Page 46 of Ripped

Fat, heavy drops land all around me like a leaky faucet.

“Some days I wake up and it hits me all over again. I’m never going to hear the way you laugh anymore. I’m never going to feel your arms around me. Your pillow is never going to smell like you again.”

My tears are flowing steadily now and the rain is matching my pace. Water trails down the back of my neck and wets my collar. My hair is plastered to my head. I put my hand flat against the smooth face of the headstone and collapse to my knees in the soggy grass.

“It’s better now with Connor. I haven’t had as many of those moments since I met him.”

In the distance, lightning flashes and thunder rolls.

“He makes me laugh, kind of the way you used to make me laugh. He lights up the room the way you used to too. It’s nice having him in the house. It doesn’t echo so much when he’s there.”

Lightning flashes again, closer this time. The thunder is louder too. It rumbles through me and the rocks start tumbling off. I sob. I can’t help it. I’m breaking apart and the rain is washing it all away. The tears on my face. The crumbling rubble inside. I let it all go and tilt my head back to look up at the sky.

The rain is cold and stings my heated forehead and cheeks. I sit like that for long moments, not caring that I’m soaked through, not caring that my pants are ruined. My tears slow and the thick heavy walls I’ve hidden behind all these years are little more than ruins. I drop my head forward, hands digging into the wet grass in front of me.

“Your mom said it was okay for me to move on. She said you’d want me to find someone new. I know she’s right. I know that’s what you want.”

The rain lets up a tiny bit, the sheets easing back into individual drops. There’s a calmness inside me that I haven’t felt in a long time. It’s quiet and peaceful and still.

“He’s young, you know,” I whisper to Roger’s headstone with a smile. “So eager, driven, hard on himself. I think you would’ve liked him. I think you two would’ve been friends.”

The rain stops. There’s one last little rumble of thunder, but it’s far away now. The air smells earthy and clean. I breathe it in and fill myself up with it.

“You’re not going to believe this. He’s a filmmaker. He’s making me watch movies. We’re working our way up to the scary ones. You know how much I hate scary movies. But we’re getting lots of use out of that theater room you insisted we put in.”

The clouds lift into the sky and thin out until they’re nothing but wisps. A single ray of sunshine breaks through.

“Yeah,” I laugh. “I thought you’d like that.”

The sunshine is warm on my face and the sky is shockingly blue. I lean forward and press my forehead to the cold, wet stone.

I’m drained but I feel light. My heart is tender but it’s whole. Roger isn’t here anymore but he’ll always be with me.

I press a kiss to his name. “I love you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CONNOR

“Donnie! I’m home!” I drop my bag by the foot of the stairs and head to the kitchen to find him.

He was nervous this morning before I left for work, on edge about seeing Roger’s parents and visiting the cemetery. I pushed him against the counter and got down on my knees in the kitchen to give him a breakfast blowjob before rushing out the door.

He messaged in the late afternoon to tell me he was heading home from the cemetery, so he should be in full-scale cooking mode by now. But there’s no one in the kitchen. “Donnie?”

I spin around and poke my head down the stairs into the basement. Nothing. He’s not in my bedroom. I peek quickly into Roger’s office, just in case. Nope. Not there either.

I hesitate before climbing the stairs to the third floor. I’ve only been up there once or twice. I kinda think of it as Donnie’s domain. Donnie and Roger’s domain. Plus, we don’t really have a reason to sleep in his bed when mine is usually closer.

“Donnie?” I call up. No response.

Maybe he went back out? Maybe he’s taking a nap. But no, something feels off, and I don’t like it. I climb the steps. The door to the bedroom is closed, so I give it a gentle knock before cracking it open.

There’s a Donnie-shaped lump on the bed and my heart clenches at the sight. The visit probably took a lot out of him. He did warn me that might happen. But he does look awfully still…

I slip inside, close the door behind me with a snick, and tiptoe up to the bed. I’m just going to check that he’s okay. Maybe crawl in beside him and hold him until he wakes up. I peer over the blankets and see his face.

Donnie is not okay.

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