Page 10 of The Oath We Give

Yet, in my chest, I feel it.

The time that’s slipped through my fingers.

It’s measured by my grief and the stages of it.

Acceptance has been the most painful.

“How are the boys?” My father coughs into his fist after asking, probably having already looked over my shoulder at my phone screen. He’s always been nosey like that.

“Alive,” I grunt, sinking further into the chair.

“Shocking.”

The corners of my mouth twitch. He has no idea just how shocking it is. That we survived all the treachery and death unharmed and somehow were able to move forward as if it’d never happened at all.

On the outside, that is.

There are scars on each of us that will never fade. Deep wounds that bleed into each other that only we can see. We came out alive but not unscathed.

“Alistair just got married,” I tell him, because that’s what normal people say about their friends. Sharing the ordinary updates of their adult lives.

I feel the weight of his stare, and I glance over at him. His eyes have widened, and there is skepticism on his brow.

“And the girl was willing? She walked down the aisle of her own accord?”

A snort leaves my throat. “Seems that way.”

He shakes his head as if he can’t believe what I’ve told him. I don’t blame him. Alistair Caldwell never really seemed like the marrying type. More like a brood in the corner until he died kinda guy.

My father had only ever seen him in two lights, angry or causing trouble. There are things about the guys my family would never understand. They’d never outright said they disapproved of my friendships, but I could see it on their faces. However, they refused to take away anything from me that would cause me unhappiness.

But they’d never know them like I do. No one would.

Had never seen just how much someone like Alistair cares about people. How he’d easily give up his own life for someone he loves.

In our own sick fucking way, I think we care more than most.

“You plan on walking down the aisle before I croak? Or giving me grandkids?”

I roll my eyes as I look at him. “You’re spending too much time listening to Mom.”

I’m not even a little surprised she’s pulled him into this. If she tries to tell me about another one of her friends’singledaughters, I’m going to stop going to family dinner.

I would do anything to give my father everything he requests before he passes. Marrying someone? Not going to happen.

“I know losing Rosemary was hard for you.” He places a weak hand on my shoulder. “But you are allowed to love again, kid.”

My jaw tightens.

That’s everyone’s favorite thing to say to me. Rosemary would want you to be happy. You’re allowed to move on. She’d want that for you. As if they knew her better than I did.

Do they not think I already know this? That I don’t know she’d want me to have a good life, to find someone to love? Rosie’s probably turned in her grave at least a million times since she died at all the things I’ve done. I know she’d want me to move on.

And a part of me has. I’ve spent the last two years settling into the acceptance that she is gone and is never coming back. It’s not my love for Rosie that is holding me back from giving myself to another person.

I’ve always believed love is like water, the way it flows between bodies and souls. You can’t stop the flow of it because one pathway is closed off. It just finds another exit.

It’s the part of me that refuses to love again. I’ve damned up my soul because I know what the pain of losing someone feels like. I won’t do that to myself again.

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