Page 131 of Inevitable Destruction

EVERETT

“Grey”—PALESKIN

It’s been nearly halfa year since I’ve seen his face, heard his voice, felt his touch.

I was kicked out of his room and not allowed back in. When I finally managed to fight my way back in, literally kicking and screaming, he was already gone—from the hospital, my life, fucking Le Grande. He disappeared, leaving me behind in the demolition.

It took me far too long to be able to breathe properly. Probably because I was drinking myself into oblivion for weeks on end, but still.

I shake my head with a scoff and take another drag of the nicotine filled cigarette. I decided once my foot stepped onto the wet grass that this would be the last time I came here. It’s time for me to move on and away.

I put Pops house on the market last month, moved all of my shit out, and have been staying in a hotel while I scour the internet for an interesting enough place to move to, but nothing has felt right.

Honestly, nothing has since he left. But there’s nothing I can do about it anymore. Dominik made his decision, and I have to live with it. The pain I caused should never be forgiven—because it’s unforgivable. I can’t absolve myself of the guilt I wake up suffocating in every morning, and I don’t deserve to.

I dug my dirt grave with my own two hands, and now I have to lie in it—and I will happily as long as Dominik lives a long, content life he more than deserves.

About two months ago, Jamie found me drunk out of my mind and destroying more shit in my father’s house in a fit of rage. But it’s not her presence that changed things for me; it’s what she said.

“You don’t need to avenge your father, Everett. He was a grown fucking man—much like you are. Or at least, used to be. He made an obvious decision to sleep with his friend’s wife.

“What happened was beyond shitty and he didn’t deserve it, but it’s not your job to destroy your life for his, not when he’s no longer breathing, not when Dominik doesn’t deserve your unwarranted wrath, not when you deserve happiness—with the man you love.”

Her words still ring loud and clear in my head, reminding me every day that while, yes, I made a mistake, it doesn’t have to become who I am. I’m allowed to change, to grow into a better, more deserving man.

Or so I’ve been told.

A mistake is a bit of an understatement. I fucking killed the man I love. He may have survived physically, but I annihilated everything in him that mattered: his mind, the whole essence of his being.

I took his beautiful, broken soul and warped it into one of rot and decay.

That makes me the worst possible man, one so vile, I can’t stand the sight of my own fucking face.

My eyes flicker down to Pops’s name etched into the stone. I flick the cigarette away and lean down to a squat, forcing the words I’ve been thinking for months out of my mouth.

“Look, Pops. This will be the last time I come and see you. You deserve better, but I just don’t have anything left to give. The things I did… very deeply fucked-up, misguided things—they ruined me, and I became a man I hate.

“Because of you, I destroyed someone I loved. I didn’t know I loved him then, but I did, and I can’t forgive myself. It’s not directly your fault, but I need to blame you, too. For now, anyway.

“I fell in love with Dominik Reed, Pops. That’s right, their son.” I blow out a breath, gathering the courage to just get it the fuck out. “It’s fucked up in every way, but it’s the truth, and it’s taken me a very long time to realize he’s a separate entity. Their mistakes don’t reflect on him.” I run my finger over the damp stone.

“And yours don’t reflect on me. I love you, but I need this if I have any hope of making it. Goodbye, Pops.” I place his zippo—the only piece of him I had left—on the top ridge of the stone and step away.

My eyes sting, but I push back the tears I refuse to let free. I don’t get to feel despondency over this, not after everything. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I stare at the stone. The significance of his death will always be there, though my feelings attached to it have drastically changed now that I associate it all with Dominik in a much different light.

A low rumbling sounds in the distance along with a flash of headlights, and I squint my eyes, peering into the night. It’s after eleven, and the cemetery is closed at this hour, so who the fuck is coming up that hill—

“No,” I mutter, my body growing impossibly still as a hunter green mustang comes into view, turning down the small road I’m on and pulling up behind my Harley. The car cuts off, leaving me drowning in silence so still, a pine needle falling off a tree could shatter it into a trillion irreparable pieces.

Much like my heart.

I don’t fucking breathe as the driver’s door creaks open, but instead of shattering the silence, it only adds to its intensity.

A white hat is the first thing I see, and my heart lurches into my throat. White is followed by a mop of curly black hair, and the tears I’ve been fighting fall from my eyes—but for an entirely different reason.

Air evaporates from my lungs as he closes his door behind him and trudges through the grass, shoving his hands in his pockets, but keeping his head up high. The first thing I notice is that his hair is shorter—much shorter than it was the last time I saw him, but still enough for the edges to curl out from underneath his hat.

The next is how much bigger he is. He’s no longer the skinny, frail boy I left, but a strong, healthy man, and my heart ceases to pump blood through my body. Seeing him like this, healthy, healed—it fucking breaks me.

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