Page 55 of Black Roses

“Okay.” I squeeze his hand back in reassurance.

“The coroner’s report shows they died at the scene. But they weren’t sure if they died instantly.” He clears his throat, struggling to keep the desperation from his voice. “I like to think they did. That they didn’t know what was happening. That they didn’t have time to think about dying and how that meant they’d never see their only child again. Never see each other again—the loves of their lives.”

He draws in a ragged breath. His hand grips me a little tighter and I notice it has become damp.

“The dreams started the night after the funeral. My mind went wild, each night delivering me a different version of the accident I had little memory of. I’d blocked out everything that happened after hitting the tree. After hearing the bark split and splinter while the hard steel crunched and buckled around it.

“Night after night, the unforgiving dreams came relentlessly. It got to the point where I didn’t sleep much. My grades plummeted. My social life ceased to exist. I stopped participating in spring workouts. My will to live was slowly being sucked out of me every time I relived that day in my dreams.”

I run my fingers along his scar. I have no words. I don’t pretend to know what he went through. But I know loss. I know excruciating heartbreak. I know nightmares. Hearing the raspy hitch in his voice, the way he tries to look strong for me when he’s obviously a wreck on the inside—it makes me want to cry for him.

But I don’t. I haven’t cried for anything or anyone. Not since that day.

He sighs, pulling himself together. “Some nights are better than others. Some nights my parents tell me there was no pain, no suffering, no blame. Those nights I watch them peacefully pass away. But then there are the ones where I watch them die horribly. Bloody and mangled, one or both of them screaming out in pain. I’m held captive in a seat belt that won’t release. I can’t reach them. I try to comfort them with my words. I say I’m sorry. That I fucked up. But they become still and stare blankly, their faces pale as the life leaves their bodies.

“Other times I do reach them and hold their hands as they slowly slip away. Then there are the dreams where they die instantly, not giving me the chance to say goodbye. To apologize for killing them.” He pulls his hand from mine, wiping the sweat on his jeans before bringing it back to grasp my fingers again. “For months and months, every version of that night played out differently in my dreams. It made me crazy. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t know what really happened. I still don’t.”

Oh my God.

My heart races. My throat stings. My eyes hurt from suppressing tears that beg to fall. Does Mason even know how much we are alike?

Maybe he would understand.

I want to comfort him, but the huge lump blocking my airway keeps me from speaking, so all I can do is caress his hand to let him know I’m here. That I’m listening.

“The lack of sleep wreaked havoc on me and one day I just snapped. I couldn’t live with the guilt anymore. The doctors said I actually went temporarily insane from my chronic insomnia. That’s why they didn’t commit me—well after my mandatory seventy-two hour stay. They gave me anti-anxiety meds that caused me to sleep for two days straight.

“My coach, Coach Braden, petitioned the state to become my legal guardian when I was released from the hospital. The therapists they had me see didn’t do much good. It was Coach who helped me. He pushed me to play again. He took me on the field every day after school and worked me until I nearly passed out from exhaustion. Most nights I was too tired to dream. But it was his words that got to me. Just a few simple words—but I’ll never forget them. He said,‘if you die—they die along with you. If you live—they live through you. You are their legacy.’

“Those words are what I see now when the bad dreams come. I want to make my parents proud. I can’t change the past. I can’t not swerve to miss the squirrel and crash into that tree. But now I know it was a mistake. A momentary lapse in judgment. I may be the reason my parents died, but I didn’t die with them. I was given a second chance—a third even. And I plan on living. Living for them. Living for me.”

He takes some calming breaths. His revelation clearly done.

I try to swallow the lump that has taken residence in my throat. I clear my voice. “I spill drinks on purpose.”

I can’t look up at him. I can, however, feel a wave of tension leave his body. His hand relaxes in mine. His breathing becomes more regular. The tense muscles of his thigh slacken under my head.

“I had begun to suspect as much,” he says. “Do you want to talk about it?”

My eyes close. “Yes.” My heart beats wildly and panic builds in my belly as my memories overpower me. “No.”

“When you’re ready.” He runs a soothing hand through my hair.

“I’ll never be ready, Mason. Because once I tell you, you won’t want me. I know I can never be the person you need me to be.”

“You’re wrong, sweetheart.” He brings my hand up to his lips and places a gentle kiss on the back of it. “You are exactly the person I need you to be. You aren’t perfect. God knows, I’m not perfect. But I think we just might be perfect together.”

My heart opens and lets him etch a piece of himself inside.

“We all see ourselves differently from others,” he says. “We see the worst. In my eyes, I’m a murderer. I don’t yet know what you think is the worst version of yourself. But this I’m sure of—nobody else sees you that way. Least of all me.”

~ ~ ~

“Oh my God, Pipes,” Charlie wails through the phone. “You have to tell him.”

“Why? So he can think about all those other hands on my body when he’s touching me?” I blow out a frustrated sigh.

“No. So he can begin to understand you. He bared himself to you, Piper. Not many men can do that. It’s obvious to me he has major feelings for you.”

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