Page 87 of The Darkness Within

“Thank you,” Nash murmurs.

“Thank me after the massage. It’s going to get even better.”

And it does. Laid out on tables, side-by-side, with the lights dimmed low and scented candles burning, I close my eyes to the sound of rainfall and ocean waves playing softly in the background.

Nash’s steady breathing becomes quicker and harsher when our masseuses join us. I don’t want to ask him what’s wrong and make him voice his fears and insecurities in front of two strangers, so I try to put myself in his shoes and replay his experiences, looking for the trigger.

A dark small room, strange men touching him. He probably feels vulnerable and at their mercy. He doesn’t like to be touched by strangers.

Fuck, I fucked up. This is not relaxing for him at all. But then he reaches out for me, and I take his hand, squeezing back reassuringly, and his breath steadies again.

“I’m here,” I murmur, “right here with you.”

Despite our little hiccup, by the time we leave the spa, we’re feeling relaxed. At this point, Nash is excited about the next item on our agenda. His enthusiasm is contagious. I haven’t seen him smile this much or heard him laugh so often as I have today. He wears happiness well. It makes him look breathtaking.

“Oh my God,” he breathes in awe when we pull up to the Biltmore Estate. “Brewer, quit.”

“What?”

“What is this weekend costing you?”

“Don’t worry about what it’s costing me. Just enjoy yourself. Nobody deserves it more than you.”

The ticket line is long, and as we stand there, patiently waiting, Nash recalls a story I’ve never heard.

“I don’t know if you remember, but we had these programs like BOSS and MWR. Basically, it’s a morale support group for single soldiers. Every month, they plan these outings, and it’s all completely paid for by the Army. We’ve gone deep-sea fishing, parasailing, skydiving, ridden ATVs through the mountains, and a bunch of other fun shit. Oh God, one time we played paintball, and G nailed me right in the—” He pauses and looks around at the people eavesdropping in line with us. “Anyway,” he continues, skipping over the NSFW parts of the story, “they organized a trip to the Biltmore Estate once, but on the way here, we all decided no one was really interested in seeing it, so we ditched it and just bummed around Asheville for the weekend. There were maybe twenty of us, and God, we had the best time.”

I love hearing his stories, seeing his face light up with happiness as he remembers the good times. “Touring old castles may not be your thing, but this place is amazing at Christmas time. But that’s not why we’re here.”

“It’s not?” He looks around at the imposing mansion, the largest in the country. “Then what are we doing here?”

“You’ll see,” I tease with a secret smile.

We bypass the tour of the house and head around back to the gardens.

“Holy shit,” Nash breathes.

“This is why we’re here.”

“This is incredible!”

“It is. If you’re looking for inspiration for Violet’s garden, you won’t find any better than this. They have every kind of ornamental garden there is. Look at how beautiful it is,” I say, pointing to a grouping of hibiscus in every bold color of the rainbow.

“I am,” he insists, and when I look back at him, I find him staring at me. His eyes are as soft as his smile. “I’m crazy about you, Brewer Marx.”

“Well, fuck. I’m kind of crazy about you, too.” I smile against his lips as he tries to kiss me, which makes him laugh.

We spend the afternoon touring the gardens until the sun begins to set over the ridge, casting the mountains in shadow. We’ve taken a hundred pictures with our phones, and Nash even took voice notes about certain species of flowers he wants to add to Violet’s garden.

“I feel so inspired,” he muses as we drive back to the hotel. “I can’t wait to get started.”

I just love to see the fire in his eyes, the motivation, his brain firing on all cylinders. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him excited about something. This is a glimpse of the old Nash, the man I’ve never met, the man he used to be.

“We all have wings, some of us just don’t know why. Figure out why God gave you wings. Find out what makes you fly. If it’s gardening, or if it’s just helping others find their passion, and being of service to others in need. It doesn’t matter what it is, how big or small, if it makes you feel alive, chase it with both hands and grab onto it and don’t let go.”

Nash gives me a tiny smile and laces his fingers with mine over the console. “You make me fly. Loving you, that’s what gives me wings.”

Of course, Valor is fine and still alive and healthy when we return to the Motor Court Inn. Nash is beyond relieved, as if he actually doubted it. He scoops the tiny kitten up in his big hands and cradles him against his chest. I start the shower, letting the bathroom fill with steam as I listen to Nash recount our adventures to Valor in his kitten voice. That’s what I call his high-pitched tone he reserves just for the kitten. It’s adorable as fuck and quite hilarious coming from such a big, hardened guy.

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