He’s quick to rise from the bed and comes straight up to me. “What’s goin’ on? You’re glistenin’ and not in a good way.”
“I . . . I’m s-sorry, I h-had a d-dream,” I stammer my words out and close my eyes after I finish speaking, not wanting to know what he’s going to look at me like. If he’ll pity me or not, I don’t want to know. I don’t want his pity. I don’t want him to see me like this. It’s been so long since I’ve had a nightmare but seeing my stepfather again must’ve caused my PTSD to come to the forefront of my mind. I’m so angry. I worked incredibly hard to conquer my demons, and now they’re coming back bigger and badder than ever.
“Okay, okay, I’m gonna grab your hand,” he tells me as he takes my hand and I open my eyes. He walks me over to the armchair next to his bed. He lowers me down and makes me take a seat while he goes into his bathroom. When he comes out, he has a wet washcloth in his hand and dabs it against my face, over the back of my neck, and under my chin. “Just breathe, alright? You’re safe. I promise you, even though you might not feel like it right now, you are okay.”
What amazes me is the fact my therapist told me to do exactly what he’s doing, distracting the body with something else, whether it’s listening to music or pressing a cold towel against the skin. There are plenty of options to pull someone out of this. “How do you know what to do?” I croak out my question, sounding like I haven’t had an ounce of water in years. I sound damn horrible.
“One of the guys I used to play with. He and I got a place, became roommates. We were both from small towns and didn’t want to be alone, I guess. Well, he was an ex-marine. The first night we slept in the apartment, he had a night terror, and it got to the point where it was a few times a week. He didn’t even know he was havin’ them, the guy was so out of it when he woke up, but I did my best to calm him down when he was awake. I was usually able to do so, then got him back to bed. Fuckin’ hated seein’ my friend go through that shit.” Hammer shakes his head and as he tells me the story, the pain he had for his friend must come right back too. “But what I hate more is that you have ‘em too. Just know I’m gonna be here for you, baby. You ain’t gotta be alone goin’ through them. You hear me?”
I nod my head once and Hammer takes the wet cloth from around my neck and sets it on his bedside table. He wraps his arms around me and holds me close, kissing my forehead, and after a couple minutes of doing this, he takes me back to bed. Still, he holds me close, and one of the last things I remember him whispering to me is something I’ll never forget. “Whatever you need, I promise I’m always gonna be here. You won’t have to go through anything in life alone, Shiloh. I’m always going to be by your side.”
I don’t know if he knew I heard him, but his admission to me is something that makes me love him even more. Something I never knew was even possible.
Chapter Nineteen
Though I saw it coming, it still hurts
~ Unknown
Hammer
Nothing prepares you for this, for losing the man who taught you how to hold a football the right way. No one helps you understand what you knew was bound to happen eventually, would come out of nowhere, and you wouldn’t have time to process the feelings of loss.
I thought whenever I lost my parents, it would be something we saw coming for months, how we might even be able to live out our dreams before they left this place . . . but it isn’t how it happened when it came to my dad.
I walked into the hospital this morning at a few minutes past eight to the doctor’s calling time of death. He was fine. His fever broke yesterday and the doctors were starting to look up, said if things kept going, he might even be able to come home someday soon within the next couple of weeks. They just wanted to keep him to ensure the infection didn’t come back.
Now we’ll never get the chance to have him home ever again.
I sit here rubbing my ma’s back, trying to console her in the best way I can, but she lost the love of her life. I don’t blame her for not being okay. How could I? If our roles were reversed, I wouldn’t be alright either.
“He was getting better. I don’t understand how something like this happens. They were pumping him with the strongest antibiotics and they said he was getting better!” My ma cries beside me, shoulders shaking. I rub her back, but it’s useless. It won’t help her and I doubt anything will right now.
Shiloh and Jada are in her kitchen making some food. They’re going to put it straight in the fridge, so she has something to eat over the next few days while we prepare his funeral and the rest of his arrangements. Shiloh even said she’d lend a helpin’ hand wherever she could, from cleanin’ to doin’ her laundry to whatever else she needs. I know my ma is appreciative of it,
