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Greyson:I am working on myself.Just because I lost hope a few days ago doesn’t mean I’m giving up.I’m human, you know?
Greyson:People often say that communication is the solution to everything.But when you've experienced a trauma like I have, finding the right words can be like trying to capture the wind—elusive, nearly impossible.However, I'm making strides, slowly but surely.
Greyson:We found a music therapist, which suits me.Communicating through melodies, rhythms, and harmonies feels more natural, more instinctual.Building a new team seemed daunting when Ae proposed it, but now I’m looking forward to the change.
Sanford:Do you need me there?
Greyson:We do, but not for the reasons you think.We just want you close.
Sanford:I’ll be there soon.
Greyson:Ae mentioned you’ll be off the grid.Is everything okay?
Sanford:For a week or so, but then I should be home.
Greyson:I’m taking her to one of the bars tonight.It’ll be fun to do something different.
Sanford:I think she’s done some bartending before, but maybe I misunderstood her?
Greyson:She did and worked at a coffee shop too.She can make you a frothy drink in the morning.If the tattoo parlor doesn’t work, you can learn to do art on foam.She’ll teach you.
Sanford:Where is the glare emoji on this thing?
Sanford:Hey, it's time for us to leave.I'll be turning off my phone, but if you need anything, feel free to reach out to Lang.We'll talk once I'm on my way to Seattle.
Greyson:Come home safe.
Sanford:Always.
ChapterTwenty-Seven
Greyson
“I’ve never understoodwhy your parents own so many bars,” Aerin ponders as I navigate through the streets of Seattle toward Firefly Garden.
“They’re like Dad’s collection of sports cards or some bizarre memorabilia,” I joke, glancing at her with a grin.
“That’s ...weird,” she says.
“According to Mom, it started as a way to cope with trauma.Now, it’s just an odd hobby.”
“How so?”Aerin asks.
I offer a casual shrug, but then delve into the details.“Dad’s parents were controlling, pushing him to join the family business.But instead, he defied expectations, dropped out of college, and bought his first bar.From there, he gradually built his own empire.”
“But he certainly stopped at some point, right?”
“Nope.If he finds a bar with a rich history on the brink of closure, he buys it, and restores it to its golden years.Like this one,” I explain, pulling into the bar’s parking lot.
As we step out of the car, I look at the vintage bar.It carries a nostalgic, ’90s vibe.My folks opted to restore rather than renovate the place, preserving its historical charm.Maybe this is my father’s actual hobby—safeguarding pieces of the past for future generations.
“Welcome to Firefly Garden,” I declare, flipping on the lights.“Prepare to be transported to a different era—no time machine required.”
Aerin’s laughter dances through the air beside me, a melody that wraps around my soul and tugs at my heartstrings.Her dark hair glistens under the indigo glow of the room, flowing like a waterfall of obsidian.Her eyes, nearly black and reminiscent of her Spanish heritage, shimmer with a radiant light that brings life to my world.
It’s still hard to believe she’s actually here.The fact both comforts and unsettles me.During therapy, I told my counselor about my fears, the worry that someone might snatch her away from me.Or worse, what if she leaves because I can’t get my life together?That’s why tomorrow we have our first couple’s counseling.
Sharing my fears with others is a new experience for me.Another concern lingers beneath the surface: The fear that this newfound hope and energy will fade, plunging me back into the darkness of despair.
