To Brooklyn, With Love (Completed) - Finding You Book 2

Brooklyn, cont.

"Damn, Brook. This place is gorgeous," Harrison says as we pull in front of my parents' home. We landed in Boston about an hour ago, but the drive here is only about 30 minutes. His hand has barely left mine since we stepped on the plane in Philly, and it's sitting on top of my knee now.

"It really is," I say as he shifts the car to park. I'm immediately flooded with memories of my parents, of my childhood, of the hopes and dreams I had. I hesitate just a moment before popping my car door open, and before I can let my worries get the best of me, Harrison's hand is in mine again.

"We'll get the bags later," he says, taking a step forward, but my arm outstretches completely, as I'm cemented to the ground. He looks at me gently, then steps closer to me. His free hand touches my cheek and I smile at him.

"This is even harder than I thought," I admit. "I'll be okay. I just need a few minutes,"

And because he knows nothing he would say in this moment would help, he just presses a tender kiss on my lips and squeezes my hand.

I take a breath and nod. I didn't fly an hour and a half just to look at the front door. I'm here for clarity, and to make a choice.

"Let's go," I say softly, and my feet carry me up the front porch steps. There's the swing my parents used to sit on late at night, and the broken board I tripped on and split my lip when I was 5. I smile. I wish the years of good could outweigh the one very bad memory.

I'm hit with familiarity the second we step inside. The building is old, and although my parents made improvements over the years, it still carries that old building smell. Framed photos line the wall, none of me older than the last time I stepped in this house. I run my hand along them to remove the years of dust, and Harrison walks beside me as I reveal each one. Me in my high school graduation cap and gown. Me fishing with my Dad on the dock. My mother teaching me how to make pancakes. My parents wedding photo.

I take a breath and stop when I see my Dad's favorite red Phillies hat on the bannister of the steps leading upstairs. I lift it and set it on my head and Harrison smiles.

"Everything is exactly how it was the night they died," I saw, looking around the kitchen. Overwhelmed, I sit down at the table. The vase I made for my mom in third grade is still sitting in the center of it. Harrison eyes me carefully. I can tell he's afraid to ask questions or say the wrong thing, but I want to tell him he's making it all easier just by being here.

"No one has stayed here since. Not even once. Not even me. The last person to lock the door was my father," I say softly, pulling my dad's cap from my head and holding it in my hands. I haven't given Harrison many details about my life, but this feels like the time to start. "I got a phone call from the Concord Police. I was 18 - just graduated a few months before. 'There's been an accident, Miss Black,' Officer Andrews said. I think that was his name," I pause and smile, because if there's ever been a detail I should remember, it should be the name of the man who told me my parents were dead. Harrison's eyes don't leave mine. He squeezes my hand gently on top of the table and it gives me the strength to go on.

"My parents were in Concord for a long weekend around the fourth of July. I chose to stay in Philly. It was a boating accident. Had I been with them, I would've died, too, and for years I wished I had,"

At that, Harrison is out of his seat, kneeling on the old kitchen floor in front of my chair. His hands are on my cheeks as tears roll from my eyes.

"I'm so glad you didn't," he tells me. "And they are, too,"

I nod, but my tears fall harder.

"I know," my voice breaks and I swallow. "I do know that. But the shit I've done, Harry. That wouldn't make them proud of me. It doesn't make me proud of me. It took a long time for me to want to be something more, and I'm still working on it,"