had been responsible for making Patrick break that promise to his family.
Seeing Melody now made it hard to breathe. She’d been right. They should have listened to her, skipped the drink and headed straight home after the meeting. Patrick would still have been there if they had. Clearing his throat, Brad said, “I think we really should leave.”
Heather looked relieved. “I think that’s a good idea.”
A few moments later they were standing outside, Luke’s arm draped around Victoria’s shoulders as the three walked to their vehicles in the parking lot. “Sorry about that, man. We thought she was done working there.”
“Yeah, it’s strange,” Victoria said. “Heather told me her promotion with Play Hard was to take effect this week if the final exam went well.” She frowned.
“It’s my fault,” Brad said. “And I wasn’t exactly expecting a warm welcome from anyone in town, anyway.” He’d reached the passenger door of Luke’s truck and opened it for Victoria.
“Thank you,” she said, hoisting herself up.
He closed the door and turned to Luke. “Well, thanks for trying, man.” He shoved his hands into his pockets.
“You’re welcome to come back to our place...”
Brad glanced to where Victoria was resting her head against the seat and closing her eyes. His friends may not have told anyone yet, but it was pretty obvious they were expecting their first child. “Maybe not tonight. She looks exhausted. I’ll stop by before I leave town,” he said.
“Okay.” Luke extended his hand. “And hey, man, I didn’t know you were sober...”
Brad gave his friend a quick hug. “Two years, eleven months and four days.” Every day brought its own challenges and rewards. Many times since the tragedy, he had been tempted to indulge the urge to drink himself stupid, to forget, to find momentary relief from the guilt. But then he’d remind himself that it was alcohol that had cost him so much. Alcohol couldn’t make anything better. “Drive safe,” he said now to Luke.
Then his friend jumped into the driver’s seat and started the truck. Brad made his way through the blowing snow to his rental car on the other side of the lot. He shouldn’t have been surprised by the less-than-pleasant greeting he’d received in the bar. He expected Heather wouldn’t be the only one with something to say...or nothing to say to him, as the case may be. He just needed to finish the filming for the TV show and get out of town before his presence hurt anyone further.
A noise at the side of the building caught his attention, and he turned. Melody was leaning against the back door of the bar, arms folded against the cold air. Something about how she was standing there filled him with a mix of anxiety and compassion. Don’t make things worse. Just get in your car and leave.
Ignoring the voice in his head, he slowly approached her. His legs felt heavy. Apprehension grew in his chest with each step across the snow-covered parking lot. Her eyes were shut, and he stopped several feet in front of her and said her name.
She opened her eyes, and the pain he saw in them mirrored his own.
The guilt he struggled with every day choked him, and he clenched his jaw as a wave of despair coursed through his body. He’d ruined her life. He’d been responsible for taking away her husband, her boys’ father. It was hard to breathe as he stared at her. What did you say at a moment like this? A moment that was long overdue, but one he knew they both wished they could have avoided forever.
“Mel, I’m sorry.” How empty the words sounded. He was sorry? Who cared? Sorry he couldn’t bring Patrick back? Sorry he’d been drinking? Sorry didn’t ease her pain.
She didn’t say anything, just lowered her head and placed her hands over her face.
Without thinking, he closed the gap between them in one quick stride. Taking her shoulders, he moved her away from the building, and then brought her fully in his arms. She didn’t fight—she sank into him, letting her weight fall against his frame. “I’m sorry, Mel,” he said again uselessly. “I’m so sorry...” He said the words over and over into her hair, holding her tight.
Time seemed to freeze in the cold evening air as they stood there, his arms around her in an embrace that should have been uncomfortable, but instead felt natural. The only sounds were her soft sobs against his chest, each one feeling like a knife through his heart. At one time, they’d been good friends. His favorite memories of making music in the small town always included her, and so much of his past revolved around her family. Now she refused to allow him to be a part of her or her sons’ lives anymore. And it was his fault—all his, no one else’s.
A long time and a tsunami of emotions later, her sobbing eased and her weight shifted. She broke away from his arms, wiping at her cheeks. Releasing her, he waited for her to break her silence, desperate to hear from her lips absolution, forgiveness, all the things he knew he didn’t deserve, to free him from his own self-loathing.
At last she spoke. Her voice strong, unfeeling, unwavering, she uttered words he knew he would never be able to forget. “I’d like to forgive you, Brad. But as hard as I’ve tried over the years, I just can’t.”
* * *
AFTER RETRIEVING THE key from under the welcome mat, Brad unlocked the back door of his family home and quietly turned the knob. It was much later that same evening. Unable to shake the feelings his encounter with Melody had left him with, he’d just driven aimlessly through whatever streets he could navigate without much attention. Trying to feel like anyone other than the worst human alive, he’d surrounded himself with landmarks that spurred memories of less complicated times—but the holiday decor on every corner only made him feel worse. This would be the Myerses’ third Christmas without Patrick. Brad didn’t imagine it ever got easier, especially on the boys.
Inside, the only light came from the living room down the hall. The house was quiet. He knew by now most everyone would be asleep, but he knew who would be waiting up for him. He removed his boots and carried them down the hall, setting them on the drying rack near the front door before heading into the living room. “Hi, Mom,” he said.
Beverly Monroe was sitting in her favorite armchair next to the woodburning fireplace, her latest cross-stitch pattern on her lap. Her warm smile of welcome did wonders for his frazzled nerves. “Hi, honey,” she said. “Everyone tried to wait up for you, but they were all too exhausted.”
“Yeah, sorry I didn’t phone. I met up with Luke and Victoria for a bit. I had planned to be here sooner.” It wasn’t a complete lie. He had seen his friends for a few minutes at least. He kissed his mother’s cheek before collapsing onto the sofa.
“Are you hungry? Do you want something? I can make you a sandwich.”
“No, I’m good, thanks.” He was starting to get a headache, and he massaged the back of his neck.
His mother studied him with keen eyes. “You’ve been in town less than a few hours and the stress is already mounting, isn’t it?”
“Nah, I’m fine—but I just saw Melody Myers.”
His mother set the cross-stitch aside. “You don’t waste any time torturing yourself, do you?”
“I didn’t mean to run into her, and I think the impromptu meeting stressed her out more than it did me.” He’d been able to dull his guilt and pain by staying away from Brookhollow, but what had given him that right to run away? Every day the people he’d hurt had to face the bitter loss of someone they had loved deeply.
“You know, son, it’s okay to acknowledge your own pain. You lost Pat, too. And you continue to suffer a lot of physical pain. It’s been three years—I think it’s time you start forgiving yourself just a little.”
He shook his head. “There’s a long list of other people who would have to forgive me before I could even start to forgive myself.”
“You