Page 16 of Never Too Late

By the time I look back at the clock, I realise two hours have already gone by and I’ve rung three potential guitar teachers, compared prices, and checked out reviews on their websites and on Google. After another half an hour, I’ve booked for a guitar teacher to visit the store at the end of the week. During the call I mentioned how it could potentially turn into a weekly thing teaching classes at the store – both of us seemed eager and loved the idea, the teacher was completely on board.

A million thoughts come to mind, and for the first time in a while, I stop and smile because I feel engaged with something.

I’m putting my mind to work.

I’m thinking about creating something.

I’m excited.

I slowly feel like I’m returning to myself day by day, and as always, I have my brother to thank for that.

Chapter nine

Jae

“I don’t think I can smile when you’re not around me.”

I find it hard to believe how quickly time has flown since I moved here. I purchased my small house in a town I’d only visited a handful of times previously, ensuring nothing stood in the way of me doing so. As cliché as it may sound, or no matter how many times Isaac teases me when I mention it, this has been the best decision I have made for myself, and I am thankful this is what I chose to do. I’m also glad that I ignored him every time he tried to talk me out of it.

When I first received the news I was being discharged, I felt as though my life had hit rock bottom. This small town has saved me. It’s quickly becoming my sanctuary, and I can fully understand and appreciate why it meant so much to Dax.

For the last three weeks, I have wondered if I’m going to bump into him.

Or when I’m going to bump into him.

It pains me that I don’t know where he is. I don’t know how he is and quite frankly, I wouldn’t know where to start looking if I wanted to. Neither of us has been a fan of social media. There was no real reason for me to have it no matter how many times the lads tried to persuade me. That and every dating app imaginable. So that automatically puts me at a disadvantage if for whatever reason, I was to try and get into contact with him again.

Walking into the back room, I notice one box I’ve not been able to bring myself to unpack yet. In all honesty, part of me wonders why I brought it in the first place, as I am left with nothing but the haunted memories and sadness that will come alongside it.

Opening the box, one thing instantly catches my attention.

The small metal case with a latch peeking up at me from inside.

This case has become somewhat of a companion to me, it has joined me on every tour, been by my side every step of the way within my journey in the army, and now, like me, the box can finally get a well-deserved rest.

I’d never been one for writing letters. They didn’t appeal to me, especially because everyone worth writing to already accompanied me on tour. So, when I first started, after Dax made me promise I would write as much as I could, I quickly learnt I enjoyed the calming feeling it gave me. It allowed me to transfer all my thoughts and feelings into something else. He wanted it all. The good, the bad, and everything in between.

So, I kept that promise.

Writing letters had become a strict routine of which I had fallen into effortlessly. Sometimes, they were difficult for me to write because I longed to hold him in my arms instead of holding a piece of paper to my chest. I longed to see his smile or hear his voice, but calls had become too difficult. We both decided it was best for those with families and children at home waiting to be able to utilise what was available.

So, we stuck to pen and paper.

Until they stopped arriving.

The familiar feeling of heartbreak takes over my body, claiming me as its victim once again as I stare at the box in my hands. I’ve purposely kept myself busy in order to forget about it altogether. Some say distance makes the heart grow fonder, but with Dax, it somehow made his heart grow further away.

Gently placing the box that holds a piece of my heart on the bed, my legs move backward of their own violation, and I somehow end up on the floor. I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them in a tight grip.

How can I have conflicting feelings for it, and all that it represents?

Turning my head away, I lean it into the crook of my elbow, closing my eyes and taking a long breath, knowing the feelings I tried so hard to suppress are about to make it back to the surface.

And they do, more than I was prepared for.

Hesitantly opening my eyes, I wake up feeling disoriented, not knowing where I am at first, but the memories quickly come back. I somehow managed to fall asleep. I stretch my body out from the tight cocoon I had formed, pushing myself to sit up straight. My body groans in protest. The bullet wound still feeling fresh, and the pain infiltrating my side.

Unfortunately, I notice the box is still where I left it, taunting me.

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