That’s one way to write history—with lies.
Shaking my head, I fold my arms, and my voice turns bitter with venom. “Is this some kind of fucked up way of making me move on? Am I supposed to sit here and tell him I forgive him?”
“Is that what you want to do?” Levi asks.
I can’t stop staring at the words.
Loving husband and father.
What bullshit.
“Hell fucking no,” I bark.
“What do you want to say?” Santiago questions.
I clench my jaw. “Nothing.”
“Then don’t.” Walker grasps my wrist, forcing a wooden handle into my hand.
Turning to my guys, I grip the handle with both hands and hold it between us. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Whatever the hell you want.” Walker tips his head in indication.
Hesitantly, I face the headstone again. My grip tightens around the sledgehammer.
Whatever the hell I want.
I know what I want. I want him gone for good.
Loving husband and father.
Wielding the tool like a baseball bat, I lift it over my shoulder and swing it in an arc to the side. When the end makes contactwith the granite, a tremor vibrates up my arms, and a small chip falls to the ground.
That’s it.
One tiny piece.
He took everything from me, and all I get is a little sliver?
Loving husband and father.
With a roar I didn’t know I possessed inside me, I lift the sledgehammer again and use all my muscles to bring it above my head and slam it down.
Loving husband and father.
I can’t stop until those words are gone, erased from existence.
I swing again.
And again.
And again.
“You touched me!”
CRACK!
“You took my childhood from me!”
