Fractured Paths (Fractured Love Series Book 1) Read online

"So, Mrs. Martin," Alyssa Daily says from the chair in front of me.

  "It's Miss Greene now, but as I told you, please call me Skylar."

  "So, when you won the civil suit against you, you set up a fund for victims. Yet the families still blame you. Mrs. Jones, who lost her son at the hands of your husband," I cringe when she says that, hearing the accusation and disgust in her voice.

  I will not break. I will stand strong.

  "Skylar?" she asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

  “I’m sorry, what was the question? All of this is still hard for me." The interviewer’s face softens at my admission.

  "How did you react to Mrs. Jones latest statement that the funds you set up are blood money? That you’re only trying to ease your own guilt because you really knew what your husband was going to do?"

  I take in a breath, blinking my eyes rapidly hoping the tears don’t fall. That woman's words cut. Deep. I will not let her or the rest of the world see how much they get to me.

  "I had no idea Tim was capable of something like this," I reiterate. "Everyone acts as if I pulled the trigger and I didn't. When I saw his picture on the news as the suspected shooter, my world ended along with the worlds of the victims' families." I take a pause, tug at my collar again and reach for another sip of water.

  "Well of course it did, I mean, you lost a lot, too."

  I look her straight in the eyes. "Thank you for saying that. Not everyone understands. This past year has been so difficult. I understand Mrs. Jones' anger, as misdirected as it is, as I feel it too."

  "Skylar, how do you deal with everything that has been said in the media about you?"

  She asks the question with a sincerity in her voice that makes me comfortable enough to say what I set out to all along. To get my piece out there so I can get some peace.

  "When a tragedy such as this happens, we ask a lot of questions. Why did this happen? How did this happen? But the worst thing we ask is what if. It's the ‘what ifs’ that have me questioning everything about my life, about my marriage, and about my husband. I look back at that day, even the weeks leading up to it, and I think, what could I have done differently? Maybe if I pushed harder, tried harder. Maybe if I was stronger. But the truth is, I don't think I could have done anything differently," I let out a breath and continue - not giving anyone a chance to interrupt me.

  "As far as being blamed, everyone grieves differently. If Mrs. Jones needs to blame me and berate me for something I didn't do, let her. If the families want to criticize me for setting up a fund to help the survivors - yet sign their children up for the scholarships to the point where I had to add an additional 3 million dollars - let them. My husband took away so much from them, I refuse to take away their grieving process.” I stop and gather my thoughts.

  “The only thing that I really ask, is when is it my turn? I've spent the last year in court rooms and basically in hiding. I couldn't even lay my husband to rest at a proper funeral. I wish people would remember that I’m grieving, too. I’m grieving the loss of a husband, the loss of a best friend, and the loss of what I thought my life was like. Everything I have ever known has been questioned and my character placed under public scrutiny when the only thing I ever did was love my husband." I take another breath and Alyssa reaches her hand out, offering me a tissue.

  I take it and dab my eyes as a way to keep myself busy. There is no stopping the storm of tears falling down my face. My voice shakes as I continue.

  "I get that this is part of the process. I get nothing will bring them back and the same goes for Tim. The Tim that did this was not the person I married and was not the person who left on that last deployment. I don't want to take away from anyone's grief, everyone handles tragedy differently. I'm just asking for some peace. A chance where I can start my grieving process without being harassed or threatened. They act as if I was the one who stormed that VA and shot it up. I didn't. I did nothing but love my husband just as much as the victims were loved by their own families.” I take another shuddering breath, the pain too much to handle.

  “I can't force people to see that. I respect their grief, I understand their grief, I just wish that people would understand that I am grieving too," I finish on a sob.

  Pulling the microphone pack from behind my back, I get up. "Really, that's all I needed to say. Thank you.” I give Alyssa a soft smile, hand the pack to the techie, grab my purse, and walk out the front door.

  Standing there are two of my best friends, Sam and Emerson, flanking my Jeep that is attached to a U-Haul. They rush me and pull me into a brief hug before I pull back and wipe the tears from my eyes.

  "Are you ready for this?" Sam asks as Em turns to open the back door of her car.

  "Definitely. I really need this, plus it's only six hours away." I’m trying not to panic. We haven't been away from each other since we all met in college in D.C.

  "You’ll have Lauren," Sam gives me a soft smile.

  "I know, but now it's like we are split in half. I’m glad I can go where she is, I just wish the Fearless Foursome could all be together again," I say, remembering the many times I have had with my three best friends.

  "Maybe one day," Sam says in a quiet voice.

  "You ok?" I ask her. Some things went down with her job at Walter Reed last year and, ever since, she has been off.

  "Fine."

  She gives me her standard answer as Emerson approaches and hands me the cat carrier that contains my fur baby, Daisy. I open the heavy door to the truck and place Daisy on the bench seat. I take a deep breath and turn to my friends.

  "Well, this is it," my voice cracks and the girls hug me again.

  "I think the best thing you can do is get out of Arlington and heal," Emerson says and I know she gets me; she has had to do a ton of healing of her own over the years.

  "Yeah, I really do," I admit.

  I hear Sam sniffle and pull them both closer. These girls are like my sisters and, though it's hard for me to leave, I know in my heart that in order for me to move on, I need to move away. I need to be in a place where not only am I accepted by people, but where I can finally accept myself and what happened in my life.

  "Be safe and text when you get there," Emerson says.

  "We’re just a phone call away," Sam interjects.

  "Love you guys." I wave as I climb into driver's side of the truck.

  I start the engine and pull away from the curb to begin my journey. As I drive, I think of everything that I went through. I think about Tim and what his actions have done to me. The day he murdered six innocent people and turned the gun on himself was one of the most defining moments in my life. But here, in this truck, driving towards my future, I make the decision that I won't let that moment define me anymore.

  Chapter Three

  "So, how was it?" Landon asks as I get into his car after walking out of the rehab facility.

  I shrug. "It was fine." I take a cigarette out of my pocket and light it.

  He eyes me. "Smoking? Really?" he comments, a look of disgust on his face.

  "Don't give me shit, please. I just sat in the most depressing place ever for almost a fucking month, listening to people complaining about their lives and how bad they fucked up." I grit my teeth. I’m hoping that I don’t let on that I feel that this was an epic waste of time, but I fail right off the bat.

  "Did you get anything out of it?" he asks as he gets on the highway towards home.

  "Well, some twelve step group brought meetings in and I thought that was interesting, though I really couldn't relate much. I mean, these people lost everything because of drugs and stuff. That didn't happen to me," I say, knowing that isn't entirely true.

  My brother nods. "Well, if losing yourself isn't enough, I don't know what is," he deadpans.

  Score one: Landon.

  The truth of the matter is, I lost myself the night Lainey died. The past four years have been hell and not having something to numb the pain this past week has been shitty. Trying to hide my
withdrawals from the counselors and other patients even shittier.

  I can’t wait to get home and call Frankie. I took those three pills the day I went in. I barely remember that first day other than a girl who was hot as fuck. Her friends snuck her in some Vicodin that she shared. She wanted my cock, I wanted her pills. It was a nice trade. She got kicked out a week ago for questionable behavior with a male counselor and I was screwed. It's a good thing I’m a master manipulator and the counselors were a bunch of fucking tools; I was able to blame the withdrawals on feelings. I chuckle to myself just thinking about how I got one over on them.

  "You ok, bro?" Landon asks.

  "I’m good. How is everyone?" I ask.

  "Cam is still Detective Douche, Carson is still an STD waiting to happen, Madison and Amber are doing great, and Hudson left for Vegas last week."

  I frown at the thought of my baby brother.

  Landon notices and changes the subject. "I baby sat Amber last night. She is the cutest kid but you have to watch what you say in front of her," he smiles.

  "Oh yeah?" I smile back, thinking of my curly-haired niece.

  "Yeah. I asked her to brush her teeth last night while she was watching Sofia the First. She fought me on getting up from her show. So I said ‘come on Amber, I won't let you watch the next episode if you don't brush your teeth right now’. You know what she said to me?" he asks under a breath of laughter.

  "No idea." My cheeks burn from smiling so wide. The feeling is unfamiliar.

  "She says, “Uncle Landon, why are you such a pain the balls?”" He barks out a laugh.

  I start cracking up so hard, I place one hand on the dash and the other on my stomach.

  "Where did she get that from?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.

  "Carson." His tone is flat.

  "Asshole." I laugh.

  After the laughter dies down, we drive in silence. While it's comfortable, there is some thickness floating in the air.

  "You ready to do this thing with Trevor?" Landon asks.

  "Yeah man, I don't have a choice," I grunt.

  "Just promise me you’ll give it a shot Gray. We can't lose any more of you," he pleads.

  Honestly, I don't know if I have it in me to work past the Lainey stuff. I was defiant in rehab whenever someone tried to bring her up in therapy. Just the thought of having to open up that part of me has me twitchy and jonesing for some pills and a bottle of Jack. I do what I do best and lie. "Sure Lan," I say and he smiles.

  I know by the way his smile doesn't reach his eyes that he doesn't believe me, but he leaves it alone.

  Finally, we pull into my driveway and my stomach sinks looking at the beachfront house I once shared with Lainey. Everyone tried to get me to sell it at different points over the years, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. It holds so much for me, both good and bad.

  It still has Lainey's touches all over the place and I ‘m not ready to let that part of me go yet. I don't think I ever will be. Maybe it's my way of carrying her with me or maybe I'm allowing myself to suffer in it because of the massive amount of guilt that has overtaken my life. Whatever it is, the house still stays as it was four years ago.

  "Your truck and bike are at Jeffers' garage and Camden has the keys at the station," Landon says as he parks the truck.

  I get out and rake my hand through my hair. "Fuck," I groan. "I’m not a baby, dammit. I feel like you’re treating me like a fucking teenager. What are you going to do next, ground me?" I grit out.

  They said I wouldn't have my truck and bike, but I honestly hadn't believed them.

  "Well, it's a good thing everything is in walking distance.”

  I really want to punch the smug look off of his face. I grunt in response. He hands me my phone with a warning.

  "Here. I charged it for you and deleted a few numbers so you wouldn't do anything stupid."

  I don't need a phone to get what I need. I am a pretty resourceful guy. I have money in the bank and New York City is just a train ride away if I get desperate, but he doesn't need to know that.

  "Good lookin’ out," I say and he cocks an eye brow.

  "That's it? You aren't going to give me shit?" he asks as we walk into the house. I drop my bag by the front door and head into the kitchen.

  "All the booze is gone and we wiped out your medicine cabinet." He’s cautious as he informs me.

  "Oh, come on man. I ain't going to OD on Advil," I try to joke. "And seriously, alcohol isn't my problem, it's when I mix it with the pills that cars get wrapped around trees," I laugh. My brother, however, doesn’t.

  "Just whatever you do, stay away from the pills and stay away from Frankie. I can't watch you twenty-four-seven and I shouldn't have to," he sighs.

  "I’m fine, I promise.”

  Lie. I am far from fine. All I’m thinking about is how when he leaves, I can get out of here and head to Steins where I know I can get a nice glass of whiskey and a hot pussy to sink myself into.

  "Don't forget you have to be at the center in an hour. You start your group tonight and Trevor wants you there a little early to fill out some paperwork."

  I groan. "Thanks for the reminder."

  "Whatever you do, don't fuck up again, Grayson. I’m serious. Maddie won't let you see Amber and I can't have you tattooing if you’re high," he says and I know he is right.

  "I’m not high," I defend myself.

  "I never said you were. Just be careful, I know that staying away from old people, places, and things is a suggestion they give in those meetings. Maybe you should try to go to a few, what can it hurt?"

  I shrug. I’m not even going to ask how he knows about all of this because we all know that Google is full of answers.

  "Ok man, I promise I will try." That’s partly true.

  As much as I would love to down a bunch of Oxys and lose myself, I owe it to my family to give it a shot.

  "Drop me off at Beans? I’m going to grab some coffee before I head over to see Trevor," I say as I head to the door.

  Landon pulls up to the front of the coffee shop and I get out, give him a wave, and tell him I will be at the shop at ten the next morning. I know he doesn't believe me since he used to be lucky if I was in before noon but, maybe if I keep myself busy, I can at least stay off the pills.

  It's such a struggle. I battle with myself constantly. Staying clean should be a no brainer. Everyone is right. I have been sliding on a downward slope with the drugs cushioning the fall. What happens when that cushion is pulled out from under me? Can I handle the bottom and come out of it ok, better even? I don't know and the fucked up part is I’m not sure if I want to find out.

  Chapter Four

  I have settled in quite well in Coastal Springs, Connecticut. Lauren followed through and found me a cute little two-bedroom house right on the sound within walking distance of town and the house she shared with her grandmother. The minute I pulled into the driveway and saw the white porch that wrapped around the slate gray house, I felt at peace. Waking up every morning, going out on the back porch with my coffee and my Kindle; listening to waves roll in, smelling the salt in the air and feeling the cool ocean breeze whispering against my skin makes me feel safe and comfortable. After being in hiding and living in fear for the past year, the simple act of walking down the street to the coffee shop, Beans and Books or even to the end of the driveway to get my mail without having to look over my shoulder, is empowering.

  For the first time in a year, I have a job. I haven’t needed to work. Receiving an inheritance from my father’s death seven years ago meant I’d never have to work again if I don’t want to. I’m not one of those people. I can’t stay idle. I need to be doing something. I really miss my job back in Arlington. I was a guidance counselor at the local high school and I adored working with kids.

  After the tragedy, I left my job immediately as there were many parents in the school who questioned my ability to counsel their children if I couldn't even see the signs of what my husband wa
s planning to do. I can’t blame them; those were thoughts I often had myself.

  As much as I miss it, I need this time to find myself. I have to come to terms with the fact that I changed drastically over the past year. It’s time I find and accept my new normal. Really, what is normal? I’m not quite sure, but I am no longer afraid to find out.

  I had inherited all of Tim’s assets, but I don’t feel like I can touch that until I can find a positive way to use it and turn my tragedy into someone else’s triumph.

  Trevor, the counselor in the grief-counseling group I started to attend, told me that and it stuck with me. In the three weeks I have been here, I’ve managed to make a home for myself. My little place in the world where no one bothers me. Where strangers wave and say ‘hello’ instead of a string of hateful words. Where I am content with where I am and becoming somewhat happy again.

  I miss Sam and Em like crazy, but Lauren has been amazing. Working with her in the coffee shop has been a Godsend. It keeps me out of my head and has helped me to see that not all people are hateful. The regular customers are amazing and the quirky characters that live in this town remind me so much of my favorite television show, how could I not love it here?

  Fridays are my late days so I spend the morning on my back porch drinking coffee and getting lost with my favorite book boyfriend. On Fridays, the caretaker for Lauren's Grandmother, Rose, leaves early to help out her own mother so I go into the shop at noon and Amy, a friend of Lauren's, comes in to relieve me at 6. My grief group is at 6:30.

  I arrive at noon on the dot and Lauren is giddy with excitement.

  "Aunt Iris is coming today," she squeals and I know what that means.

  "Since Rose is covered for the night, what are we doing?" I grin.

  Though this is a lazy, coastal town, the few bars in the area are always hopping with some kind of live music or a DJ and the few times we have been out so far, we’ve had a blast. Lauren's friend Cam and two of his brothers met us out the last time and I haven't laughed so hard in such a long time.