love. I thought her love was so strong it could somehow beat death. I felt her love around me at all times.

I really hoped Dad felt her presence, too.

Still here, Ellie.

Those words from her were tattooed on my heart, and they kept it beating.





25





Greyson





I stayed at EastHouse headquarters as long as I could. Most of my employees cleared out by seven, and when I glanced at my watch it was half past nine.

My phone started buzzing, and Landon’s name popped up on the screen. I ignored the call, but that didn’t stop my best friend from instantly texting me.

Landon: Go home, Grey.

I would’ve said me ignoring his calls was nothing personal, but it was. Ever since the accident, Landon had checked in on me every single day, and I pretty much ignored him every single day. I was sick of lying to him by telling him I was okay when I wasn’t. I was sick of hearing the concern in his voice. I was sick of him caring.

So, I buried myself in my work and continued to do so each day until I was the last man to leave the office.

When I made it home, the babysitter was sleeping on the couch. She was some seventeen-year-old kid Claire had hired for days when we didn’t have a nanny. I walked over to her and woke her up.

I felt pretty shitty about it being so late, seeing how she had school in the morning.

“Hey, wake up,” I said, tapping her shoulder. I didn’t remember her name, because I was the asshole who forgot people’s names, no matter how many times I’d met them.

She sat up a little and yawned. “Oh, hi, Mr. East.”

“Hello. You can head home now,” I told her.

She yawned again. “Okay. The girls did good tonight. Lorelai wouldn’t take off her butterfly wings, though, and she’s sleeping in them. And Karla is…well, you know…Karla.”

Oddly enough, I knew exactly what she meant.

I went into my wallet and pulled out cash. She shook her head. “Oh, no. Claire already paid me.”

“Here’s more, for the short notice.”

Her eyes widened. “But that’s a hundred-dollar bill.”

“Yes, I’m aware. Thank you for your time, er—”

“Madison.” She smiled, giving me her name like she always had to. “Like the capital of Wisconsin.”

“Right. Madison. Goodnight.”

She headed out of the house, and I released a breath of air. It was always nice when there was no longer anyone around.

After I poured myself a glass of whiskey on the rocks, I made my two stops of the night. First, to Lorelai.

Her bedroom was covered in her artwork. She’d gotten the artistic skills from her mother, that was for sure. Her breaths were quiet as she slept heavily with her body balled up in a knot. I went over to her, as I did each night, and took off her butterfly wings. She grumbled and twisted a little before falling back asleep.

During the day, she was a wild girl. She never went a minute without talking and her energy level was through the roof. At night, though, she was the definition of calm. Her breaths were always so soft and quiet.

I kneeled down beside her and combed her hair behind her ear. I kissed her forehead before heading to Karla’s room next.

She, too, was sleeping, but she had her iPhone lying beside her as her Beats by Dre headphones covered her ears. Whenever I checked on Karla, I first checked her heart beats. She breathed much heavier than her younger sister, and sometimes I swore her breaths took pauses that felt too long.

Or perhaps that was just my worried mind.

Karla Lynn East was born three weeks premature. She was in the NICU for five weeks, suffering from breathing issues. There was a moment we weren’t sure she’d pull through, but from day one, my girl had been a fighter. The day Nicole and I brought Karla home, I sat next to her crib for weeks, counting her breaths. Each inhale and every exhale was marked down in my mind. I had slept on the floor of her nursery each day, making sure her lungs were still rising and falling at a normal pace.

After the accident ten months ago, she punctured a lung which caused her to suffer from shortness of breath. Even though her lung healed, I couldn’t shake my fear away. Therefore, each night I’d check her breathing. I’d beat myself up every time she missed an inhalation, too. If it weren’t for my mistake, she wouldn’t have been suffering so much.