Page 99 of Finding Hope

But not today.

I woke up just like I do every other day, but today, the anger and weight of heavy storm clouds hung over me. I didn’t smile at my morning wood, nor did I send the good morning text that I normally send Britt. And when I never sent it, she sent me a message asking what the hell was up.

I ignored it, then I switched off my phone.

I went down to breakfast and sat at the table with my head bowed low. In silence, I drank my coffee. I couldn’t stomach anything else, and Kit didn’t push it.

She knows what today is, too.

I got up when I was done, dropped a kiss on my nieces’ heads, and in my silence, I left. I came to the gym and trained with the guys, but they didn’t tease me, they didn’t bait me. Because they know what today is, too.

Everything I’ve worked for, everythingthey’veworked for, seems to have come undone just like that. Like a loose thread in a yard of fabric, one single tug has everything unraveling. Because today, I feel the rage, and I feel the craving.

I want a drink, and I want to escape.

Like a tidal wave trapped behind a wall, the rage I pushed aside for months has built and built and built, and now that the wall is down, I’m drowning.

I should go to Britt. I should reply to her texts. She’s the only person on the planet treating today like normal, treatingmelike normal, and of course she is, because obviously she doesn’t know what today is.

I should find her and let her bring me back to normalcy, but the rage is hot, and I don’t want to burn her.

Tomorrow.

I’ll go to her tomorrow and I’ll make it better.

I’d like to be noble and say that today is for Steph. That I won’t be seeing my new girlfriend as my show of respect for my late girlfriend.

But that would be a lie.

Today’s for me, because I’m weak, and I don’t want Britt or my family to see the weakness in my eyes.

Today I’m going home, tomyhome, and I’m going to sleep it off.

Tomorrow, I can wake to a brand-new day, and it won’t be Steph’s day. Then I’ll fix everything I broke today.

Opening the door to the Mustang, I slide in after Annie, start the ignition, and sigh as Eminem’s angry rapping fills the car. He joined me in my rage on the way here this morning, and now he can keep me company on the way home.

Without saying goodbye to the guys, ignoring their pitying glances, I pull out of the gym parking lot and drive around town. Slowly rolling past the cemetery, I tell her I’m sorry.

I’m so fucking sorry.

I saw her five days ago. Too long. But I don’t stop today.

I can’t.

I don’t have the energy.

Instead, I continue past, turn the corner, and head back across town as I beg for the numb to overtake my body.

A drink could help me. One single drink.

Pulling up at the gates to both my home, and my prison, I enter the codes – my sister’s wedding date – and watch them swing open. Tapping the steering wheel, I study Britt’s hair tie on my wrist.

I wear it every day.

The days I want to smile, I simply look at it. The days I want to feel the pain, I flick it against my wrist.

Britt’s played with it a billion times in the past few weeks, but she doesn’t mention it. I’m not even sure she knows it’s hers.

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