Page 172 of Scarred

“Not now, Stone,” I grit out, walking through the now silent locker room.

“What’s going on?” I hear one of the rookies ask.

“It’s the anniversary of his wife’s death,” McCormick sighs.

I don’t wait to hear the rest as I slam the door open and head toward the entrance.

Stepping outside, I take lungfuls of air and pull at my collar, suddenly unable to take a deep breath.

Fuck!

I finally manage to get in my car, and my fingers curl around the steering wheel. Squeezing my eyes shut, the familiar feeling of guilt sinks its claws into me again, bringing me right back into its destruction.

Needing to get out of here, I go to the only place I know to ask for forgiveness.

Peeling out of the parking lot, I’m on autopilot as I drive through the city, my reflexes already knowing where to go as I travel the familiar route until I pull up to the small park.

We’d packed up everything we owned into a moving truck and driven across the country for my contract. We’d left the Arizona desert without a second thought because we knew we’d build a life anywhere as long as we were together.

Pushing my ballcap down on my head, I get out and walk toward the corner that became our special spot.

We had arrived in Florida the night before, and after breakfast, we decided to explore a little before I had to report for practice. We passed by this park, and she immediately begged me to pull over.

A few picnic tables are scattered about under the shade of the palm trees as I make my way toward the water’s edge. My gym shoes sink into the soft sand, and without thinking, I stop to pull them off and shove my socks inside them, carrying them by my side.

“You need to feel how soft this sand is, Cay,” Jules smiles as bright as the Florida sun, wiggling her toes in the sand.

“And have sand between my toes during practice? No thanks,” I laugh.

“Always Mr. Practical,” she teases, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the water’s edge. “It’s my first time seeing the ocean, and I want my first moment to be with you.”

She squeezes my fingers before looking out at the endless stretch of blue water.

“You know what your problem is?”

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

“You think every moment needs a plan.” Her blue eyes sparkle as she turns back to me. “Sometimes the best moments are the ones you don’t see coming.”

The waves lapping at the shoreline and the call of a seagull bring me back to the present.

My chest caves from the memory.

She was right.

She was always right.

I find the wooden swing nestled among the beach grass and sit down on the familiar feel of the weathered wood, smooth from years of salt air and sun. We must have sat here a thousand times…had a thousand conversations on this swing.

Dropping my shoes to the ground, I lean forward and bow my head, running my hands roughly through my hair.

I’m sorry, Jules.

I’m so fucking sorry.

The tears I try so hard to contain seep out anyway as I fight to keep it together.

I promised you.