One Night with her Bachelor(47)
The bag almost seemed to stare at him as he stripped off his outer layers and built up the fire in the fireplace. Wherever he went in the cabin, he felt it drawing him back.
Muttering a curse, he stomped back to the kitchen and ripped open the plastic bag. Out tumbled a rainbow blanket—one of those kinds that was knitted or crocheted or somehow made with yarn.
He grabbed two corners of it and held them out. It was massive. It probably had two hundred small squares made out of fifty different colors, and they’d been woven together with black yarn that made the colors seem all the more vibrant. It was the brightest thing in his house.
She’d bought him a blanket? It was thoughtful and sweet and made his gut hurt a little.
He carried it to his bedroom and threw it over his bed, smoothing it out so he could get the full effect.
And that was when he saw it. One of the corner squares wasn’t as plain as the others. It was light green and had a design woven into it in purple yarn. He looked at it for a second before shock hit him. It wasn’t a design. It was a number: $27.32.
She’d made it. She’d made him a blanket—something to wrap himself up in. Something to keep him warm at night. Something to brighten his dreary home.
He shoved the blanket to the side and sat down hard on the edge of the bed. The woman who had so little time for herself had devoted it to him.
Squeezing his eyes closed, he lay down, gently pulled the blanket over himself and buried his face in it as he tried to shut out everything it meant.
Memories feasted on him every night for a week. During the days, he busied himself in his workshop, but at night he had nothing to distract his mind. He was used to memories of Scott’s death invading his dreams, turning them into fitful nightmares, but now—under the weight of Molly’s blanket—new memories took root. Holding her in his arms. Watching her unbridled joy as she twirled in the snow. Dancing with her. Kissing her. Feeling her passion break apart as her body clutched at his.
Her heartbreaking confession—the one that had ripped open all his insecurities—echoed in his head night after night as he fought to fall asleep. I’ve experienced a lot of grief, and that’s what Josh’s injury is like. I’m grieving the life he could’ve had.
What kind of life would Gabriel have had if his final mission had gone differently?
You could’ve been on the chopper Scott was on. You could’ve been just as dead as he is.
After a week of restless nights, he finally gave up on sleep. Shoving his comforter off, he sat on the edge of his bed, strapped his prosthesis on and got dressed. He went into his workshop, opened a can of mahogany wood stain and dipped a clean paint brush in.
You’re alive, *. Alive and alone. Deal with it.
He picked up a little wooden pendant he’d carved and stroked the brush over its stylized letters: Never Quit. When he’d needed a new project to distract him after dropping Molly off last Wednesday night, he hadn’t intended to make this. Unlike his other pieces, it hadn’t come from one of his grandpa’s woodworking books. The design had simply sprung to his brain and festered there until he’d had to get it out. It had taken him ages and he’d cursed it with every swipe of his blade. He’d nicked and sliced his fingers more than with any other project, but goddamn it, he’d needed to make it.
Some problems are too big to take care of on your own, Gabriel. And then the bravest thing you can do is accept help from other people.
He didn’t want help from other people. He gave help; he didn’t receive it.
I’m grieving the life he could’ve had.
Gabriel spun and threw the paint brush across the room. It hit the opposite wall and slid down to the floor with a clatter. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”
Ignoring reality was pointless. He wanted Molly, wanted her strength and wisdom and support. He wanted to be her man, to be there when she needed him. He wanted to laugh and cry with her, reminisce about Scott with her, sit quietly and simply be with her. He wanted to watch Josh grow and change, and he wanted to be Molly’s buffer when her love for her son cramped the boy’s independence.
Throughout those long months after Josh’s accident, he’d lived to find ways of making life easier for her. She’d become his purpose, a distraction from his own grief. After the auction, he’d focused on helping her heal, but that had been just another way to ignore the fact that he’d lost his own purpose.
He knew what it was like to live without part of himself. These last two weeks without Molly felt infinitely worse. Her loss was a constant itch, reminding him she was missing from his life. Reminding him he didn’t feel whole without her.
He stared down at the pendant.
Never quit.
His mind filled with a vision of Josh laughing as Gabriel lifted his wheelchair off the ground. Molly swallowing her pride and walking onstage to thank a town that had gathered to help her. Scott breathing his last words as Gabriel carried him and ran for the chopper: “Get me home, buddy.”
The three bravest people he knew accepting help when they needed it most.
He wanted to feel worthy of them, but he needed to make a few changes of his own first. He picked up a new paintbrush and dipped it into the wood stain. It was going to be a hell of a long few days.
*
Molly picked up the bell sitting on the corner of her desk and rang it. Twenty children gasped and turned to face her with wild-eyed excitement. She bit back her smile. Even though she rang the bell for recess three times a day, the kids still looked surprised at their luck every single time.