able to be with Lily again. I wish I could block it out, but for some reason, it is able to grab a hold of me so tightly that I can’t let it go.
I really don’t know when it is okay to move on after your wife dies. What is the respectable time to wait? I haven’t a clue. But I’m sure with one hundred percent certainty that three nights after the funeral isn’t the most opportune time. I’m so ashamed and sad about the disrespect that I showed to Stella’s memory. I’m not sure this remorse will ever go away.
I’m lost. I need Stella to tell me what to do. I need her to give me permission to live because I just feel so guilt-ridden going on without her. We planned for everything, but we never planned for how I would go about my life after she was gone. I don’t know what to do or where to start. All I know is something has to give because I’m drowning in pain and remorse. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold my breath before I inhale it all, and it takes me down with it.
The oddest sensation takes hold. I feel like someone’s moving me. I hear my name, and the sense that I’m not alone comes over me. But it doesn’t register because I am so alone.
“Jax! Wake up!”
A familiar voice pulls me from my alcohol-induced sleep.
Landon?
“Jax!”
I continue to hear my name and feel hands pushing on my shoulders.
“Jax!”
I hear again before I slowly open my eyes, squinting from the bedroom light shining into them.
“Ugh, what?” My voice is hoarse from days of sleep and no use. Wait a minute… “How did you get in here?” I mutter.
“Yeah, brother, you need to replace your back door lock. It’s broken,” Landon states.
“You broke my door?” I question, pulling a pillow over my eyes to block the annoying light.
“What did you expect, Jax? You haven’t answered your phone or your door for over a week. Everyone is worried sick about you. Mom’s a wreck. She was going to drive here today and find a way in herself. I figured I’d better do it though because she doesn’t need to see you like this. I’m glad I did, too. You fucking stink, man.”
“Fuck off.”
“Come on. Your ass needs a shower.”
“No,” I protest.
“Dude, you’re taking a shower. You can either walk there on your own, or I’ll throw your ass in it. Your choice.”
“I’d like to see you try,” I huff out.
Landon’s voice is pleading. “Come on, Jax.”
I hear the concern taking hold.
“You need to clean up. It will make you feel better. Please go shower. Please.”
“It won’t.”
“Won’t what?”
“Make me feel better.”
He sighs. “Maybe not, but it sure as hell will make you smell better. Come on.” He throws the comforter to the side and pulls on my arm.
I relent and stand slowly. My head rushes from the unusual sensation of standing mixed with the combination of no food and too much beer. Landon wraps his arm around my shoulder and steadies me.
I drag my feet to the bathroom. Undressing, I turn on the shower and get in. I stay in the shower for entirely too long, but the hot water feels remarkable. When I exit the bathroom in a towel, I find Landon putting a clean sheet on my bed.
“You changed my bedsheets?” I question with a chuckle.
“Yeah,” Landon grumbles. “You owe me, too. They stank of sweat, beer, and overall grossness. I put them in the washer on the hottest sanitize setting, but I’d run them again if I were you.”
My eyes spot the vacuum. “You vacuumed, too?” I ask in astonishment.
“Dude, it fucking reeked in here. I cleaned up your kitchen and opened your windows, too. It’s like the walking dead up in here. I know you’re sad, but you still have to live, Jax.”
I stagger into the kitchen, and sure enough, everything is wiped up, and the dishwasher is running. I open the refrigerator and grab a bottle of water. Opening it, I chug the whole thing.
“When’s the last time you ate?” Landon asks.
“I don’t know.” I reach for another bottle of water and spot the stacked casserole dishes. I slam the refrigerator door closed. “Please throw out every last fucking casserole in there,” I say to Landon, my words measured. “I can’t deal with them.”
“You got it.” He opens the refrigerator. “Should I scrape them out and wash the dishes?”