Page 35 of The Heart We Guard
Memory is wild. It’s impossible to say which ones will stick and which will fade.
I remember how I got the name Butcher: On one of my very first outings as a prospect, I flayed a man wide open to get him to talk.
But I don’t remember the moment I first met Ember’s mom.
I remember the day Wraith’s wife and kid were killed, remember his sobs as he held the two of them in his arms and wailed like he was dying.
But I don’t remember Ember’s birth. I was so drunk, I fell asleep in the chair in the delivery room. And Ember’s mom, so pissed off with me, didn’t wake me, to teach me a lesson. I don’t even remember arriving at the hospital. Just waking and seeing her mom sleeping, and Ember lying in one of those little cribs, eyes wide open, looking at me as if she could see every sin I’d ever committed.
Who knows why some memories stick and others fade?
But I hope I take the memory of this moment with me always.
Because it’s a memory of a life I can’t possibly have.
The responsibilities to the club are too demanding. And I have a relationship to repair with my daughter. And Greer has a mobile unit to create. As a thank you, I’m gonna look around and see if there’s an old ambulance we can buy and fix up for her.
She told me she’s likely a month or so from being ready to find one, so I’ve got time.
Greer stirs a little, flips over onto her side, facing away from me. I hope the silhouette of her is one of the things that becomes burned to memory. The dip of her waist, the rise of her hip. The way her long hair pools.
And I need to move because I’m starting to make deals with myself.
If she wakes up, I’ll stay another day.
If she turns over, I leave this evening.
I find myself debating bouncing the bed a little to rouse her, just so I can stay longer.
I’ve never really much thought about what trust looks like in a relationship. Because up until now, I’ve been absolutely incapable of achieving it.
But I wonder if it doesn’t look a lot like Greer sleeping in my arms. Safe in the comfort and knowledge that I won’t do anything to her in her weakest and most vulnerable moments. That I’ll protect her from the world outside her door.
I press a kiss to my fingers and touch the ends of her hair. There’s so much I want to say, but there aren’t enough words to express it.
So, I quietly climb out of bed, taking care not to wake Greer, who sleeps like the dead.
I smile slightly when she pats the bed, as if reaching for me, but remains fast asleep.
My heart drops at the thought that I’m actually leaving her.
You’re a fucking fool.
Maybe I’m right. Maybe I am.
But this is what’s right for her. After what she’s dealt with, with her brother, it’s unfair to wrap her into my life.
Unless it wasn’t your life anymore.
As I step out onto the landing, I shake my head to dislodge the wild thought from my skull.
I know I shouldn’t creep out. But I know I won’t leave if I talk to her face-to-face. And I can’t leave her a note because my dyslexia will get the better of me and I’ll write some messed up words she won’t be able to read.
I tug on my jeans and the flannel shirt she found me. I’ve got no idea where my socks ended up, so I tug on my boots without them.
I’m going to be glad to be home, to have my own things around me. But it’s going to be tough to not have her.
Already, I miss the floral scent of her. I miss the way she speaks so straightforwardly. I miss the enthusiasm and commitment when she talks so passionately about accessible healthcare.
