Page 62 of You & I, Rewritten

Moments like today, where I let routine and habit autopilot my every movement. Everyone has told me it’s not my fault.There wasn’t anything you could have done, Will.Of course, I know that. I didn’t force an alcoholic to drink all those years. I didn’t choose this life for him, nor did I have any part in it. But…

I hesitated.

I didn’t listen to Graham when he said I should go to the hospital right away and I’ll never know if that would have made a difference. For me or for my father. Would I feel differently if I had gotten the opportunity to say goodbye to him? Would it lessen the guilt I feel, regardless of how illogical it is?

I’d like to think this is aneverything happens for a reasonkind of moment, but honestly? I can’t accept that. Choosing to not go to the hospital…choosing to not go seehim…is what I must live with every single day. Some days, that choice is easier to swallow than others. Some days, I remember why I distanced myself from my father for all these years, choosing self-preservation and happiness above all else, including blood.

But other days—days like today—I agonize over not just getting in the car and driving to him. I missed the one opportunity to tell him how I’ve felt all these years—alone, never good enough, unwanted.Broken.I missed the chance to tell him how angry and consumed with self-hate I am for still loving him and desperately wanting him to love me back. And the thing that really makes my heart tear open even more is the fact that I will never have that moment. Whether it was pride or anger or fear, I hesitated, and I that’s something that will always be with me.

The shower masks the tears that have become a new constant in my life. Despite moments of pure happiness and genuine love with Graham, the support of my family and friends, my job, the ache in my chest is always there; a constant and painful reminder of that hesitation and my choice just brimming beneath the surface.

I’ve been mentally preparing for today for quite some time now. Because after months of planning and back and forth discussions with our entire team, my father’s book will officially be out into the world. After the dust settled and I was able to return to work, I was initially adamant that I never wanted his words to see the light of day. He didn’t deserve it.

I was angry and embarrassed, ashamed that I had been so publicly played the way that I had. Lana had disappeared into thin air, and truthfully, I wanted nothing to do with her. The betrayal and confusion I felt in those moments after my father’s passing drove my every move, and since that day, I know I’ll be forever indebted to Graham for his constant and unwavering kindness and support; even when I know I didn’t deserve it at times.

As our team began brainstorming ways to move forward with my father’s work, making the necessary adjustments to the timelines and drafting updated releases, it was Mitch who convinced me to take a step back, putting my own feelings aside to let other readers be moved by the power of the words my father’s book contained. He reminded me of how passionately I defended it when I was under the impression it was written by Lana. How fiercely I fought for its contents to be shared across the globe. I was so appreciative when Klair offered to step in. She handled the remainder of the editing and publishing process, allowing me to put some distance between my father and my grief. I’ll never be able to repay her for continuously being one of the strongest pillars of strength in my life.

That distance allowed me to pour my heart, soul, and pain into another project—one that felt right given everything that had transpired. I couldn’t get my father’s letter out of my head, especially the part where he talked about his post-traumatic stress disorder related to his time in military service. The more I thought about it, the more curious I became about how many other service members were suffering with similar demons. It became an obsession of mine…something I literally couldn’t put out of my mind, and at Graham’s urging, I finally did something about it.

I’ve spent the last few months contacting veteran organizations and shelters searching for veterans who’ve struggled with PTSD and other invisible wounds. As their stories of trauma came pouring in, it became abundantly clear just how serious the stigma of seeking mental health help was for this generation of service members. Story after story told the unimaginable pain of watching their brothers and sisters in arms die in senseless wars, these poor men and women haunted by the things they’d witnessed throughout their careers…all while being told seeking help would be detrimental to their future in the military.

It was heartbreaking, and as someone who hadn’t served a day in his life, I knew there was no way I could ever truly understand the struggles they’d faced in service of our nation. But there was something I could do in my position.

I coordinated with military installations across the globe and worked with their public affairs teams to interview and photograph these veterans from every branch of service to honor their stories and share their struggles. Together, we compiled enough content to assemble a gorgeous and gut-wrenching coffee-table book filled with stunning photographs and harrowing recounts of their resilience, which both Mitch and Graham enthusiastically threw their support behind.

I even had the opportunity to attend one of these interviews and get behind the lens. Even if it was just for fun, the experience was truly one of the most life-affirming and rewarding moments I will hold in my heart for the rest of my days on this earth.

What started out as a project to help take my mind off the loss of my father and the confusing circumstances surrounding his reemergence into my life turned into something powerful and important. Something that I pray will make a difference in the lives of the men and women whose service and sacrifices will never be forgotten.

I slowly turn off the water, knowing I can’t stall forever; today is happening whether I’m ready or not. Stepping out of the shower and wrapping myself in one of Graham’s thick, white towels, I place my hands on either side of the sink, locking eyes with myself once more.

The person staring back at me has changed.

He’s loved by a force of a man—one who speaks honestly and openly about his feelings and needs. He’s surer of himself—as a partner, friend, and son. And despite the constant ache in his chest, he’s finally feeling free. Free of the hate that had been slowly weighing him down and holding him back all these years.

I have not forgiven my father, nor do I think I will ever be able to. We are all responsible for our actions and their consequences. But for the first time in my life, I feel like I have a better understanding of who he was and what he was going through to at least be able to view him with a more empathetic heart—one that acknowledges the severity and validity of struggles with mental health.

Forcing myself to move more quickly, I finish getting ready, making do with my still-damp hair, and throw on the uncomfortable but sharp suit I’d laid out the night before. Stepping out of the restroom, Graham is sitting at the foot of his bed looking as handsome as ever in his signature deep navy suit.

“Hey you,” I say, already feeling lighter being around him.It’s the Graham Effect.I walk in his direction until I’m standing between his legs as he loops his thumbs into my pockets, pulling me slightly closer.

He looks up at me with the sincerest eyes, eyes that I’ve fallen head over heels for. “I was going to join you, but I figured you needed a moment alone before the madness of this evening.”

As much as I would have loved his company, his intuition is spot on. Every step of the way, Graham has been by my side—holding me, supporting me, and loving me more intensely than I ever thought humanly possible. But he’s also given me the space to feel every inch of my grief. To wrap my mind around the magnitude of this loss. He’s allowed me to grieve on my own terms, and for that, I couldn’t love him more.

“Thank you…” I lean down, planting a soft kiss on his lips. “For knowing me and for loving me. I know these last few months haven’t been easy on any of us, but please know how muchyoubeing there has meant to me.”

Graham reaches up, cradling my face in his, his touch soft yet still anchoring me to this world. “I love you in the most profoundly deep way anyone is able to love another, Will. I willalwaysbe there for you.”

I don’t think I’ll ever get used to Graham telling me he loves me. The way he expresses his love for me makes my heart swell. “I love you, too…more than you could possibly know,” I say, bringing my lips to his once more.

“I have something for you,” he says against my lips. He stands up and walks over to his closet, retrieving a large, square package tied with a gold ribbon. “Here,” he says, placing it on the foot of the bed where he had just been sitting.

“You didn’t have to get me anything…you’ve already done so much.”

“Just open it,” he says, standing behind me and wrapping his arm around my chest. I undo the thick ribbon and lift the box’s lid. After removing the white tissue paper, I stare at the finished cover of our coffee-table book, one I hadn’t had the chance to see in person yet.No Longer Invisiblewritten in a striking gold font is embossed across the front.

“Graham…I…” The words get lost in my throat.

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