Page 68 of Broken Roads
Spinning back to face him, I roll onto my toes and press a quick kiss to his lips. "Thank you."
“Anything for you, sunshine.”
Together, we make our way to the bench to watch the sunset. The wood is still warm from the day's heat as we settle onto it with our bodies angled toward each other. This bench represents more than just a place to sit—it's where Bradley chose to reveal parts of himself he keeps hidden from the world. Where he told me about his deepest vulnerabilities.
"It's so peaceful," I murmur, leaning against his shoulder. "I can see why you come here to think."
Bradley's thumb traces circles on the back of my hand, each movement sending tiny sparks up my arm. "Sometimes it's not about thinking," he says quietly. "Sometimes it's about finally shutting up all the noise in my head. Just being still."
I understand that better than he knows—the constant internal chatter, the endless loop of worries and regrets and what-ifs that can drive a person to seek escape any way they can. For Bradley, it was this place. For me, it was a bottle.
The thought snags in my mind, pulling at threads I've been carefully containing for so long. I came here tonight ready to give myself to him completely. Not just my body, but all the parts of me I keep hidden, all the truths I've been too afraid to speak aloud. He deserves that honesty. Deserves to know exactly who he's holding in his arms.
My fingers tighten around his, gathering courage from his solid presence beside me. The sun touches the horizon now, its final light spilling across the landscape like liquid fire. It's beautiful and terrifying, just like what I'm about to do.
Taking a deep breath, I turn to face the man who's somehow crashed through all my carefully constructed walls.
"Bradley," I begin, my voice steadier than I expected. "There's something I need to tell you."
I've rehearsed this confession a hundred times in my head, but now that the moment is here, with his eyes fixed on mine and the sky darkening around us, I falter. Seven months sober, and I still haven't mastered the art of being vulnerable without liquid courage.
"I lost my parents when I was twenty-three," I finally say, the words tumbling out before I can second-guess myself. "Car accident. Black ice on a bridge."
Bradley squeezes my hand but he doesn't speak, doesn't offer empty platitudes. Just waits.
"It was sudden. One day they were there, arguing about whether to repaint the kitchen, and the next..." I swallow hard. "The next, I was identifying their bodies and trying to figure out how to pay for two funerals."
My free hand worries the fabric of my shirt, twisting and untwisting until I force myself to stop. "They left behind more debt than memories. The house was mortgaged to the hilt. Dad had maxed out credit cards I didn't even know existed. Mom's medical bills from a surgery the year before were still unpaid."
I stare out at the valley, now bathed in twilight's deep purple. It's easier somehow, to speak these truths to the darkening sky rather than directly to Bradley's face.
"I had a decent job in marketing. Nothing spectacular, but enough to cover my own rent, my student loans. Suddenly I was drowning in their debt too." My laugh sounds hollow even to my own ears. "The bank took the house. I sold most of their things. And still, it wasn't enough."
Bradley shifts beside me, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of my hand. The simple touch anchors me to the present even as my mind drifts back to those dark days.
"I'd always been a social drinker. Nothing excessive, just happy hours with coworkers, a glass of wine with dinner. But after..." I hesitate, the memory still raw despite the years that have passed. "After they died, one drink became two. Then three. Then I stopped counting."
I can feel Bradley's eyes on me and when I dare a glance at him, there's no judgment in his gaze, only a quiet attentiveness that gives me the courage to continue.
"At first, I only drank with friends. Then I started drinking alone in my apartment. A glass of wine while paying bills turned into a bottle. Then it was vodka because it was more efficient."My voice drops lower, shame coloring the edges of my words. "I started showing up late to work. Missed deadlines. Got written up once, twice. Then my friends stopped calling."
My jeans suddenly feel too tight, the bench too hard beneath me. I shift, trying to find comfort where there is none.
"I told myself I had it under control. That I deserved a break, an escape, after everything I'd been through." The laugh that escapes me is bitter and broken. "That's what addicts always say, right? That they can stop anytime they want to?"
Bradley's hand tightens around mine, a silent reassurance that he's still here, still listening. I take a deep breath, gathering my resolve for the hardest part of my story.
"It was raining," I whisper, closing my eyes against the memory that still haunts my dreams. "Not a downpour, just a steady drizzle. The kind that makes the roads slick but doesn't seem dangerous enough to worry about."
My heart pounds against my ribs, the familiar guilt rising like bile in my throat. I force myself to continue.
"I'd been at a bar. Had too many drinks, knew I shouldn't drive, but my apartment was only ten minutes away." I open my eyes but see only the past. "I wasn't speeding, wasn't texting, just drunk enough to delay braking when a car pulled out from a side street."
Tears form at the corners of my eyes, hot and insistent. I don't try to hide them.
"There was this horrible sound—metal on metal, glass shattering. The airbag deployed and knocked the wind out of me." My breath comes faster now, the memory so vivid I can almost smell the burnt rubber, taste the copper of blood in my mouth. "When everything stopped moving, I looked over and saw the other car. The driver was slumped against the steering wheel."
Bradley's arm slides around my shoulders, pulling me closer to his side. I lean into him, drawing strength from his solid presence.
