Read Online Damaged, The Romance of Nick and Layla (Part 4) by Crystal Cierlak - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Crystal Cierlak
Tags: Romance
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have stayed so that we could help each other through our suffering.
“Anyway.” He coughs into his fist and shakes his head to dismiss an unspoken thought. His blue eyes are strained and I can see faint remnants of red around the irises. “What I wanted from you was just for you to hear what I had to say. And I thought it was worth saying in person.”
Before he can finish I find myself reaching a hand across the table. I take his right hand in mine and entwine what fingers I can manage within his. His hand is considerably larger than mine, and he adjusts them both so that our fingers are enclosed together, his hand over mine.
Suddenly I can no longer keep the images of Tyler from my mind and I’m burdened with the pain all over again. It was the first in a week of rainy days sometime during the holidays, and Nick had taken Tyler to a father-and-son play class downtown. The streets were slick with oil and the other driver wasn’t paying attention. The force of being t-boned at 70 miles per hour in the passenger side and the slippery condition of the road sent Nick’s car flying across the intersection and into another car, the secondary impact smashing the driver’s side with considerable force. The distracted driver died on impact and no amount of medical talent or miracle in the world could have saved Tyler from death, despite his proper safety and placement in the backseat. There was just no chance for him. Not that afternoon.
Nick suffered a rather severe concussion, had several bruised ribs and hairline fractures in his arms, and if the driver hadn’t died already Nick would have killed him for certain. And all this time I have unfairly placed the blame entirely on Nick’s shoulders. Four years I have assigned him as the executioner of our beautiful child’s life.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, and the tears start to fall. They’re not the hot tears of fiery anger, but ones of cavernous sorrow. “I’m so sorry!” I’m sobbing, an ugly cry from the bottom of my stomach to the tears streaming out of my eyes.
I don’t see him move but I feel his hands pulling me up to my feet and wrapping around me. My face is in the crook of his neck and I can feel my own tears soaking his skin with warm salty moisture.
“It would have been my fault if you’d killed yourself!” The words are coming out of my mouth even as I’m coming to understand them, and they do nothing to quell the sudden sea of turbulent emotion rising from the dark place. I blamed him. I put all the guilt and pain of Tyler’s death on Nick because he was in the car with Tyler. But nothing could have prevented the fate of our son. Nick did everything he was supposed to, and even if he’d seen the other driver barreling through the red light at the intersection there would have been little he could do to intervene fate.
“All this time,” I sob into him, shoulders quaking violently as the tears continue their release. “I’m so sorry.” I keep repeating it over and over, but how many apologies would be enough to express the utter guilt of blaming Nick for the death of our son?
“Shhhh,” he’s whispering into my ear. He has one arm around my waist holding me close to him, and the other hand is in my hair, smoothing it down in calming strokes. “I know, baby. I know.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you! That I wouldn’t let you be there for me.”
I think I hear Nick crying too now, and feel a tear droplet land on the top of my ear. It’s warm as it slides down and settles into the soft indentation of my earlobe.
“I’m sorry about it all,” I whisper.
“I’m sorry, too. I wish to God I hadn’t taken Tyler out that day. I’d give anything in the world to take it back, to undo it all.” His words come out in sobs too, and I feel more tears on my ear and in my hair.
We hold each other for what seems like hours, standing amongst the twinkling lights and terra-cotta rooftops of downtown Santa Barbara. The sun has set
“Anyway.” He coughs into his fist and shakes his head to dismiss an unspoken thought. His blue eyes are strained and I can see faint remnants of red around the irises. “What I wanted from you was just for you to hear what I had to say. And I thought it was worth saying in person.”
Before he can finish I find myself reaching a hand across the table. I take his right hand in mine and entwine what fingers I can manage within his. His hand is considerably larger than mine, and he adjusts them both so that our fingers are enclosed together, his hand over mine.
Suddenly I can no longer keep the images of Tyler from my mind and I’m burdened with the pain all over again. It was the first in a week of rainy days sometime during the holidays, and Nick had taken Tyler to a father-and-son play class downtown. The streets were slick with oil and the other driver wasn’t paying attention. The force of being t-boned at 70 miles per hour in the passenger side and the slippery condition of the road sent Nick’s car flying across the intersection and into another car, the secondary impact smashing the driver’s side with considerable force. The distracted driver died on impact and no amount of medical talent or miracle in the world could have saved Tyler from death, despite his proper safety and placement in the backseat. There was just no chance for him. Not that afternoon.
Nick suffered a rather severe concussion, had several bruised ribs and hairline fractures in his arms, and if the driver hadn’t died already Nick would have killed him for certain. And all this time I have unfairly placed the blame entirely on Nick’s shoulders. Four years I have assigned him as the executioner of our beautiful child’s life.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, and the tears start to fall. They’re not the hot tears of fiery anger, but ones of cavernous sorrow. “I’m so sorry!” I’m sobbing, an ugly cry from the bottom of my stomach to the tears streaming out of my eyes.
I don’t see him move but I feel his hands pulling me up to my feet and wrapping around me. My face is in the crook of his neck and I can feel my own tears soaking his skin with warm salty moisture.
“It would have been my fault if you’d killed yourself!” The words are coming out of my mouth even as I’m coming to understand them, and they do nothing to quell the sudden sea of turbulent emotion rising from the dark place. I blamed him. I put all the guilt and pain of Tyler’s death on Nick because he was in the car with Tyler. But nothing could have prevented the fate of our son. Nick did everything he was supposed to, and even if he’d seen the other driver barreling through the red light at the intersection there would have been little he could do to intervene fate.
“All this time,” I sob into him, shoulders quaking violently as the tears continue their release. “I’m so sorry.” I keep repeating it over and over, but how many apologies would be enough to express the utter guilt of blaming Nick for the death of our son?
“Shhhh,” he’s whispering into my ear. He has one arm around my waist holding me close to him, and the other hand is in my hair, smoothing it down in calming strokes. “I know, baby. I know.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you! That I wouldn’t let you be there for me.”
I think I hear Nick crying too now, and feel a tear droplet land on the top of my ear. It’s warm as it slides down and settles into the soft indentation of my earlobe.
“I’m sorry about it all,” I whisper.
“I’m sorry, too. I wish to God I hadn’t taken Tyler out that day. I’d give anything in the world to take it back, to undo it all.” His words come out in sobs too, and I feel more tears on my ear and in my hair.
We hold each other for what seems like hours, standing amongst the twinkling lights and terra-cotta rooftops of downtown Santa Barbara. The sun has set
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