The Resurrection of Wildflowers (Wildflower #2)(25)

I’m rambling now, it’s usually what happens to me when I’m here. I word vomit my thoughts at him and Forrest, of course, says nothing.

“I miss you. So much. You are the best seven years of my thirty-seven years of existence on this planet. You made me a dad. I thought for a while that I stopped being one when you died, but I realize now you don’t stop being a parent just because your child is gone. No matter what, I’ll always be your dad, Forrest, and when I meet you on the other side I can’t wait to feel your arms around me again.”

While I finish my lunch, I fill him in on mundane things in my life—like what’s going on at work, the latest movie I watched that reminded me of him—all of the silly day to day things he misses out on.

I have to get back to work, so I pack my trash away, and place my hand over his name.

“I love you, kid.”

Standing up, I brush the dirt and grass from my shorts.

I have to get back to work, because no matter what, life keeps going.





CHAPTER 19





SALEM





The next night after helping my mom bathe—she sits on a shower chair and I take care of the rest—and into bed, I slip out the side door for some fresh air, discovering another bouquet of peonies.

I pick them up, inspecting the petals. Each one is so delicate and perfect.

There’s no note this time. When I finally read the one he included before, it said;

For my sunshine.

—T

Setting them back down, I walk to the end of the driveway and peek at Thayer’s house. The sun is beginning to set and I see him sitting on the front porch swing that I helped him put up a lifetime ago.

Hesitating for a moment or two, I finally make my way up his front walk onto the porch.

He saw me approaching and his eyes study me as I stand in front of him. He pushes his feet, the swing swaying lightly.

“Hi,” I say softly, hesitant to approach.

The tiniest of smiles dances across his lips. “Hi. Do you want to join me?”

I nod and he scoots over so there’s enough room on his left side for me to sit with him.

The blue and white stripped cushion is soft beneath my butt. I have to fight my body’s natural desire to want to curl into him. It’s like my body has forgotten all the time that has passed and that he’s not mine to touch freely anymore.

He arches a brow, noticing the way I incline away from him. “I’m not contagious. You can touch me.”

I ignore his comment. “You don’t have to bring me flowers. But thank you. They’re beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like them. They’re all for you anyway.”

My brows narrow in confusion, not quite sure what he means by that comment. If he got me flowers and left them, then of course they are for me, but I feel like there’s a deeper meaning I’m not catching onto.

“I have to ask you something.”

“Okay?” He sounds unsure.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

A heavy sigh rattles his chest. He looks away from me, at the setting sun that paints the sky in a watercolor of pinks, purples, and oranges.

“For a while, I convinced myself that I’d accomplished what I wanted. I pushed you away to live a life without me and it would be weak to break the promise I made to myself to give you a chance to grow on your own.” He rubs his jaw, looking pained. “By the time I realized what an idiot I’d been, it was too late.”

My voice is barely above a whisper when I prompt, “What do you mean?”

“Your mom had been gone a few days, so when she came back, I asked her if everything was okay.” He pauses, rubbing his brow like it still pains him to remember this. He continues to look away from me, like it’s too much to meet my eyes. “She said she had been gone for a wedding. I don’t know what made me ask whose wedding, but I did, and she said it was yours.” His voice grows weak with emotion. “I had just made the decision to find you—I tried calling and texting, but I think you’d changed your number at that point. I was too late.” He finally looks at me, and I see years of pain, regret, and even love in his brown eyes. “It’s what I deserved.”

“How did we let everything get so messed up?”

He runs his fingers through his hair, blowing out a breath. “Hubris gets all of us at some point. I tried to convince you, and myself, that you were better off without me and hurt both of us in the end.” He stares down at his hands, flexing his fingers. “I knew you were it for me, though, that I’d never love another person the way I love you. So, it’s just been me, here,” he waves a hand at his house, “alone. I decided that was my punishment—to have tasted something real and to be denied it for the rest of my existence because I pushed it away.”

I stay fixated on the fact that he used love in the present tense. “Do you still love me then?”

“I don’t want to scare you.”

Shaking my head back and forth rapidly, I plead, “I just want you to be honest.”

We’ve both spent too much time not saying what we really mean and I’m tired of it. So much can be wasted by keeping things to yourself.

“I never stopped loving you, Salem. Not once. Not for a minute, not even for a second.”