Page 8 of Lone Wolf in Lights
Betty nodded, her eyes reflecting an understanding that only those who have loved and lost could offer. “They stay with us, in the stories we share, the memories we cherish. Grief has a way of isolating us, but it’s through these moments we remember that we’re not alone.”
Eli felt something within him shift—the protective walls he’d meticulously built around his pain began to crumble under the gentle assault of Betty’s words. “Thank you,” he said, his gaze lingering on his sister’s headstone. “I think I needed to hear that.”
“Anytime, sweet dear.” Betty’s smile was kind, wrapping around him like a blanket. “And when the pain gets a little too much, a sip of whiskey always warms up the soul.”
He chuckled with her. “I’ll remember that.”
Three
Just past three o’clock in the afternoon, Willow weaved through the tables in the bar. Her gaze fell to the booth where Eli had sat earlier during the dinner rush yesterday. Late last night at the bar, she’d heard from Charly that it had been the anniversary of his sister’s murder. She’d wanted to call him, to comfort him, but she didn’t want to blur the lines. The kiss had already blurred them enough. She glanced down to the small snowflake cutout clutched in her hand, as Eli filled her mind—those strong green eyes that seemed to see right through her defenses, that slow drawl which wrapped around her thoughts and refused to let go. A shiver, not from the chill filling the bar as the door opened, traced her spine.
She wanted to get back to what they were before the kiss. Friends, without the awkwardness. But here she was somehow wanting him close and actively avoiding him at the same time.
“Focus!” she muttered to herself, forcing her attention back to the task at hand. With each piece of glitter or added cutout to her card, she tried to stifle the warmth Eli ignited within her—a warmth she hated that she no longer trusted.
She couldn’t afford another Niko, couldn’t risk the painful grip of hands that once promised love but delivered only bruises and broken promises. The memory flared, sharp and sudden, and her breath hitched. It wasn’t fair to compare Eli to Niko, yet how could she trust her own judgement when it had failed her so catastrophically before?
Her gaze swept over the cluster of women who were diligently bending over the crafting items set out before them. Two bottles of wine sat in the center of the table, with glasses half-full. Gentle music played in the background, a soothing mix of country and soft rock.
She drew in a deep breath and said, “As it’s our first crafting group, I want you all to know that here at The Naked Moose, with myself, Charly and Aubrey, it’s a safe place for all of you,” she murmured, folding the paper. “A place where we can share our stories.” She grabbed the small scissors. “Sometimes, it takes just one person to say, ‘I understand’ for the world to feel a little less heavy.” She glanced from face to face. “I want you to know—I understand.”
Across from her, Tammy, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and a tentative smile hesitantly set down her glue stick. “It’s just...when you’ve been told so often that your feelings don’t matter, it’s hard to believe they do.”
Every head around the table nodded agreement.
“Here, they matter,” Willow assured her. “Your feelings, your stories—it all matters.”
Another woman, Alison, younger, with sad blue eyes and dark curly hair, looked up from her half-finished card. She took a deep breath. “I’m scared all the time,” she confessed, her fingers trembling as they traced the edge of the cardstock. “Scared he’ll find me, scared that I’ll never be able to trust again.”
“I often feel that same way too,” Willow responded gently, reaching across to squeeze the woman’s hand. “I’m sure we all do.”
Again, everyone nodded in agreement.
The air seemed to shift, charged with raw honesty.
“Every day is a struggle to remember who I am,” Eileen, a twenty-something woman with sharp features and icy blue eyes, chimed in, stronger than the last. “But coming here, making these crafts over the next few weeks, I’m hoping it’s like piecing myself back together.”
“And that’s what we’re doing, isn’t it?” Willow said with a nod, feeling the same way herself. “It’s all about putting ourselves back together, piece by piece. And maybe, just maybe, we’re helping someone else do the same with every craft we make.”
Heads bobbed in agreement.
Amie said, “I remember the night I knew I had to leave Buck,” she began, tucking her long chocolate-brown hair behind her ear.
Willow paused, a ribbon of emerald green satin slipping from her fingers, her attention fixed on Amie. She felt the familiar clench in her chest, the echo of her own past wrapping around her tight.
“Every day was like walking on shards of broken glass,” Amie continued, gray eyes glistening with pain. “That night, the glass cut too deep. I saw my reflection in his eyes—not a person, just...an object for him to use and break.”
A collective silence settled over the group, and Willow knew that look all too well—the one where you cease to exist in someone else’s eyes. The memory of Niko’s cold indifference flashed in her mind, a stark reminder of the woman she once was.
“Leaving Buck was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but also the most important.” Amie’s voice broke before she swallowed deeply and said strongly, “Because now, I get to be here, with all of you, crafting a new story—one where I’m not the victim.”
Tears nearly blurred the edges of Willow’s vision, but she refused to let them well. She smiled at Amie. “Thank you, Amie, for sharing your story,” she added, reaching across the table to squeeze Amie’s hand. “This space, this group—it’s for stories like yours. For all of us to find our voices again and feel safe doing so.”
Amie smiled in return. “It feels good to talk about this.”
“Good,” Willow said, knowing that she’d been so lucky to have her supportive parents and Charly and Aubrey to help her get back on her feet when she barely could even kneel.
Over the next hour, the stories of heartache and resilience soon shifted to laughter, and Willow’s heart swelled with each one.
