Counting Stars (Donnelley Brother's - Book One)

Prologue

I never got to say goodbye.

We didn't fight that morning – the last morning we were together – that wasn't why I regretted our last moments. No, I regretted them, because looking back I couldn't help but feel at fault.

I never got to say goodbye – not a proper farewell with soul-filled promises that I would one day see you again – nothing.  

I wasn't so lucky as to face a diagnosis with you. I know, I shouldn't be wishing for something devastating like cancer. But I am. For the last year, I've been wishing for time. Any time with you, really. I just wish I could have told you how deeply I loved you with one last whispered breath. I wish I would have known, so then maybe I would have some semblance of closure.

Our friends and family all tell me you were blessed. The impact, which your life was taken, was quick and painless. But I know you. And I know you would have taken the pain of cancer over leaving me so quickly – without one last kiss.

Ah, you were always so desperate for one last kiss.

Even now, I can see you standing by the open door of our little home. The home I put up for sale today – I can't be here without you anymore. Please understand and forgive me. I know how hard you worked to get us this house – this home.

I don't have to close my eyes to see you standing there, beckoning me closer. Your lips are curled into a half-grin as you coax me from the stool at the counter where I work in the mornings. The sun behind you is so bright and your sandy hair looks almost golden. Looking back now, it's like you have this halo hovering over you. And God, I know – I just know that was my sign. I'm not religious – but I have a feeling you went somewhere better. And I'm so happy for you – but I miss you.

I miss you so much it hurts. It hurts so deeply in my heart. It's like there's this hole, and with every beat of my heart, I feel the emptiness you left behind inside me. God, I miss you.

I'm watching that morning again. I've watched that morning a thousand times over. I woke up with you – like I always do. We bantered as you threw your lunch together and I made you breakfast. Eggs simmered in garlic on rye. You never really deviated from your eggs. By the time you were finished eating, I had a steaming cup of coffee beside me, and the warm French Vanilla aroma wafted up in a swirl of flavored vapor from the mug. My laptop was already powered on and you were leaning over the back of my chair, pushing for a kiss. With a sigh I never really mean, I turn to kiss you. I love the way your lips feel against mine. Warm and slow – every morning. And then you're walking to the door. Sipping my coffee, I watch you. And then you open the door and step onto the front porch. Poking your head back into the entrance, you crook that finger at me.

"One more kiss," you plead.

I laugh. Taking my sweet time, I walk toward you. And that's when I see it. The golden orb of light hovering around you. My mind makes it out to be the stretch of the sunrise, but now I think it's more.

Leaning forward, I kiss you. And then I kiss you again, and again, and again. Your bag is on the floor now and I'm in your arms. I don't really know how long we kiss for, but I know you should have already been in your car. You should have already been on your way to work.

You're never late...

But I gave in to your last plea. I kissed you. One action, so insignificant, was the catalyst that led you to your last moments. I'm so sorry for that.

My mind picks up in the memory of our final conversation. It's like these concluding moments have been on repeat in my mind. And it's agony.    

"I've gotta go, baby," you sigh. "We'll pick this up tonight."

"I love you." I call as you jog down the driveway. "Text me when you get there!"

"I will. I love you." You close the door of your car and back out of the drive. Like always, I walk back to my computer and begin working.   

You never texted me that morning.

Actually, you never texted me again.