Page 9 of Letters of Faith
“Main house or the guest house?” I ask.
“I think I just need to sleep,” she says.
I nod, close the door, and place my hand on her lower back, guiding her to the detached garage. Unlocking it, I switch on the light switch as we walk in. It’s a bachelor pad—there’s no denying that, but right now, it’s a place where Georgia won’t be bombarded with nosy well-doers.
As I flip on the rest of the lights, she walks over to the kitchen and grabs a water bottle out of the refrigerator. Sometimes, I have business meetings in the office here, so my assistant always keeps it clean and stocked. I turn my back to her to flip on the heat to take some of the chill out of the air. Fall is slipping into winter, so we still have bitter days to come.
When I turn back, she’s standing in front of the counter, staring into the living room. Her eyes are vacant—void of emotion—as if she’s bottled them up so much the last few months that they finally combusted and left her empty.
“Georgia,” I say, approaching her slowly, not wanting to spook her.
Her eyes turn to me and find mine, and the emptiness there is soul-shattering. She’s lost, and I don’t know how to help her find her way because I’m lost with her.
“Why, Gray? Why did God need Nate? Why my husband?”
“I don’t know, Georgia, I can’t answer that. I wish I could. I wish I could take his place so you could still have him here, but I can’t.”
“I’m so angry. It’s like a fire burning through my veins and leaving bitterness behind in its ashes. I want it to stop. I just want it all to stop.”
One more step, and I’m standing next to her. I open my arms, letting her fall into them. Her small frame shutters as sobs overtake her. It’sanother crack in a piece of my soul that is long past healing.
“I know Georgia. I know,” I say, stroking her hair. It’s the only comfort I can offer her because nothing I say will bring Nate back.
We stand there, letting the minutes fade into some infinite number. Until her sobs begin to fade, and all that’s left is exhaustion.
“Let’s get you to bed, okay?” I prod.
She doesn’t put up a fight, merely nodding and closing her eyes. Fatigue drags her long lashes against her ivory skin, causing them to open slowly. Her body sags against me, and without warning, I’m lifting her in my arms and carrying her to the single bedroom.
I’ll sleep on the couch so she isn’t alone tonight. Maybe in a few weeks—or months—she’ll be okay, and I’ll be able to go to my own bed. Until that day, though, wherever she is, I am too—keeping a promise I made to a man that I owe my life to.
As I place her on the bed, her sobs start to subside, her breathing evening out. Before she’s asleep, I need her to know one more thing.
“Georgia,” I whisper her name.
“Hmm?” she hums.
“No one is forcing you to go back home. You have to find a way to heal, and if you can’t do that at your house right now, then it’s something you face later. Don’t force it all at once. Stay as long as you want, okay?”
She doesn’t respond, her consciousness long overtaken by sleep. Sighing, I run my calloused hands over her hair, careful not to wake her. The tattoos on my knuckles are a juxtaposition to the softness of her features, once again reminding me that the girl I’ve loved half my life was always supposed to be with someone better.
Chapter 4
Georgia
Present Day
Three hundred and sixty-five days.
That’s how long it’s been since I’ve heard my husband’s voice—felt his hand in my hand. Somehow, I’ve managed to keep breathing—filling my lungs with air—but the days bleed together, monotonous.
Grayson told me to take the day off, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to be alone—not today.
The phone rings for the hundredth time this morning, slicing into my thoughts.
“G.L. Inspection. This is Georgia. How may I help you?”
“Georgia, it’s your mother.”
