Chapter Seven: It Still Hurts - Part One

This chapter can be read on it's own, or can be read with George's chapter which can be found here. It's the one time that the two stories have chapters for the same event so it just made sense to me to publish them at the same time. While the event is the same, their reactions and experiences are different and I think each chapter shows just how different George and Trev are by revealing what each chose to center their thoughts and attention on.

And I'll just go ahead and say that due to one picture, this may be NSFW. What can I say? I couldn't resist taking a pic of Trev in the shower. . .lol! 

And it is part one of two, which I'm in the process of editing. Hopefully soon. . .

Hope you enjoy it! Thanks so much for reading!

****Pam****

I sat in the press room after the next game and barely noticed the loud people around me. My mind was too occupied with what happened since the last game and by the fact that I was still fighting with myself over what I felt. Trev, Paisley and I went out for dinner and he continued to wonder if I was okay, something that Paisley picked up on and I could tell she was more than a little curious by it.  I spent the whole dinner fighting with myself; he would tease me or throw a sarcastic comment my direction and I would return the favor, but then I would try to remind myself that I was silly for letting it get my hopes up. Any reasoning was dashed away though when as we left and said goodbye, I felt his hand on my back as I got in my car and I was again confused by what it meant. Was it just a friendly gesture or something more?

I sighed and Victor looked at me. "What's up with you?"

I shrugged. "Just tired tonight." I lied and was grateful that he didn't press me for anymore answers. The sound of the doors opening alerted the room that someone was coming in to answer questions and I felt my heart beat faster as I saw Trev walk up to the table. But it immediately slowed and sank as I saw his face. He should have been all smiles since they had just won against one of the best teams in the league, but he was more than a little subdued and I wasn't the only one who noticed.

"Maybe he drank the same sad juice you did." Victor kidded and I kept watching Trev. He smiled, albeit not the blinding smile most were used to seeing, he was still thoughtful, but what was the most telling was that he didn't crack a single joke during the whole time he sat and answered questions. It was concerning enough that I didn't ask any and instead sat there wondering what could be troubling him so much. Was the pressure of his recovery and career becoming too much? Was there something else?

He left as quietly as he entered and I couldn't think of much else but his demeanor as Coach White answered questions. I sat there half listening to him and the others that sat at the table after him, and when the last player finished, I quickly grabbed my things and headed out to the parking lot. With the way he was acting I wondered if his car would still be there, and when I saw it sitting exactly three spots over from mine, like it had for the last three months, I let out a sigh of relief.

I was earlier than normal since I rushed out of the press room, and after placing my bag in the backseat, I leaned against my car and looked up at the moonlit sky. It did little to distract me though from feeling the worry that started when I saw him enter the pressroom; and eventually I gave up concentrating on the clouds and instead replayed every moment of the press conference. His subdued facial expressions, the lack of a smirk or blinding smile, his quiet demeanor. . .

"Aren't you cold?" He whispered as he stopped next to me and leaned against the car. The suddenness of his voice made me jump a little and conflicting feelings started to swirl around inside me. Excitement that even in his saddened state he stopped to talk to me, disgust at the fact that in my excitement I forgot about his sadness and I began to chastise myself for it. The last feeling, distress over his behavior, was what made me regain some of my wits and helped me push all other thoughts aside.

"A little." I admitted and looked over at him. His eyes were focused on the sky which gave me a moment to look at his face undetected. At that close distance there was no denying the sad expression that touched every inch of it and as he lowered his head and looked at me, I saw it in his eyes too.

"You didn't ask a question tonight." He tried to joke and while I was somewhat relieved that he did, I knew what he was trying to do. He was attempting to hide behind his quick wit, and while that might have worked in previous years, it didn't then.

"I have one now." I offered and I felt a small sense of relief when a half smile appeared on his lips.

"I’m all ears." He replied and I swallowed hard.

"Are you okay?" His smile slowly disappeared and he looked down at his arm. I followed his gaze, seeing my hand resting there, and froze. Somehow it moved there without me knowing and I wondered how I couldn’t have noticed it when my chilled hand first made contact with his warm arm. I quickly pulled my hand away and looked back up into his face.

"This. . ." He started as he stared at the ground. "This month. . ." He closed his eyes and sighed.

"Ten years?" I asked, then knowing exactly what was wrong.

He nodded. "This Wednesday."

"Are you going to Appaloosa?" He nodded again.

"I'm leaving Tuesday morning and coming back Thursday evening. I've never gone back on the actual day." I was shocked to hear his admission and the weight of it hit me; it was the ten year anniversary of his dad's passing and was the first time that he'd be there on the day. . .I couldn't even imagine the sadness and possible worry he felt.

"I. . ." He slowly looked up from the ground and I wished there was a way I could take away the sadness that I saw in his eyes, but there was only one thing I could think of. "I know you'll be with your family. . .but if you want to talk. . ." His lips curled into a sad smile and he nodded.

"Thanks." He stared into my eyes for several seconds and then walked around me to the driver's side door. "You should get out of the cold." He said as he opened it and as I moved to sit down in the seat, I placed my hand on his and lightly squeezed it. "I'll see you next Sunday." I said as I sat down.

He smiled bigger than I had seen the whole night. "Maybe you'll even have some questions for me. . ." He hinted and I chuckled.

"Have a safe trip."

"Thanks" He said and closed the door. He waited to get in his car until I pulled away and all I thought of from that moment until I arrived at the hotel was calling Dad. I wasn't in the door more than a minute before I found my phone in my bag and dialed his number.

"Pumpkin! How are you?" There was a pause and I envisioned him looking over at the clock in the family room, seeing that I was calling later than normal. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I just talked to Trev though. . ." I heard him sigh.

"I saw the press conference." He paused and I stopped hearing the TV in the background. "This is always a hard time of year for him and I've often wondered and worried about him, even the last several years when I didn't hear much from him. Did he talk to you about it?"

I shook my head and then remembered he couldn't see me. "Not really. He told me what was wrong but he didn't elaborate." I paused, not knowing if I should admit the next part to Dad; afraid he'd know everything I felt and thought if I did. "I'm worried about him, Dad." I finally admitted. It's why I had called him in the first place; I hoped that since Trev talked more openly with him that Dad would have a better idea of what I or anyone could do for him.

"I'm not going to lie, Pumpkin, this is. . .this is going to be hard for him and I'm more than a little worried myself." I felt some sense of relief wash over me from knowing that I wasn't overreacting or worrying needlessly, but the relief was soon replaced with an overwhelming concern for him.

"Is there anything we can do?"

"I did plan on contacting him Wednesday. I think that's all we can do; let him know that we're here for him."

After talking for a little longer, we said goodbye and I changed before sitting in front of my laptop, attempting to write something about that night's events. But instead of being able to concentrate on the game and the questions and answers from the press conferences, I could only think about Trev. I knew I couldn't take the pain away, and that this was his struggle that he needed to overcome; but as I sat staring at the screen I wanted nothing more than to let him know that he wasn't alone and that I and others believed in his ability to do that.

****Trev****

It's always easier to remember the harder times than the happier ones, at least when you feel down or upset. That's what I'd always heard, but I didn't really know until I became sober. I had been a master of trying to forget the painful memories, hiding my pain, pushing it down, and trying to drown it with alcohol; and as the day of Dad's passing approached, the urge to do all of those things grew. I needed to fight against it, I wanted to fight against it, I had to fight against it.

By the time I ran into Pam in the garage though, the reality of what I would face the week ahead had hit me. I wouldn't be able to meet with Stan at the diner, I couldn't go to the meetings that I normally did, and I couldn't play my piano. I had faced those challenges during away games, but with the upcoming trip to Appaloosa, I wouldn’t even be able to go to dinner with Ryan or see the one person that I looked forward to seeing the most. I knew I needed to have a game plan for the time I'd be in Appaloosa and it was something that weighed heavy on my mind in the locker room and during the press conference. But even though my mind was elsewhere, I still noticed that Pam hadn't asked a question and when I saw her face in the parking lot, I knew why.

Even with her head lifted to the sky, I could see the worry on her face and it caused a tornado of feelings to swirl around inside of me. I felt guilty that I was the reason for her worry, confusion about what it could possibly mean, and uncertainty about my ability to ease her fears and conquer mine. But the storm of feelings calmed when her hand softly touched my arm and it seemed to bring my focus back to where it needed to be. I wanted to live, wanted to be the type of man Dad would be proud of, wanted to have a future, and even though I wasn't sure if I should think or want it, I wanted to believe that somewhere in my future was a chance to be with her. As I left Bridgeport two days later, I had a strong determination to keep those thoughts central in my mind.

The trip to Appaloosa was always boring and long. There wasn't much to look at, it was between a four and five hour trip, depending on who was driving, but this time I was making it with my brother George and his wife, Steph and the conversation helped stave off the boredom. By the time we pulled into the driveway of my childhood home, I was more than ready to stretch my legs. The movement felt good and I had just started to loosen up when Charlotte pulled into the driveway, almost running me over.

"You let her drive? She's clearly dangerous." I said to my brother-in-law Ethan as he and Charlotte got out of their car. He chuckled at me while she walked up and gave me a playful punch in the arm.

"It's not my fault that you were walking where I needed to park."

"No, but it's your fault that you didn't notice the six foot four guy walking there."

She rolled her eyes at me and I couldn't help but think of another blonde that did the same thing.

"That must be Will and Emily's rental car." George pointed to the other car parked in the driveway. "I guess we should go in." The voice of reason had spoken. As we walked I couldn't help but think about how we were complete opposites; I tried to see the humor in most situations, he saw the practicality in them. I was the reckless one, he was the controlled, even tempered one. It was no wonder we had argued so much when we were growing up and in more recent years. But even with all of our differences I knew that he had my back, and I had his. He had stuck by me even when I had hit rock bottom and had been a huge part in me getting sober; something that I would always be grateful for.

All five of us trekked to the front door, and like she usually did, Mom opened it before anyone could set foot on the porch. She ushered us into the house where we saw my brother Will and his wife Emily and everyone greeted each other. The house quickly became the bustle of activity it had been in our teenage years as everyone gathered near the kitchen since it was almost dinner time.

Dinner was about what I expected; conversation was light, and revolved mostly around what everyone was doing. Every once in a while I would glance up from my plate and see Mom or George looking at me, which I figured would happen. I knew all of them would be concerned for me and while it did make me a little uncomfortable, I also found it reassuring. A year before I would have been annoyed by the fact that they took such an interest in how I was feeling or what I was doing, but it was different then.

Everyone pitched in and helped clean up the dishes after dinner, and as we each made our way into the family room, I noticed the family picture that hung on the wall in between the dining and family room. I'd seen the picture countless times and it always made me remember that day. It had been taken a little over two weeks before Dad died in the car crash and I always regretted how I acted that day. Mom and Dad had set up for a photographer to come to the house and take some family pictures and I had been more worried about the fact that I needed to prepare for a football game the next weekend.

I had been a butthole that day, and if I had been Dad, I wouldn't have been so patient about it. But instead of getting upset, he had calmly explained why it was more important than working out or practicing; the explanation being that we wouldn't get many more chances to have family photos made since Willie and I would be going off to college in the next year. I reluctantly agreed and didn't think much else of it until the picture that now hung on the wall arrived at the house, two days after his death. It had stayed in a closet for the whole rest of the school year but showed up one day in the weeks leading up to Willie and I leaving for ASU.

It wasn't as painful to look at now, but as I looked at my teenage self, the person I was before it felt like my life started to fall apart, I wished I could take back so much more than just that day. There were so many things that I looked back on now that I regretted and felt shameful about. One being how I had promised that we would be true to ourselves at his service and I had done the complete opposite. I had turned into someone that I was embarrassed to admit I had become, and I knew Dad would have been disappointed in. And the pain that thought caused was what kept me from drinking a lot of times when I had the urge. I could still hear my own voice in my head repeating the words "We'll be true to ourselves." whenever I thought about having a drink and the memory of seeing him and hearing it still scared the shit out of me.

"You okay?" Mom asked from behind me and I let out a long sigh.

"Yeah. I guess." I continued to stare at the picture and wondered about it. "What made you decide to hang it up, after all those months that it sat in the closet?"

"Hmmm. . ." She paused for a moment before she continued. "There was a time that looking at pictures of him was just too painful, so I removed them from the house. But there was one day when I realized that I had to really think about what he looked like, even though I had known him for twenty six years, and I worried that if I was having trouble remembering, that it was probably true for you kids. The last thing I wanted was for people to forget him, forget the times we had together so I started pulling out older photos and placing them around the house, and one day I remembered this one being in the closet."  By that point, everyone else had gathered around the picture. "Does it bother you all? Seeing it here?" She whispered like she was unsure she wanted to hear the answer.

We all shook our heads as we looked at each other and Mom smiled with relief. "I don't know about everyone else, but when I look at it, it makes me remember what a pain I was that day, and I wish I could take that back, but it also helps me remember what an amazing Dad he was. It was like nothing fazed him." I admitted.

"He was definitely one of the most patient people I've ever known." Mom said and everyone else took their turn telling their memories of Dad that day, and for the first time it felt like we were completely together in our grief. We had all tried for so long to deal with our grief individually, most of us failing miserably as we struggled separately, but there was a comfort that I felt in that moment of us sharing our grief with each other that I hadn't experienced before; and for the first time, I felt like we were unified by that.

We sat in the family room and talked for a couple hours before we each headed upstairs. Stan texted me soon before I went to my room and I called him before I got ready for bed. I told him that the day had gone better than I expected, but that I knew the next day, the actual anniversary, would be harder. He told me to call him if I needed to talk, no matter what time, and after hanging up I went to sleep.

When I woke up, the room was still dark and all I heard was the sound of my gasping and my heart pounding in my ears. I figured from the lack of light and the quiet of the rest of the house, it must have been early but my phone was on my dresser and I had no idea what time it was. I stared up at the dark ceiling for several minutes as I waited for my heart and breath to slow down and eventually noticed the sheets clinging to me. I sighed as I realized that I had been sweating again and once I had control of my breathing, I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed.

I had dreamt of him again; dreamt that I had seen him again in the white room, space, whatever the hell it was. But this time, something was different. As I thought more about it, I stood up and grabbed a pair of pants. I looked at my phone and thought about calling Stan but the time said three o'clock and even though he told me to call him anytime, I didn't want to bother him, but I needed to do something to calm myself down. That's when I remembered the piano downstairs. I quickly but quietly made my way down to the family room and sat down at the piano.

I played through several songs before my mind started to clear and my body started to fully relax. It still amazed me how much I enjoyed playing it now but hated practicing it when I was younger. Both Mom and Grandma had tried to convince me that I might change my mind about it when I got older but I hadn't believed them. I started to play another song and closed my eyes as my hands glided along the keys and lost myself in the song, completely losing awareness of anything around me.

"You started playing again." I heard Mom's soft voice as I ended the song.

I opened my eyes and saw her standing closeby, wearing her pajamas. "Did I wake you?" I worried but she shook her head.

"No, I realized that I forgot take the chicken out of the freezer and put it in the fridge so it would thaw in time for dinner."

I nodded and stared down at the piano keys for a moment before answering her. "Yeah, I started playing again soon after I got out of rehab. It helps calm me, helps me focus, helps with urges. . .it just. . .helps."

She nodded as she walked over to the sofa and sat down. "I honestly don't know how hard it is for you, I can only imagine, but I see the hard work you're doing, the great choices that you're making, and I want you to know that I'm so proud of you and your dad would be too."

I looked down at the keys again and sighed as I thought back to my dream and wondered if I should tell her about it. The only other people that knew was Stan, George, and Willie. I glanced back up at Mom and there was something in her expression that made me want to tell her. "I. . ." I looked back down as I continued. "I had a dream with Dad in it."

"You did? Do you dream of him often?" She almost sounded hopeful and I wondered about it for a moment before I found myself continuing.

"Sometimes. It's usually when I'm feeling stressed, or pressured, or when I. . .think about having a drink, which they all usually go hand in hand. But the dream is always the same and I always wake up with the same words repeating in my head."

"What are they?"

"We'll be true to ourselves." She looked at me confused and I tried to explain. "I'm in a white room, or area with Dad, well, first I'm alone and then he shows up. The first time I saw him was when I had my heart attack." She swallowed hard and nodded for me to continue. "I saw several times in my life where he and I talked and then I saw the funeral. He was standing behind you with his hand on your shoulder and when I turned away from the image, he was just. . .standing there; dressed all in white. I got upset with him, tried to argue with him that I would have known if he had really been around, and then he showed me images of times since his death that I felt a hand on my shoulder but no one was there."

"When has that been?"

I sighed and thought back to each time. "After we won the championship at ASU, and the night that I noticed Charlotte at Ethan's place. When I turned around to see who had placed their hand on my shoulder, I didn't see anyone, but I saw Charlotte."

"He helped you find her. . ." She whispered and I looked up at her shocked.

"You. . .believe me?"

"Of course I do, Trev." I could feel the tears starting to build and Mom quickly got up and walked over to the piano. She encouraged me to stand up and tightly wrapped her arms around me, something that didn't happen often since we lived in different towns, but whenever it did, it was like being hugged by sunshine and I wished that it happened more often. I was happy when the warm feeling of her hug stayed with me after it ended and she gently held my hand as she led me to the couch. "So what happened next?"

I took a big breath. "Well, um. . .he looked at me like he was disappointed. I mentioned thinking that the reason I was seeing him was that I drank some bad liquor and the smirk he had changed to the disappointed look that only Dad could give." She sadly smiled and nodded as she patted my hand. "And I got mad because I felt like he was judging me, and swore at him. . ." she raised an eyebrow and I hung my head. "Yeah, that's about the look he gave me." I admitted. "I apologized and asked him what he wanted me to do and the words that I said at his funeral started to repeat over and over.

"We'll be true to ourselves?" I nodded and watched her face as she thought for a moment. "And that's what happened tonight?"

I shook my head. "No. After my heart attack, whenever I see him, there haven't been any more images. I'm in the room or whatever it is, and he appears from the bright light. I tell him what I've been up to and he eventually walks back into the light, but before I wake up, I hear the "We'll be true to ourselves" start to repeat again. But tonight was different."

"How?" She leaned forward in anticipation.

I furrowed my brow as I thought back to what happened that night. "He appeared from the light, and I told him about how we had all gathered at the house and would be visiting the cemetery tomorrow, er, today. I told him I missed him and I hoped he knew how much I loved him, and then I heard a noise behind me and saw an image appear of the two of us standing on a beach at Paradise Island, from when we had our family vacation?" She nodded and I continued. "It was when I asked him how he knew you were "the one."

A smile spread across her lips that made her eyes squint. "I remember him telling me about that conversation. Although he didn't share what he said. . ." She hinted.

"He told me what he felt when he first saw you, how he couldn't stop staring at you and all he could think about was you, and then reassured me that I'd know "the one" when I saw her." I turned around after the image was finished and he was smirking at me. I asked him what he was trying to tell me and I heard his voice, almost as if it was surrounding me, and it said "You'll know "the one. . .”  I looked back at him and he smiled, the one I wish I could see every day, and he walked backward into the light as his voice repeated the same thing again, "You'll know "the one. . ."

Mom slowly smiled and looked at the floor as she whispered. "That would be something he'd do. He was always a romantic. . ." She quickly looked up at me and saw my confusion. "Has something happened? Is that something you're worried about?"

I quickly looked at the floor and shifted in my seat, not sure if I wanted to have that conversation with her, but then I thought of what Stan had said to me before I came home. He told me that his experience was that holding things in, not telling people how he felt, tended to make things worse and the urges to drink soon followed. I took a big breath and looked back at her. "It's recommended that recovering alcoholics wait at least a year to start any kind of relationship. . ." I started and she nodded.

"But you've met someone?" She hinted and I shook my head. "Oh. . ." She looked completely baffled.

"No, I haven't met someone. It's someone I already knew." I felt my heart beat faster as I realized that I had actually admitted it to someone. "You kind of know her too." I added and her eyebrow raised in surprise.

"Really?" She thought for several moments before giving up. "Who is it? You don't have to tell me, but. . ."

"It's Pamela Haines, Coach Haines' oldest daughter."

Her face lit up. "The one that's the same age as you? She was a basketball player, wasn't she?" I nodded.

"And a cheerleader." I added.

She nodded. "And you're worried about the timing, that it hasn't been a full year?" I nodded and she lovingly smiled at me. "Oh Trev. . ." She gathered my hand in hers and squeezed it. "I'm not a counselor or a psychologist like George . . ." We both chuckled. ". . .but there's one thing that I do know. When you're heart makes up its mind, I mean has really made up its mind, you can't convince it to feel otherwise. You can try to ignore it, try to convince yourself that it's wrong, but your thoughts and heart will always come back to that person. I'm not saying that's Pamela, only you know that, but when you do find that person, if you keep trying to fight what you feel, it will eventually start to hurt. And even though I'm not a college educated psychologist or someone who's counseled others who have faced what you're facing, I have to believe that if you haven't rushed into anything and you know what your heart feels, that following it has got to be better than the pain that's caused from not. Maybe that's what dad was trying to tell you." She whispered as her hand gently touched my cheek. 

We sat in silence as I thought about what she said and wondered if Pam really was "The one." For months I had tried to figure out if what I felt was a passing interest or something that was more but I had so little experience with relationships that lasted any length of time that I wondered if I would know the difference. But even in my limited experience, I knew something was different about Pam.  Sure, I was attracted to her, but it was more than that. I wanted to spend time with her, talk to her, hell, I'd be happy to watch her roll her eyes at me and smile at some stupid thing I did or said. . .but did she feel the same?

I sighed and lifted my eyes from the floor and saw Mom watching me. "Thanks, Mom." I eventually said. "I've been thinking that if I didn't do exactly what people told me to that everything would fall apart. I haven't been actively. . .well, besides trying to run into her in parking lots and garages. . ." She chuckled and shook her head and I sheepishly smiled at her. "I haven't been looking for a relationship because I knew that starting one too soon could hurt my recovery, and I sure as hell don't want to do that to her or anyone; take the chance of them feeling responsible if I did relapse, but. . .our whole relationship has changed. We went from pretty much avoiding each other to, well, I can't speak for her, but I enjoy her company now. So much so that I try to see her as often as I can. . ." I sighed again. "Is it always this complicated?"

"No, and yes."  She chuckled. "You're being cautious and that's a good thing, but don't be so cautious that you let something good pass you by. Again, not specifically talking about a relationship with you and Pamela."

I nodded. "I get what you're saying, Mom." I looked at the clock on the mantel behind her and shook my head. "Are you going to be able to go back to sleep? It's almost four thirty."

She patted my hand and smiled. "Even if I don't, it was worth it since I got to talk to you." I squeezed her hand and she gave me another of her sunshine hugs before we made our way back to our rooms. As I fell back asleep I realized that it felt like a weight had been lifted and I slept better than I had in months.

I woke up several hours later to the sound of my phone buzzing. I groggily stumbled out of bed and shuffled my feet over to the dresser to pick it up, and noticed that I had a text message alert. I blinked several times as I reread the name, thinking that I must have read it wrong, but no matter how many times I blinked it still said Coach Haines. I opened up the chat window and started reading his text.

I smiled as I finished reading his text and felt my chest tighten. I hadn't expected him to contact me, but I really appreciated that he did. I texted a thanks back and let him know I'd call him when I got back to Bridgeport. I looked at the time and figured everyone else would be up and eating breakfast so I put on a shirt and headed downstairs to the kitchen. The craziness that greeted me reminded me of when we were teenagers. The four of us trying to get food at the same time had always been something that Mom and Dad had compared to a storm blowing through the kitchen; add spouses to the mix and it looked more like a full blown tornado. I jumped into the chaos, got some cereal and of course made smacking noises in Charlotte's ear as I ate, an annoying tradition that started when we were little.

I finished eating my cereal and as I place my bowl in the dishwasher I felt my phone buzz again. I moved out of the way so others could clean their dishes and pulled my phone out to see a text from Stan.

I thanked him and headed upstairs to get ready for the graveside service that I had been dreading. Being at the house was hard, but I’d been multiple times in the last ten years, and had an idea of what I would feel. I had only been to Dad's grave site once in the last ten years, after Grandma's funeral service, and seeing it rattled me so bad that I ended up finding some alcohol at the family ranch and had gotten so plastered that I couldn't stand up. As I stood in the blazing hot shower, I tried to imagine that the water beating down on my skin was washing away the memory and feelings of that day, but no matter how long I stood there, it didn't happen.

I finally gave up, flung the shower curtain back, and quickly put on the suit I had brought. I needed to do something, but I didn't want to play the piano since it was still a private thing for me and I knew others would be around. I forcefully opened my door and scared the living shit out of Willie who was walking by right at that moment.

"Sorry." He nodded as he tried to straighten his suit but soon noticed that something was wrong.

He and I had never been mistaken for twins, there wasn't a feature that we shared. He was blonde and my hair was a reddish brown, he had the Davila grey eyes while I had the Hobble blue ones, he was a bookworm and author and I was a jock. All complete opposites but we still shared that bond that most twins seemed to, the same one that George and Charlotte did and when we were younger, he had always known when something was bothering me. He still had the uncanny ability to know when something was wrong, even though he lived hundreds of miles away, and I had stopped being surprised by his sudden calls at all hours of the day when he sensed something was up.

He immediately stopped straightening his suit when he realized that I was upset. "What's wrong?"

I looked around the hall as I tried to decide if I wanted to talk to him, but Stan's encouragement to talk to others repeated in my head and I sighed as I looked back at Willie. "Can I talk to you for a second?"  He nodded and motioned towards my door. We both walked in and he waited over at one end of the dresser while I quietly closed the door. 

I didn't turn around to look at him right away, I was almost too scared to admit what was wrong but when I finally got enough courage to look at him, I remembered who was standing in the room with me and I figured if I couldn't trust him, my brother, my twin, who the hell could I trust. "You weren't here for Grandma's funeral. . ." He shook his head. "But I'm guessing someone told you what happened after, how I acted at the ranch?" He slowly nodded and I saw a sadness in his eyes.

"I wish I had been here." His words were full of regret and I forcefully shook my head.

"You couldn't have stopped me. I don't know if anyone could’ve stopped me. . ." My chest tightened and I knew that the tears would soon be falling down my cheeks. He closed the distance between us and hugged me hard. We stood there in silence while I let the feelings of hopelessness wash over me and the tears poured from my eyes.

"You're afraid that it will happen again? That the feelings will be so overpowering that you won't be able to stop yourself?" My head nodded into his shoulder and he hugged me even harder. "There are times when the pain is so powerful that it doesn't feel like any time has passed and it completely knocks me off of my feet." I slowly lifted my head from his shoulder and looked at him in disbelief.

"Really?"

He slowly nodded and I saw the hurt that he felt in his eyes. "I'm always all over the place on this day. I usually wake up, think everything is fine and that this is the year that it'll still hurt but not so much that I'm crippled by it. And then I'll remember some part of that day, usually the moment when Mom crumbled into a ball and Uncle Jeff tried to comfort her, and I'm right back there. . .and it hurts so bad." His voice broke as he said the last words and we hugged again for a long time until it seemed like both of us had exhausted every tear in our body.

"How do you get through it?" I asked as our hug ended.

"Well, even though I'm not a big talker. . ." He joked and I actually felt myself smile. "I talk to Emily about it, and before I met her I talked to Mom. I sometimes felt bad for it, since I knew she had to be in just as much pain if not more, but she's told me before that talking about it helps her too. And I know that even though the pain will probably never go away, it's not always so powerful and it may take several days, but I'll eventually start thinking of memories of Dad and start smiling at them again." I nodded and stared down at the floor until I felt his hand on my arm. "You don't have to go, Trev. If it's too painful, you can skip the service. I'll even stay with you if you want."

I thought about his offer since I knew that it would be easier if I didn't go, and I was very tempted to accept. I had just about made my mind up to skip the service when my phone buzzed and I instinctively reached in my pocket. I looked at it and it felt like everything stopped as I saw that I had a text from Pam. I couldn't imagine what kind of shocked expression I had on my face, but whatever it was, Will seemed to know that I needed a minute and I barely heard him say he'd wait outside the door.

I continued to stare at the screen for several seconds, not really sure why since I wanted to read it, and eventually gave in.

I read it several times, and each time her words seemed to do what the touch of her hand on my arm did several nights before in the parking lot; they brought my focus back to where it needed to be and I remembered that I just didn't want to get by, that wasn't going to get me anywhere. I wanted to live and be the type of man Dad would be proud of. . .and dammit, I wanted a future. I put the phone back in my pocket and sent up a silent prayer, asking God to help me make it through the day, and I opened the door. Willie was waiting, like he said he would and with one look at my face he knew.

"We're going." I nodded and he motioned for me to go first down the stairs. He patted my back as I passed him and we both made our way downstairs. By that point, everyone else had gathered in the family room and as Will and I approached they all looked at me. "Are we ready?" Mom gently asked and I again looked at everyone before looking back at her.

"Let's do this." I sighed. They all silently nodded and we walked outside to pile into several cars for the ride to the cemetery. It took less than five minutes to drive there but the time seemed to go incredibly slow. The quiet that filled the car on the way there carried outside when we arrived and once everyone had exited the cars, the group of us silently walked into the family cemetery and over to the lone headstone that sat underneath the giant tree. 

It was several minutes before anyone spoke and what was said shocked most of us. "It's just us. No one else is coming." Mom quietly admitted and we all turned to look at her. "And there's no "service." It's just us remembering him." She took several steps forward and turned around to look at all of us. "I know that it's still painful, and that some days it's harder to think of him and smile, but he wouldn't want us to keep mourning like this. We should be celebrating his life, not mourning it." She took a big breath and looked up at the sky before continuing. "He was such a firm believer that good things come from something bad and as I look at all of you, I can't argue with that. All of us have made choices in the last ten years that got us to where we are today, and some of those choices were made because of what happened and while at the time the choices may not have seemed like the wisest, they've brought happiness into your lives. Something good can come from something bad." She whispered and eventually every head nodded.

I looked around at my siblings and their spouses and I couldn't deny that what Mom said was true. Ethan had both arms around Charlotte and I wondered if they would’ve ever met if she had never run away to Bridgeport. It seemed impossible that they would. And her running to Bridgeport led to her knowing Steph and then eventually George and her marrying. And the same thing had happened with Willie and Emily, he moved to escape the memories of Dad, just like Charlotte had. If he hadn't done that, they wouldn't have found each other or have their daughter. I had heard the same saying many times in the last twenty seven years; something good can come from something bad, and it finally seemed to sink in. Maybe the shit that I had gone through the last several years had paved a way for something good to happen. Maybe if I kept fighting and trying I would one day be able to look back on that day and think that it all led to something worth having.

At one point the spouses gave the five of us some time alone and Mom's voice broke our silence. "He would be proud of each and every one of you, just like I am." She scanned all of our faces and smiled.

"He'd be proud of you too, Mom." Will said and we all agreed. She sadly smiled and put an arm around Willie, which led to him putting an arm around me, and it continued on down the line to George. As we stood there with our arms around each other, I looked at the headstone and realized that the overwhelming grief I felt earlier had eased. I didn't feel like the pain was going to overpower me and lead me to do something that I didn't want to do and I wondered if it was because I had talked to Will before. As if sensing my thoughts, his arm tightened and I returned his squeeze.

"We should get going. The rest of the family is coming to the house for a late lunch, early dinner. But it's not a memorial. . .it's a celebration." Mom smiled and each of us slowly walked away from the headstone. I couldn't stop myself from turning back to look and at the same moment the wind began to blow and rustle the changing leaves of the tree that shaded it. Everyone else stopped when they heard and felt the wind and when it ended, I felt a hand on my back. "You ready?" I turned around and looked at Willie.

"Yup." We piled back into the cars and made our way back to the house and was greeted by the rest of the family that lived in town. There was good food, lots of sweet tea which I was thankful for, and many stories of Dad. Somewhere in the middle of all the craziness, I realized that I had never texted Pam back. I slipped away into what had been Dad's office and got my phone out.

She quickly responded back. 

I smiled at the fact that in the first part she only mentioned me and the blissfulness caused by it tempted me to press my luck.

I stared at the last word and my smile turned into a grin. The only places we talked before my trip to Appaloosa was in parking lots and garages. Only since I arrived, had we texted and the thought of having another opportunity to talk with her made me that much more anxious to get home.

The door unexpectedly flung open, startling me and I looked quizzically at Willie as his head peeked around the door. "Mom was looking for you. Mentioned something about telling the stinky sock story. . ." I rolled my eyes and laughed.

"I'm coming." I said and put my phone in my pocket, an action that made him raise an eyebrow.

"What?"

He smirked again and it looked so much like Dad that I wondered if it ever bothered him that he could’ve been his twin. "I don't know who's been texting you today, but I know one thing."

"What's that?"

He walked over and put his arm around my shoulders. "I like that they make you smile." I chuckled and we walked out of the office together so I could tell the stinky sock story, again.