Page 53 of All I Have Left

Ethan stares at her trembling hands. “When was the last time you ate something?”

Evie sighs, a slow shake to her head. “Sleep. I want sleep. Not food, or company, sleep.”

Frankie touches her hand to Ethan’s shoulder, tears in her eyes. “Let’s give her some space.” She smiles tenderly at Evie. “If you need anything let us know. I can take a look at you if you want.”

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Evie tells us, as if that should make us feel better.

They leave and we’re left alone in the room, the soft click of the door closing the only sounds.

Evie’s eyes meet mine, and the agony in them is too much to take. “Lock it,” she whispers when I’m standing next to my door, unsure what I’m supposed to do next.

Reaching behind me, I twist the lock. “Do you want to be alone? I can sleep on the couch if you want.”

She doesn’t say anything and nervously, I begin rushing around the room to clean up, close the blinds and reach for the pills on my nightstand.

“You don’t have to clean up.” She reaches for my hand, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Just stay here with me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Those words, they fucking break me completely. They tear me down to nothing. Barely able to stand up, my shoulders hunch forward. “I’m sorry, Evie. I’m so fucking sorry that I left you, and he….” My words fade because I can’t bring myself to say it. I left and she turned to him.

“Grayson,” she breathes. “None of this is your fault.”

My eyes slowly lift to hers at my name trembling from her lips. “Yeah it is. If I’d stayed, I would have never let you get wrapped up with Shane.”

She pats the bed beside her and that’s all it takes for me to take her into my arms. I stop thinking and do what I should have done the day I left. Hold her.

“I’m so sorry,” she cries as I wrap a blanket around her. “I’m so sorry I’ve dragged you into this.”

I press my lips to her forehead, my own tears burning. “You haven’t dragged me into anything I wouldn’t have involved myself in for you.”

Ever since I watched Matt die, I had this idea that if I could save anyone from harm, I would. I wouldn’t stand back and let ithappen like I was forced to there. And now it’s like I am and this feels like drowning.

I look down at my swollen fists, remembering the night Matt was killed. I had yet to tell anyone about what happened when I was in Iraq, not even my commanding officer knowseverythingthat happened. They tried to get me to talk but I refused. I couldn’t. You can’t put that kind of shit into words and accurately relay what you witnessed.

Evie’s tears are relentless, and she cries longer than I want her to. Sometimes she stops, only to pick up with more force in what can only be described as hysteria. I have no clue what to do but hold her. I’m at a loss, but I hold her tightly, hoping that offers her something.

Every tear that slides down her cheek is like a serrated knife stabbing me in the heart. It’s more than I can stand to see her in this type of pain because of him. When she finally falls asleep, her tears don’t stop. She tosses and turns, murmuring my name repeatedly in an agonized voice.

I watch her all night, tossing, turning, and crying. The nights spent in Iraq were easy compared to the weight of this night. My own pain, I could handle. Hers, I can’t.

I know one thing. I gave up on her once, and I’m never going to again.

28

GRAYSON

When the sun rises the next morning, Evie’s crying has slowed; though in the back of my mind, I know it’s temporary. You don’t go through what she went through and magically wake up and it all be okay.

I’m okay with my past. Shit happened and I can’t change that. But now Evie needs me and that’s all that matters. And I want to be strong for her, but I don’t know how to be. I don’t know if I’m enough. I want to be solid and sturdy, the man she needs me to be.

Just because you fool yourself into thinking you’re okay, doesn’t mean you are.

When the disorientation from sleep wears off, she will remember what happened last night. She will remember what he did, and what I didn’t do.

Lifting her head from my pillow, she stares at me. Her lip’s more swollen and there’s a new redness to her cheeks. “Morning,” she croaks, then clears her throat, her gaze on mine.

Rolling onto my side, I prop my head up with my hand. “Hey.” I want to go as far as to ask, “Are you okay?” But I don’t because look at her. She’s not okay. She’s holding on by a thread.

I stare at her intently, searching for any cracks in herdemeanor. I know what they look like and how to detect them. I’ve known her my entire life, and two, I’ve been where she’s at. And while I look at her now and she seems better than before, I can’t be sure.

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