He could still remember the few times he’d brought Meghan flowers back when she’d been alive. It hadn’t taken but one time for him to realize that the simple gesture was the easiest way to put a sparkle in her eyes. He could admit that he hadn’t been the most romantic man on the planet, but he’d tried to show her how much he loved her. Sometimes he wondered if he’d done enough.
The pang he was all too familiar with feeling in his chest was less agonizing than it used to be, although there was still a slight ache. A longing that he couldn’t seem to outrun. Even after eleven years, Dylan still wished he could turn back time and save his beautiful wife from the vicious disease that had stolen her from him. But the cancer had been brutal, taking her away from him without giving them a choice.
Since going back in time wasn’t an option, he settled for thinking about her often, and for these visits, though they were becoming more infrequent as time passed. For years, he would come out to the cemetery multiple times. Meghan’s birthday, their anniversary, Stacey’s birthday, Nate’s birthday, even his own. He’d made it by for holidays, and sometimes just because. But with every passing year, those visits had lessened, and now, he forced himself to come on her birthday, their wedding anniversary, and the anniversary of her death because he didn’t want her to think he’d forgotten about her.
So, thinking about her was exactly what he did for the next half hour, sitting there alone. His feet finally went numb, and he had to reposition his legs to get the blood pumping again. Leaning back on his hands, his legs stretched out in front of him, Dylan stared up at the moon. The clouds parted enough he could see the ominous light shining through.
Glancing down at her headstone, then back up at the sky, he said, “I’m just curious, honey … am I supposed to be as fucked up as I am? I mean, it’s been more than a decade since you … died.” He swallowed hard. “I’ve heard the pain would fade, and yeah, I can see that it has. But, Meghan, tell me why I can’t move on. Damn, honey…” Dylan took a deep breath. “I’m so glad you don’t know the man I’ve been all these years. I can’t help but think you would’ve hated me. At the very least, you would’ve been disappointed. I wouldn’t blame you, either. I’ve let everyone down.”
He wiped away a tear with the back of his hand. He knew he was acting strangely, and surprisingly, he hadn’t had a single thing to drink for the past three years thanks to his single-minded determination and a shitload of support from the AA meetings he’d started to attend. It hadn’t been easy, but he was making a valiant effort to pay attention to the important things in his life. Work, kids, family. Himself. All the things he’d put off for so long while he’d drowned himself in booze and memories of the one woman he’d never imagined he would have to live without.
“Maybe you should just tell me to move on,” he muttered. “It would be so much easier to hear you say it. I can’t seem to let go, babe. I can’t and I know I need to. The kids look at me funny, on the rare occasion they even do that. Nate’s pissed off all the time. Stacey’s too busy with her own blossoming social life to notice me at all. And instead of embracing life, I’ve pushed everyone away because I don’t know which way is up anymore.”
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.