Like a fire I don’t stand a chance against.
Chief Sanders doesn’t say anything, but I feel his presence standing just a few steps away from where I’m on the ground. He takes a knee and places a hand on my shoulder. With my head in my hands and the comfort of Chief’s hold on me, I let all these feelings overwhelm me after months of pushing them down.
I don’t know how much time passes, but my lungs start to fill more, and I can take in a full breath. As I open my eyes, lifting my head from my hands, the sunlight makes my eyes burn, and there’s a tightness in my temples.
I expect to feel the usual tension in my shoulders as I sit up straight, gathering myself, but it feels lighter. I’m not weighed down as much as I’m used to, and it makes it easier to stand. Imeet the chief’s gaze and am relieved to not find pity in his eyes as he observes me.
“I wish I could say this was the hard part,” Chief says before giving my shoulder another squeeze then rising back to his feet. I follow suit as he continues, “but this is just the beginning.”
Not sure what to say, I nod.
I wish I could say that along with feeling lighter, I feel better. But I don’t.
If anything, since now all the emotions have come to the surface with no intent of letting me bury them back down, I feel even worse.
My neck heats at the thought of the chief seeing me like this. I wipe my reddened eyes with the back of my hand, shaking my head and putting my hands on my hips.
I blow out a breath. “I’m—” I begin to say but stop myself. He and I both know that I’m not fine. If anything, I’m finally experiencing the feelings from the night of Bennett’s death.
“You’llbefine,” Chief finishes for me. “Eventually.”
I cough into my fist, clearing my throat. “It sure as fuck doesn’t feel like it,” I admit.
“It’s like I told you last year. You have to confront what you lost. No more running away.”
A few moments pass as I let his words sink in. Up until today, I thought the only way to heal was to move on or least move forward. I knew I’d never recover from losing Bennett. I knew I’d never be able to accept it.
But now? I can’t live like this.
The past few days being home have given me glimpses of what life can be like—shooting the shit with the crew at the station, getting a drink at the bar with friends, having dinner with my mom and sister.
Flirting with my new friend.
But they’re just moments—moments that never last long enough.
That’s all I’ll be allowed to have if this continues.
And I can’t live with just moments of peace that cease the second my grief sneaks up on me or when it finally becomes too much to recover from.
“I promise I’ll call the therapist today,” I finally say, and, this time, it doesn’t feel like a lie.
Chief gives me a small smile. “I think that’s a good start.” He reaches out his hand, and I take it. We shake hands, solidifying my promise. “And we’re going to go forward with that fit-for-duty evaluation.”
With his hand still holding mine, his grip tightens, and I resist the urge to argue with him.
We both know I’m not fine.
I nod, and the chief pulls me in for a hug, his arms tight around me for a brief moment before he lets go and turns to head back into the station.
I turn to get into my truck when he calls after me again. “And son, remember. Those emotions you’re feeling? They don’t make you weak. They make you human. This grief for Bennett is that love you have for him not having anywhere to go. It’s proof that you’re here. You’re alive—living. Just like he’d want you to be doing.”
This time last year, I couldn’t fathom being anywhere but the cabin or on the lake—the only peace I could find.
Today, I want to be better.
I know that peace is here somewhere—I saw glimpses of it in Rumi’s eyes.
CHAPTER 18
