Page 64 of Bound By Water
Oliver huffs.
Beckett darts an irritated glance at him. “If you don’t watch it, I’ll make you smile all day.” Oliver straightens but says nothing.
“Let’s move on. Some of us will be leaving at the end of the week, but I would feel better if you had a grasp on your powers before we do.” He smiles. “The incident this morning gives me hope that you will.”
Nice try. “You’re leaving?” I look at him, then Oliver. “You too? Who else?”
Oliver scowls at Beckett. “Damn it. That’s top-secret information.” He looks at me. “You can’t tell anyone yet. Not even River. Promise me.”
“I won’t,” I assure him.
Panic wraps around me. River’s leaving. Now Oliver, Beckett, and likely several others. I’ll be here by myself. “I don’t want to stay if everyone is gone.”
Oliver takes my arms in his hands. “I’m sorry. You can’t go with us. It won’t be safe. You’ll have River, though.” The worried expression on his face tells me he didn’t expect my reaction.
I don’t dare tell him River is leaving, too. Instead, I ease out of his arms. “You’re right. It was a shock, but I’m fine now.” That damn word. Oliver’s brows crash together, but I ignore him and turn back to Beckett. “Can we get started?”
Beckett flicks a glance at Oliver. “Yes, we can. Oliver, get into position.” His tone is firm and surprises us both, but I guess he’s the boss in this office.
Oliver takes a half step closer and squares his shoulders as if he’s bracing for the enemy. “I hate this.” His voice is barely a murmur, but I hear him.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, closing my eyes so I don’t see his expression.
A curse slips from his lips, and a moment later, his hands wrap around my throat. A shiver works its way down my spine, but not with the usual fear. There is something about having this commanding man put his hands on me. I take a deep breath and clear my mind. A minute later, I’m still standing there, barely breathing, but nothing is happening.
Beckett leans in closer. “You have to squeeze, Oliver.”
“Give me a minute,” he mutters. “You’re welcome to take my fucking place.”
“Calm,” Beckett says, and a heavy sigh fills the air. “Greer, the second you feel your power, don’t hold back. Let it flow through you. We’ve got you.”
Seconds later, fingers squeeze my throat. Warmth twists into anger, and my power rushes to the surface.
Beckett’s low voice penetrates the darkness. “Put aside the anger. Let your other emotions rise.”
Unease fills me. I guess he doesn’t have to be in my mind to pick up on my emotions, but I like the fact that he’s letting me do it. My anger slips quietly away.
His voice moves behind me. “That’s it.”
Layers of guilt surface from the muddy depths of my mind. Copious amounts of guilt for so many things—my actions by the waterfall, Lionel’s death, leaving him at the gas station, not using my powers to save my parents or him. It’s all there. Layer after layer.
Hands slip from my throat, and I catch my breath as I feel them lightly rub across my skin before disappearing. Oliver hates doing this, and my continued resistance is making it worse. More guilt piles on.
Beckett breathes out. “Acknowledge it. Understand it. Now, let it go. Guilt is destructive and will tear you down from the inside out.”
I shake my head, unable to let it go. Without the guilt, what do I have? The answer comes to me. Gut-wrenching sadness. Pain lances through me, and I hear Beckett suck in a deep breath.
“I can distance you from it,” he offers. The timbre of his voice is like the warmest of blankets, wrapping around me. “You’ll know it’s there, but it will feel less sharp. Manageable.”
Before I even think about it, I shake my head. I don’t want him to influence my emotions. Besides, they deserve to be mourned. Family is everything. They were mine.
“You need to celebrate them, too,” Beckett murmurs on my left. “They lived and loved. Don’t let sadness dictate the memories.”
He’s right. Lionel used to say the same thing after my parents died. He helped me remember my father’s laugh and the smell of my mother’s perfume. All the birthdays we spent together, not just the last one. Now, it’s up to me to remember Lionel the same way. His joy of cooking. The pride he showed when I graduated with my bachelor’s degree. All the lovely moments we spent together. I miss him so much.
I open my eyes and stare at the man in the pressed suit, standing in front of me. “I’ve been sad for so long. It’s hard to let go. Living without my parents felt like a punishment.” The corner of my mouth lifts. “Lionel refused to let me ‘wallow’ as he liked to put it. He made me find a life. Yet, I couldn’t move past it. I functioned. I succeeded. But I never let anyone but Lionel close. I used to tell him I’d find someone after I graduated.”
Lionel’s dark green eyes, full of pain, surfaces, and I marvel at what a remarkable man he was and how much he meant to me. “Beckett’s right. Lionel deserves to be mourned, but he deserves to be celebrated too. They all do.”
