Without a word, I picked her up and carried her to the couch, where I sat her on my lap and just held her as she cried against my neck. No words needed to be said, as she heard it all, so we just sat there. I tried to give her the comfort she so desperately needed.
Afterward, she lifted herself from my lap, and I immediately stood, then told her I needed to go. That Gigi and the puppies were waiting for me. It was a shit excuse, but I needed to get out of there. I needed to rein in my scattered emotions and regroup. It’s so easy to get sucked in when I’m around them. It’s so easy to forget why I shouldn’t want Gwen and her two kids. And once again, I had to watch pain line her face as I walked out the door. I should be shot dead for all the mixed feelings and actions I’m giving her.
Instead of going home when I left, I ended up at Clara and Rayne’s graves. It was dark and cold out, but it didn’t matter. I sat my ass down between their two graves and did nothing but look out into the darkened cemetery. I didn’t talk to them, and I didn’t cry, but I did listen, and I swear I heard Clara whispering to me to let go of the guilt. To move on and be happy. I want to. I want to so fucking badly. I just don’t know if it’s possible for me.
After, I left their graves with my heart even heavier.
Hours later, as I lie in bed, an image of the wounded look on Gwen’s face as I left her pops into my mind. I grab my phone and check the time. It’s after midnight. She’ll be in bed, but the need to make sure she’s okay is overwhelming.
I unlock the screen and type out a message.
Me: Hey.
I’m surprised when I receive a reply seconds later. I wonder if she’s having as much trouble finding sleep as me.
Gwen: Hey.
Before I can stop myself, I’m typing out another message.
Me: How are you?
It takes her a minute to reply.
Gwen: I’m okay. Are you?
Okay. Not good, not great. Just okay. I don’t like that she’s just okay.
Me: I’m sorry for leaving so quickly earlier.
Gwen: It’s fine. I understand.
She understands, but she lets me back inside every time we’re together, knowing I may withdraw again. I’m an asshole for putting her through that.
Me: How’s Kelsey?
Gwen: She’s good. Sleeping.
I drop my phone on my chest and stare up at the ceiling for several moments, wondering how in the hell I got to this point. How I went from having everything, to nothing, then back on the verge of having everything again if I allow it.
My phone vibrates against my chest, and I look at the screen.
Gwen: I didn’t tell you, but thank you for talking to her. For telling her I don’t blame her and it wasn’t her fault about her father.
I picture Gwen on the other end of the line, fighting back her tears. I know having her silent daughter talk to me instead of her had to hurt, but I also know that she’s glad that she talked, period.
I silently accept her gratitude and tell her something else. Something I hope helps.
Me: She’ll come to you. She wants to, she misses you.
Gwen: I know. It’s just hard waiting.
Me: Try to get some sleep.
Gwen: Okay. Good night, Alexander. And thank you again.
Me: Good night, Gwendolyn. Sleep well.
I put my phone back on the nightstand, the tightness in my chest somewhat abated now that I know she’s okay.