Sliding my free hand into the front pocket of my jeans, I continue staring down at Rylan’s grave. This is the first time I’ve been back here since the day I snuck out of the hospital and everything went to shit. I’d been putting it off for months, but after listening to my therapist nag me about it every time I met with him, and Shelby not so subtly reminding me every couple of weeks that she’d be more than happy to go with me when I was ready, I knew it was time.
I tossed and turned all last night after I’d finally told her I was ready. I came close to throwing up the pancakes she made for me this morning. I made her drive us here because my hands were shaking too badly for me to hold on to the steering wheel, but now that we’re here, a strange calm has settled over me and I wish I would have come sooner.
“You leave a penny for someone you might not have known very well, but you still considered a friend,” I tell her. “You leave a quarter if you were with the soldier when he died.”
The coin thing dates back to at least the Roman Empire and I first learned about it during boot camp. Rylan used to joke with me that if he died first, I damn well better show up at his grave with nothing less than a handful of fifty-dollar bills, because he was worth much more than a quarter.
I can almost hear him calling me an asshole and giving me the finger.
Almost, but not really, thank God.
I stopped hearing his voice and seeing his face when I finally learned how to let him go. He told me he would leave when I stopped needing him, but I think he knew that would never happen. I would always need my best friend. I would always miss him and wish I could have saved him. Not a day goes by that I don’t have to stop myself from picking up the phone to call him about something.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to fully get rid of the guilt that he died and I lived, and I’ll never understand why him and not me, but I’m learning to do as he asked and not waste the second chance I was given.
I’m not fully healed and I’m not sure I’ll ever be, but every day gets a little bit easier. Shelby makes sure I never miss a meeting with my therapist, she hands me my pills and a glass of water every night before bed, and she always lets me know she’s not going anywhere, no matter how hard it gets or how many times I retreat into myself or pull away. She’s always there, pulling me right back out of the darkness, filling me up with more good than I ever deserved. She makes everything better just by being in the same room with me, making sure I’m okay without hovering and making me talk even when I don’t want to.
Shelby also convinced me to finally reach out to the two other men in our unit who were captured along with Rylan and me and lived through the same hell we did for five years. I didn’t want to face them when we were first rescued, because I knew seeing them and speaking to them would force me to accept the truth that Rylan wasn’t here. Talking to them now, sharing the same fear and pain and nightmares, knowing there are two other men out there who experienced the same things I did and having people who fully understand the struggles I’m dealing with has helped more than anything else.
Even through all the bullshit going on with her mother’s confession and the back and forth with lawyers for months, forgoing a trial when she immediately agreed to jail time. Through all the phone calls from the media wanting a statement from Shelby and practically the entire town showing up at the plantation at one point or another to either give their support or try and get a piece of gossip, Shelby has held her head up high and pushed it all aside to make sure I’m okay.
She amazes me every day. I’m in awe of her strength every time I look at her and realize how lucky I am that she has stuck by my side, never wavering in her determination to heal me and fix all of our broken pieces. She always reassures me that she got the better end of the deal. During my breakdown, my stay in the hospital, and the ten days I kept myself locked in my room, Shelby and Kat formed a bond that will never be broken. After every time we have my sister and her family over for dinner, after every time we stop by their house so Shelby can cuddle my niece, and after every time she hangs up the phone after speaking to Kat or Daniel, she gives me a hug and thanks me for giving her a family. One who loves her unconditionally, stands by her side, and supports her no matter what she does.
Shelby also gives me credit for helping her heal the rift between her and Meredith. I wanted to be just as pissed when I found out Meredith had been the one to keep all those letters I’d written to Shelby because she thought she was protecting her, but if I’d learned anything in the last few months, it was to let things go and move on. After a few phone calls back and forth to Meredith and coming up with a plan, a package arrived for Shelby a month ago that made her immediately dissolve into tears, call her best friend, and make amends. I’d secretly photocopied all the letters and e-mailed them to Meredith, who took them all and turned them into a book. Nothing she would sell to a publisher or release on her own, a book just for Shelby and me called, The Story of Us. She’d taken the letters and I’d filled in the blanks with present-day information and she’d turned it into an amazing story that I still couldn’t believe was ours. I still couldn’t believe we’d been through all of that and come out on the other side. We keep the book on the mantle in the living room, where we can always look at it, or read a few pages if we ever need a reminder of how much stronger we are when we’re together.
“You doing okay?” Shelby asks, tipping her head back to look up at me.
I smile down at her and nod.
“I’m doing okay,” I confirm.
With Shelby’s arms still around my waist and mine still draped over her shoulder, we turn and walk away. Glancing over my shoulder one last time, I keep my eyes on Rylan’s name as we walk until it gets too small to see.
“I won’t piss it away, I promise,” I whisper under my breath, turning my head back around as I grab my second chance by the hand and walk to the car.
Two years later…
The sound of shitty pop music echoes from the studio when I push open the door and walk down the hall. Pausing in the doorway, I smile when I see her in the middle of the room with her back to me, moving her feet from side to side and shouting directions so she can be heard above the song.
I watch her lift her arm above her head and the thirty or so kids in the room copy what she does. Her eyes meet mine in the reflection of the mirror and she smiles back at me before turning around, lifting her hand in the air, and crooking her finger at me. When all thirty kids turn around and mimic what she’s doing, I throw my head back and laugh.