Page 28 of The Path To Us

Chapter Eight

Addy

It’s been almost a month since we buried Christopher. It was a day that ranked right down there with the day I buried my mother. I don’t know how Zoey or I would have survived if Beau hadn’t been strong. Guilt sits heavy on my heart knowing that he needed us to be there for him just as much as we needed him, but no matter how often I asked him how we could help, he swore we were doing exactly what he needed from us.

Beau went back home a week after the funeral but promised he wouldn’t be away for long. Zoey was having a hard time letting him out of her sight but he didn’t seem to mind. Beau didn’t want to be apart from her, either. Before he left, he said he needed to make an official change because he’d been living away long enough. I didn’t want to tell him I agreed because I didn’t want to appear needy or clingy. But I’m ready to have him here. Where he belongs.

Beau told me he has a plan to make that change happen but first he needed to speak with his boss and get a few things sorted. Zoey hasn’t slept in her own bed since Beau came over the night Christopher died. In fact, Beau slept at my house while he was here, though he did move to the spare bed. He would lay with Zoey until she fell asleep then kiss her on the head before going to the other room. She also hasn’t gone a day without asking for either of them. I know it was hard for both Zoey and Beau when he had to go back to work, and her crying while clinging to his leg didn’t make it any easier.

I don’t blame her, though.

I didn’t want him to leave either.

He promised it wouldn’t be for long and if there’s one thing I know about Beau, it’s that he never makes a promise he doesn’t intend to keep. With the exception of one time. When I told him I was pregnant, he promised he’d be by my side through every moment. What he didn’t take into account, though, was how hard it would be for both of us that his brother was the one who’d gotten me pregnant.

Of course, it bothered me in a different way than it did him. While I spent months feeling guilty that I wished it would be Beau’s baby I was pregnant with, he was angry that his brother had, in his mind, taken advantage of me in my drunken state.

I wouldn’t change a thing now, of course. However, I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve wished for the same connection with Beau as I had with Chris.

Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I close my eyes, not being able to look into my own eyes. The guilt I once felt comes back like a sledgehammer to my chest. That bond I had with Chris will be with me forever, but it’s broken. And I hate myself for once wishing it had been with Beau. There was not a soul on this earth who Chris loved more than Zoey and the thought of him not having that kind of love before he died… I can’t even think about it.

I shake my head as tears burn the back of my eyes and my throat. I want to cry all the time thinking of how unfair it is that Chris left this earth too soon and that Zoey misses him so fiercely but still has moments of confusion as to why he’s never coming back. I want to cry that Beau is sad and missing his brother. His parents and Max, the same. And I want to cry for myself, because I’m selfish and struggling and hate that I’m now truly a single parent.

“Shake it off, Addy,” I whisper angrily to myself. I splash water on my face and pat it dry with a towel then hang it up on the rack. The rack that Chris hung for me because I mentioned not liking the one that was here before it and I wanted something with more storage. So not only did he hang the rack, he built the wooden cupboard that the rack is attached to. He stained it to appear weathered because he knew I liked that trend.

Another wave of sadness hits as I find myself walking through the house, noticing all the areas that Chris had his hand in. Zoey’s bed that he put together, our kitchen table that we sat around and shared meals at because the two of us were determined to give Zoey family meals with the both of us. The living room furniture that he hauled home from the furniture outlet store I bought it from on clearance because I couldn’t afford anything else.

Even before Zoey came into our lives, it was the same. He was always there to offer a helping hand whether it was changing the oil in my car or mowing my lawn. I never asked him to do those things. He just saw those chores as something that needed to be done and did them. I thought it was because he felt bad that Beau wasn’t here but then I learned it was more than that. Chris’s feelings for me might not have been returned, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t love him in my own way.

Grateful that Zoey is spending the afternoon with Chris’s parents, I decide it’s time to go to his house. Zoey has clothes and toys in her bedroom there and I want to make sure the fridge is cleaned out. Max and Beau had already taken care of draining and taking down the pool, getting his utilities and bills switched, and whatever else needed to be done but there are things I need to do myself as well.

I don’t bother applying any makeup or even making myself look presentable. I know the second I walk into his house I’ll be a tearful mess anyway. Might as well be comfortable and not worrying about whether or not my mascara is running down my face. I slip on a pair of running shorts and a turquoise tee along with my favorite pair of flip-flops and tie my long hair up into a messy bun, fill up a bottle of water, and head out.

It doesn’t take me more than ten minutes to get to Chris’s house but it takes me another fifteen to muster up the courage to get out of my car, grab the empty laundry baskets out of my back seat I brought with me to carry Zoey’s things, and climb the front steps of his porch.

After unlocking the door with my key, I take a deep breath of fresh air and twist the knob, pushing open the mahogany wood entry door and stepping inside. I shut the door behind me with a gentle push. The quiet click sounds like a shot gun in the stillness of the air around me.

Another deep breath, this time it’s not fresh air I’m inhaling. It’s the plug-ins Chris always kept refilled that smell like fresh cotton. Looking around, I bite my lip before taking a step forward. Then another.

Zoey was conceived in this house.

She might have lived primarily in my home the first year when Chris would stay in the guest bedroom as often as possible so he was there to help, but this was also her home.

I glance at the couch and swallow against the pain. He held me as I cried over the news of my mother’s illness and when I looked up into his eyes, they held so much… everything, I couldn’t resist leaning up to kiss him. He responded instantly, without a single moment of hesitation. Both of us knew what we were doing. He asked if I was positive and I assured him I was.

Thank goodness that night happened. Not only do I have Zoey. But my mother got the chance to meet her granddaughter and Chris… well…

I peek into Chris’s bedroom but quickly shut the door, not quite ready to go in there yet. It was the room where Chris took his last breath. Knowing he was alone when he passed away almost brings me to my knees.

Opening the door to Zoey’s bedroom, I smile at her unmade bed. For as organized and neat as Chris was, he hated making the bed and never made Zoey’s or had her make it herself. Zoey definitely picked up on that trait. She thinks making her bed is the worst kind of punishment.

I clean out her closet first then move to the small dresser. It doesn’t take me long to gather her belongings, but I do take the time to strip her bed and pile up the sheets into one of the baskets so I can wash them when I get back home. After bringing the clothes to my car, I go back inside and pack whatever toys and books I can find.

I make another trip to my car and then go back inside to clean out the fridge and do a walk through the house and make sure everything is as it should be. I open one of the windows in the living room to let some fresh air in and get to work cleaning the fridge and pantry. Music streams through a satellite radio app on my phone and I get lost in the process, not allowing my mind to think about the job I’m doing and why I’m doing it.

“My Truck” plays through the speaker of my phone and I hum along, shimmying my hips as I separate the food that’s gone bad and the things that can be kept. I cannot get enough of the beat to this song… even if the lyrics don’t apply to me in any way. Plus, Sam Hunt’s voice is pretty much everything that is good in this world.

Just as I’m spinning around to toss some moldy cheese into the trash bag, a deep chuckle hits my ears and Beau’s smiling face greets me. I squeal and jump, placing a hand against my chest. He’s leaning a shoulder against the wall opposite me as calm and casual as can be. Meanwhile, my heart is about to leap right out of my chest.

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