bonus • another life

THE WALKING LIVING

tw: mentions of death and gun violence.

       The soft, rhythmic sound of waves crashing to the shore filled the early morning air as I stood on the beach in Savannah, Georgia. The sky was a gentle shade of lavender, pink, and orange as I gazed out beyond the horizon. It had been a year since I stepped foot on Georgia soil or since I specifically stepped on a beach, and I could feel a small feeling of peace settle in my chest.

Alexander City, Alabama, the place where I was born, was now once again my new home. For a year, I tried my hardest not to think about Georgia, or more specifically my family. But once I clicked a specific link on the internet just a few months ago, that feeling of avoidance crumbled away. The link led to a news article, just another headline about another senseless act of violence. But it was different, on the screen was another fellow police officer– just like Myles.

My breath was caught in my throat as I read the article, reading how the officer was just trying to do his job, and was fatally shot in the chest, leading to him ending up in a coma. I remember reading his fellow officers talking so highly about him, along with the tearful interview his wife gave, as well as his 12-year-old son.

It was heartbreaking.

Once I clicked out of the article, I simply sat in silence, staring at the bright screen of my computer as my mind flooded with thoughts about Myles, my older brother, who was shot and killed in the line of duty. He had a wife, and he had children, yet the person who did the act did not care a bit.

After the funeral and the court dates, I fled Georgia altogether, not even bothering to say a proper goodbye to my grieving parents as I moved back to Alabama. Once I arrived in Alexander City, I hoped that the familiar surroundings would offer me some comfort, some sort of escape from the reality I didn't want to face.

But after I read the article about the fellow King's County sheriff, I knew I had to do something, I had to say something. So from that day forward, I began to write and write, publishing my thoughts, feelings, and experiences for the world to see. I poured my grief into every word, hoping that by sharing my story, I could make a difference. It started with blog posts, just small pieces about Myles, about the pain of losing him, and about the senselessness of gun violence. But the response was both heartwarming and overwhelming.

People from all over reached out, sharing their own stories, and their losses to gun violence. It was like a floodgate had opened, and suddenly, I wasn't alone in my grief. I realized that there were hundreds, thousands, and even millions of people who experienced the same pain, and who were struggling to make sense of their losses, just as I was.

The more I wrote and the more I shared, the more determined I became. I started speaking out, not just on my blog but in person. I reached out to local organizations, offered to speak at events, and used every platform I could to raise awareness about gun violence and the impact it had on families like mine.

It wasn't easy. Every time I stood up in front of a crowd, I felt the weight of Myles' absence like a physical pain in my chest and a numbness in my legs. But I pushed through it, knowing it was something I needed to do– something I had to do. Not just for me, but for Myles, for the other officer in the article, and for every other person who had lost someone to this senseless act of violence.

The first time I spoke out in public, I was terrified. I remember standing at the podium, my hands shaking, my voice trembling as I tried to find the right words. But as I looked at the faces in the crowd, I saw something that gave me strength. I saw understanding. And I saw a deep, shared pain that connected us all.

I spoke about Myles, who he was as a person, not just as an officer. I talked about the impact his sudden death had on our family, and how his 32-year-old wife was now a widow to 2 beautiful children. And I talked about the need for change, for better laws, for better protection for those who had put their life on the line every day.

When I finished, there was silence. For a moment, I thought that I had failed, I thought that I had made a fool of myself and that my words fell on deaf ears. But then, slowly, people began to clap. It wasn't the loud, enthusiastic applause that you would hear at a concert or a rally. It was softer and filled with deep meaning. It was the applause that said, "We see you, we hear you, and we understand you."

From that day on, I knew that this was my path. I couldn't bring Myles back, or the thousands of people who lost their lives to gun violence, but I could honor his and other people's memory by fighting for something better. I could turn my grief and pain into a force of change, and in doing so, maybe I could help prevent other people from having to feel what I did.

I toured so many different states and cities, Alabama, Mississippi, Missouri, Tennessee, Louisiana, and Arkansas, and eventually found enough strength to find myself in Georgia.

Later today, I will be standing in front of a crowd, sharing my story once more. It's a different weight, knowing that I'm back in Georgia, the very place everything began—and ended— for Myles. I don't know if it's the proximity to where it all happened or the thought of my parents being so close, but the nerves felt sharper this time, like the first time I ever spoke in public.

I can already picture the sea of faces that will be looking up at me, waiting for me to say something that will make sense of the pain, the loss, and the grief we all shared. I hope I could deliver the speech they deserved, and that Myles deserved. 

I held my legs against my chest as I stared at the beautiful ocean ahead of me, the blanket beneath me cool as it lay against the cold sand. Seagulls flew around me, squawking as they dove into the water, scooping up fish. A small smile was planted on my face as I observed everything around me, a heavy sigh escaping me as I breathed in the salty air.

The sound of childish laughter pulled me out of my thoughts. I perked my head up to see an older man, who looked to be around my age, carrying his young son—who looked to be 12 years old. The father with dark brown curly hair and wore deep blue swim trunks sprinted toward the water, his son wiggling in his arms and playfully screaming.

"Dad, put me down!" the boy squealed, laughing uncontrollably as father pretended to toss him into the waves.

The man from afar grinned, his light eyes filled with the warmth of fatherly love. "Not until you say the magic word," he teased, his voice tinged with a soft Southern accent.

"Please!" the little boy shouted, his laughter echoing across the beach.

With a dramatic flair, the father gently lowered his son into the shallow water, both of them bursting into laughter as the cool ocean splashed around them. The boy immediately started splashing at his dad, who pretended to be offended and overwhelmed with the water assault, playfully stumbling back.

I couldn't help but smile as I watched the father and son play in the water. There was something about their dynamic that tugged at my heart, a bittersweet blend of joy and longing. The boy's infectious laughter reminded me of the child that I couldn't have yet it also reminded me of the innocence that once belonged to Myles' children.

But it wasn't just the laughter from the brown-haired boy that caught my attention—it was the father. There was something familiar about him, with his curly brown hair, his piercing bright eyes, the stubble that outlined his face, and the simple look of determination that settled behind his eyes.

The feeling stirred deep within me, a feeling that I had seen him before, though I knew I hadn't. Maybe it was just simply the way he interacted with his son, the love and care evident with each gesture. Maybe it was his accented voice, how he spoke just how my family did.

It was like I knew him in a past life. But just even thinking about that felt silly.

As I continued to watch the father and son playing in the water, I felt an inexplicable pull toward the man. There was something about him that seemed to draw me in, an unspoken connection that I couldn't quite put my finger on. I tried to brush it off, telling myself that it was just a fleeting moment, a random attraction didn't mean anything. But the more I watched him, the stronger the feeling grew.

Did I know him?

Have we run into each other before?

Did soulmates exist? Or was that too cheesy of a question?

He looked up from the water, his soft eyes meeting mine for a brief moment, and my heart skipped a beat. There was a kindness in his gaze, a warmth and familiarity that made me feel as though he could see right through me, into the depths of my soul. I quickly looked away, my hand reaching up to check on my pounding heart.

I found it strange that I suddenly had this feeling as if it was the first day of school and I had found my hallway crush. I didn't even know this man's name, but there was something so familiar, so right. In my mind, I truly considered the fact that I might've met him in another life— another universe—despite realizing just how insane that thought seemed.

Whatever it was, it caused my stomach to stir in a way I never experienced.

I took my head with a sigh, trying to clear my thoughts. It was ridiculous to feel this way about a stranger, especially everything that I had been through for the past few years. My last serious relationship wasn't the best experience, and it caused a part of me to fear the thought of getting into another relationship.

But even as I tried to push those feelings aside, they lingered, making it nearly impossible to focus on anything else.

The man glanced over at me again, and this time, he smiled. It was a small, almost shy smile, but it was enough to get me to hold my breath and for my heart to flutter through my chest distantly. I couldn't help but smile back, raising my trembling hand to offer him a kind wave.

All the man could do was offer me a nod before turning back over to his rowdy son, a toothy grin breaking across his face as he threw his son into the water and jumped in after him.

As I continued to observe them, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to this man than just a random stranger on the beach. There was something about his demeanor, his way of moving, and my heart would surprisingly flutter with a mix of excitement and confusion. There was a comforting warmth in his smile, a kind of recognition that made me question if I knew him from somewhere, though I was almost certain we never met.

Trying to distract myself, I looked at the horizon, the sun now climbing higher in the sky, casting a golden hue in the water. The waves sparkled like diamonds, and the rhythmic sound of their crashing was soothing. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the pounding of my heart and the endless swirling of my mind.

But despite my efforts, my gaze kept drifting back to the man and the son. He was now standing at the edge of the water, his son wrapped in a towel and now sitting in the sand, while he shook off the water and tried to dry himself.

The same seemed to sense my gaze again. He looked up from his task and met my eyes. This time, his smile was a bit more pronounced, and he gave me a friendly wave. I hesitated for a moment, then returned the gesture with a tentative wave of my own.

I folded my lips into my mouth as I tried to suppress the shy smile that quirked on my lips, my sparkling eyes lingering on the strangely attractive man. As I tried to get a better look at the man, I felt a familiar buzzing erupt from my pocket. The sound and feeling startled me a bit, pulling me right back into reality.

My hands fumbled as I struggled to pull it out, surprised to see Maggie Greene's name flashing on the screen. It had been a while since we'd last spoken, and the two of us were both busy with school and work. With a deep breath and a slight smile, I swiped to answer the call, pressing the cold phone up to my ear.

"Maggie?" I said, trying to keep my voice steady, though the sound of her nickname flowing from my lips brought back a flood of memories.

"Nola! Hey, it's been a while. It's so good to hear your voice!" Maggie's voice was warm and filled with a mix of excitement and relief. I could almost picture her grinning on the other end, her soft green eyes glistening with happiness.

I leaned forward, bringing my legs closer to my chest as I leaned closer to the phone.  "It's good to hear yours too, Mags. How've you been?"

"Oh, you know, life's uh... been a bit of a whirlwind," she laughed softly. "I just got back to the farm in Senoia from college. My Dad, Beth, Annette, and Shawn are doin' well, they seem to have missed me,"

I nodded my head against the phone, softly murmuring 'Uh huh' as she spoke. That is until she trailed off, a soft breath escaping her as she paused her words. I felt my brows furrow, my eyes glancing over at the phone screen to see if we somehow got disconnected, but we didn't.

"You okay over there, Mags?" I questioned her quietly, rubbing my bare legs as a sudden chill passed by.

Maggie cleared her throat, and I could practically see her nodding her head through the phone. "Yeah, yeah," she then let out a breathy laugh. "I just... wanted to tell you somethin' I haven't told Daddy yet,"

I could the clear hesitation in Maggie's voice which caught me by surprise. Maggie was always the one with a plan, the one who seemed to have it all together. For her to be this unsure, it had to be something significant. I couldn't help but lean closer to the phone as if that would somehow help the 23-year-old.

"What is it, Mags? You know you can tell me anythin'. I got your back, you got mine, right?" I encouraged her gently, a toothy grin growing on my face from the old saying we would tell each other when we were younger.

There was a brief pause on the other end, then followed by a soft laughter. "Yeah. Well, I... met someone. A guy," she finally admitted, her words tumbling out in a rush.

My grin only widened as I straightened my posture, a hand moving to cover my mouth. "Maggie Greene!" I exclaimed, my excitement evident in my tone. "You met someone? Tell me everything! What's his name? What's he like? How'd ya meet him?"

Maggie laughed again, this time more freely, the sound like music to my ears. "Well, his name is Glenn. We met in a class at college, and he's... he's different, Nola. He's sweet and funny, and he makes me feel like... Hell, I don't know, like I can be myself around him."

I felt a warm smile spread across my face as I listened to Maggie's voice, filled with the kind of happiness I hadn't heard in a long time. "That's amazin', Maggie. I'm so happy for you. You deserve someone who makes you feel like that."

"Thank you. I think I really like him. He's... well, he's a bit of a dork, but in the best possible way," she said, her voice soft with affection. "I think the two of you will get along great."

"Oh, a dork? Well, we might get along perfectly then," I teased lightheartedly, causing a cackle to escape Maggie's mouth.

Maggie's laughter was full and genuine, a sound that reminded me of when we were younger. "You'll love 'em, Nola. I promise. I can't wait for you to meet him. You need to come down to the farm sometime, everyone misses you,"

My smile faltered a bit at the suggestion and I cleared my throat as a lump suddenly grew. I considered her invitation, but I knew if I went near the farm in Senoia, I would be harshly reminded of Myles and our childhood.

But I had to move on soon, right? The grief and hopelessness had to fade away soon, right? I asked those questions in the back of my mind daily, and I still wasn't sure of the answer.

"Yeah, I'd love that," I replied, my heart both swelling and breaking at the same time. "I might be able to come down there soon. I'm currently in Savannah right now for a... public speakin' event," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "But, uh, I think I'll have time to head down there tomorrow."

"That sounds great," Maggie replied softly, her voice full of understanding. "And don't stress too much 'bout it. I know things have been tough, and you don't have to rush anythin', okay? We're here whenever you're ready."

"Thanks, Mags," I sighed in relief, appreciating her understanding and support. "It means a lot to hear that."

"Well, it's simply the truth," she said with a hint of a smile in her voice. "And we all want you to be happy and surrounded by people who care about you. It's been too long since we had a proper catch-up."

"I know," I agreed, my voice quiet as I distantly smiled. "I've missed y'all."

"We've missed you too," Maggie said warmly. "So, when you're ready to come down, just let me know. We'll make sure there's a room for you, and maybe Glenn can join us too. I'm sure he'd love to meet you."

"I'll definitely let you know," I promised, a breathy laugh leaving my mouth. "And I'm lookin' forward to it. But I should probably go now, I gotta start headin' to the place and set things up."

"Okay, Nola. Take care of yourself, alright?" Maggie said carefully. "Call or text when you can. I got your back, you got mine, right?"

I smiled softly, nodding against the phone. "Right," I whispered in response. "Bye, Mags. I'll talk to you soon."

"Bye, my name-twin."

The line went silent before I could respond, yet a toothy grin curled on my face at the silly nickname that fell from Maggie's lips. I slowly put my phone back in my pocket, looking out at the beach once again. The man and the son were now sitting together, building their sandcastle, their laughter echoing across the water.

My eyes briefly glanced over at the father, seeing his face 10 times clearer now that he was closer. From where I was sitting, I could tell his eyes were a dark blue, nearly matching the ocean. His hair was brown with soft hints of grey, he had multiple curly strands that fell over his forehead, dripping down his face. He had a slight stubble lining his sharp jawline and cheeks, making him look even more handsome.

I took a deep breath as I was brought back to reality. I heard a loud laugh escape the boy, and my eyes were taken by surprise as I noticed the father placing what looked like a brown cowboy hat on his son's head.

My heart fluttered again at the sight, but this time a sense of bittersweet longing accompanied it. I watched the man wrap his arm around his son, pulling him close as they both sat in the sand, their laughter mingling with the sound of the waves. It was a moment of pure contentment, and it made me reflect on the relationships I had, that I lost, and that I was missing.

I was 31 years old and only had one long-term relationship—which was 10 years ago and was incredibly toxic—wasn't that a bit embarrassing?

Most people my age were happily married, already on their 2nd or 3rd kid, knowing what they were doing with their lives and they were incredibly happy with themselves. They had everything that I wanted, what I longed for.

And watching this father and son, only reminded me of that loneliness and that longing I craved.

I gulped harshly, forcing myself to push down the taunting thoughts that began to invade my mind. With a heavy sigh, I glanced down at my watch, realizing it was time for me to leave.

As I stood to my feet and brushed the sand off my naked legs, preparing to leave, I glanced back one last time at the man and his son. They were still engrossed in the sandcastle, their laughter continuing to mingle with the sound of the waves. The man, with his brown curly hair and soft blue eyes, seemed to sense my gaze. He quickly looked up and met my eyes, an almost surprised and gaped expression on his face before he offered a genuine smile.

For a brief moment, our gazes locked, and I felt a strange connection—almost a silent understanding and realization passing through the both of us. The man's smile was comforting and kind, a silent acknowledgment that perhaps we were both navigating our paths through life, despite how different they might be.

I offered a small, hesitant smile and nodded before turning away, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside me. With one final look at the gorgeous and bright beach, I walked back to my car, yet in the very back of my mind, I kept thinking of that man with curly brown hair and bright blue eyes.

Maybe in another life, I knew him. But in this life, I didn't, despite the yearning I felt.

•••

    My hands trembled as I stood on the sidelines, my eyes fixed on the stage where a woman who was presenting stood, tears streaming down her cheeks as she retold the tragic story of her daughter who was killed due to gun violence.

A shaky breath escaped me as I listened to the woman retell the haunting story of what happened to her 14-year-old daughter, her voice cracking and rising as anger and sadness began to consume her.

I bit my lower lip as I tried to conceal the tears that brimmed my eyes, a lump growing in my throat as she showed multiple photographs of her child on the large screen. I lowered my eyes to the ground, swiftly wiping my tears and fixing my makeup.

One of the event organizers waltzed up to me, one hand wiping their tears, the other making sure to hand me a clicker for the presentation I was just about to give. I inhaled sharply, brushing my highlighted hair behind my ears and making sure my bright red suit was straight and buttoned.

Each word from the woman seemed to strike a cord within me as she continued to speak, her words bringing back memories of my brother, Myles. The stories of lives cut too short by gun violence were a harsh reminder of the work that needed to be done.

The woman's voice grew steadier as she spoke about her daughter's dreams, her kindness, and the promise of the bright future that was stolen from her. She talked about the aftermath—the emptiness, the fight for justice, and the need for change. Her strength in sharing such a personal and painful story was both inspiring and heart-wrenching.

I nearly found myself fighting to keep my composure as I listened to the heartbroken mother, my heart aching for her with each struggling word that managed to leave her cracked lips. I could feel the heavyweight in the crowd that awaited me, many sniffles and cries were heard.

As her speech came to an end, there was a moment of silence in the room, a shared respect for the pain and strength of the woman who had just spoken. I watched as she muttered a 'thank you' before stepping away from the podium, her shoulders slumped but her head held high as she choked on her tears.

Behind me, I could feel the soft weight of a hand pushing me, urging me to step on the stage. But I hesitated, clearing my throat and composing myself both emotionally and physically before confidently walking on the stage, my heels clicking against the hardwood floor as I walked to the podium that awaited me.

As I approached the podium, my heartbeat quickened, the soft murmur of the audience blending with the echo of my footsteps. The room, filled with rows of expectant faces, seemed to hold its breath in anticipation. I took another moment to gather my thoughts, my hands shaking as I placed a large stack of papers on the podium, my other hand moving to ensure my presentation was shown on the projector.

I could feel the eyes of at least 300 people staring at me, waiting for me to share my story, waiting for me to speak on the violent acts people experienced every day. It was the biggest crowd that I have ever spoken to, but the number was different considering some of these people might be familiar with the story of Myles.

After I had set up, I cleared my throat, one of my hands gripping the edge of the podium and the other adjusting the microphone headset that I wore. My eyes scanned over the first few rows of the crowd, seeing the grief etched upon their faces, which only intensified my emotions.

"Good evenin', everyone" I began, my soft Southern accent trembling as it echoed against the walls. "My name is Magnolia Gates, and I'm here to share my story, and the story of someone who was incredibly important to me."

I clicked the remote, the first image being my favorite Polaroid of my Mom, Dad, 4-year-old Myles, and a newborn me. I briefly smiled at the picture, a heavy sigh escaping me as I clicked again, another Polaroid of 6-year-old me on Halloween as a Princess, and 10-year-old Myles as a Police Officer.

Silenced settled in the room as I paused, letting the images linger on the screen, allowing the audience to absorb the memories captured in those photographs. My voice wavered slightly as I continued, "Myles was my big brother. My protector. My soldier. Even as a kid, he took his role as my big brother seriously. He had this light about him—a determination to make this world a better place."

The next slide showed Myles in his graduation gown, a proud smile on his face as he held his diploma. "This was the day he graduated high school," I said, my voice softening with the bittersweet memory. "He was so excited to start his journey to become a police officer. It was all he ever wanted to do, protect the people he loved, and to protect the community."

I took a sharp breath, preparing myself for the more difficult start of the story. "Myles went on to become a police officer, just like he always dreamed," I continued, my voice mixed with pride and sorrow. "He believed in what he was doin'. He believed that he could make a difference. But one day, he got a call about domestic violence, and instead of agreeing to my brother's orders, a man decided to shoot my brother, killing him."

I gulped painfully, my thumb clicking the remote again. The screen filled with a photograph of Myles in his uniform, his wife, Emily, and his two kids—Mitch and Hannah—standing right next to him, cheeky smiles on their faces.

With a shaky breath, I lingered on the picture, allowing everyone to once again absorb the picture one of the last pictures ever taken of Myles, Emily, Mitch, and Hannah. I could feel my chest begin to bubble, a sob creating itself, and ready to be released.

"This photo was taken a few weeks before he was unexpectedly and tragically taken from us," I murmured, my broken voice echoing off the walls. "Myles Gates was more than just a police officer; he was a father, a husband, a son, and my big brother. He was someone who believed in justice, in doin' the right thing, no matter the cost. And that belief cost him his life."

I could hear a few gasps along with sniffles from the audience, the reality of what I was saying hitting them harder than expected. The room was filled with people who had experienced loss, but every story was unique, every pain was different.

"When Myles died, it shattered our family," I continued, my voice cracking as I spoke. "It broke me, our Mother, our Father, but most importantly, his wife—Emily, and his two small children, Mitch and Hannah,"

"Emily had to learn how to deal with being a widow at such a young age, being left to take care of two children entirely by herself while also struggling to deal with the grief of her first husband," I paused, shaking my head as hot tears pricked the corners of my eyes.

"Our Mom and Dad had to learn to live without their son, a loss that no parent should ever have to endure. They were heartbroken, devastated by the fact that the child they had raised, loved, and watched grow into a man was gone, taken from them in a moment of senseless violence,"

My eyes fluttered closed momentarily as I took a deep breath, feeling both frustration and despair begin to take over my emotions. I clicked through photos from Myles's childhood all the way up to the day he was married, the birth of his children, his first day of school, his first day of work, the two of us together, and finally, pictures from his funeral.

"I was lost for a long time after Myles died," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper as I glanced through the audience. "I didn't know how to cope with the pain, the anger, the overwhelming sense of loss I felt. I didn't know how to face the reality that I'd never see my brother again. So I fled,"

As I looked out into the audience, I could see a few confused expressions on people's faces, while many others had a look of understanding. I found it relieving that people still had a look of understanding, knowing exactly what I was going through.

"I couldn't bear the weight of my grief, I couldn't bear seeing my dead brother everywhere I turned, so I ran. I left Georgia, leaving everything and everyone behind. I traveled across the South, tryin' to outrun the memories, and the pain, but no matter where I went, I couldn't outrun it,"

My voice wavered as I spoke, my head shaking in regret from my actions from over a year ago. The room remained silent, the audience captivated by my insightful and emotional words, their expressions matching mine.

"'Cause you can't outrun grief," I continued, shooting everyone a curt nod. "Grief has a way of catchin' up with us, no matter how far we try to go. The only way through it is to face it, and to let ourselves feel every freakin' bit of it,"

I paused again, letting my words settle over the room that rustled with soft sobs and sniffles. My voice was raw, my emotions palpable, and I could feel the connection with all the people in the audience as they listened to my story.

"When I finally stopped runnin'," I said, my voice softer now, "I realized that Myles deserved more than my avoidance. He deserved to be remembered, and his story to be told. Not just for him, but for every person who's lost someone they loved to gun violence. For every family who's been broken by grief. For every child who will never know their parent. Or even for every child who cowers in a corner at school, not sure they'll be able to make it home."

A heavy breath escaped me, my chest only growing tighter in emotion as I thought about Myles along with his children. I glanced down at my black heels, my brows furrowing as I thought to myself, knowing there was more I had to say— there was more they needed to carry with them.

"We don't have to forget everything—or everyone—we've lost," I began, my voice steady and full of resolve as I slowly raised my head to make eye contact with the people in the front row. "We remember them—the memories we shared with them—rather than just grieving them. We carry their love, their light, and their legacy with us. We live for them."

I clicked the remote one last time, revealing a picture of 8-year-old Myles holding 4-year-old me, the both of us grinning at the camera, blissfully unaware of what our future held. "This is how I choose to remember my brother," I continued, my eyes lingering on the image. "Not just as a police officer who died doin' his job, but as the big brother who loved me, protected me, made me laugh, made me cry, and who cared for me like a friend as well as sister,"

A comfortable silence took over the room as the image remained on the screen, the pain of loss mingling with the warmth and love of cherished memories. "We honor them by livin' our lives in a way that would make 'em proud. We honor them by tellin' their stories, by fightin' for a better world, a safer world, where no more families have to endure the pain that we have."

I looked out at the audience, seeing tears streaming down their faces, but also a small glimmer of hope in their eyes. "Myles isn't just a memory to me—he's a part of who I am, and he always will be. And today, I stand here, in our home state, Georgia, not just as a sister who lost her brother, but as someone who refuses to let his death be in vain. We have the power to make a difference, to be the change that our loved ones believed in."

My voice softened as I stepped closer to the podium, my eyes scanning over every individual in the seats before me. I took a deep breath, preparing myself for the end of my speech.

"So, I ask you today," I said slowly, my voice strong and determined, "to join me in this fight. Not just for Myles, but for every name, every story, and every life that has been cut short by senseless violence. We owe it to them to keep pushin', to keep advocatin', to keep believing that we can create a world where our children can grow up safe, where they can chase their dreams without fear."

The room was silent, the kind of silence that comes with shared understanding, with collective resolve. My heart swelled with a mixture of grief and hope, the two emotions intertwining in a way that only loss could create.

"I know it's hard," I whispered, my voice softening as I spoke to the audience, "but I believe in our ability to make a difference. I believe that together, we can honor our loved ones by makin' sure that their stories aren't forgotten. We can turn our pain into power, our grief into action."

I paused, allowing my words to settle, before offering a small, hopeful smile. "Thank you," I whispered, my voice barely audible but filled with emotion. "Thank you for listenin' to Myles' story, for sharing in this journey with me. Together, we can make sure that his legacy—and the legacies of all our loved ones—live on."

As I stepped back from the podium, the room erupted into applause. The sound washed over me, a mixture of clapping and sobs, and I felt a surge of emotion well up within me. I had done it. I had shared Myles' story, and in doing so, I had connected with so many others who knew the same pain, the same loss.

I blinked back tears, giving a nod to the audience, a silent acknowledgment of their strength and their shared grief. As I walked off the stage, the applause still echoing in my ears, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. Myles was with me, his memory alive in every word I had spoken, in every tear that had been shed.

And in that moment, I knew that I had done something that mattered. I had honored my brother in the best way I knew how—by telling his story and by fighting for a future where no more lives would be lost to senseless violence. And for that, I was proud.

•••

    After all the heartfelt speeches were finished, everyone eventually moved into the bigger portion of the building where they held a small gathering, food and drinks being handed out to everyone.

I ran a hand through my short hair as I entered the open room, a glass of champagne in my hand. Now, I wasn't much of a drinker, but I would allow today to be the day I take a drink.

As I stepped into the larger room, the hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses filled the air. The atmosphere was lighter than earlier, a mix of relief and reflection after the emotional weight of the speeches.

People were scattered around, some gathered in small groups, others standing alone, lost in their thoughts or fiddling on their phones. I noticed a few familiar faces through the crowd, people I'd met at other events or who had shared their stories over the years.

Taking a sip of champagne, I felt the bubbles tickle my throat, a welcome distraction from the lingering heaviness in my chest. The taste was crisp, and a little sweet, and I couldn't help but smile slightly. It had been a long time since I last allowed myself to enjoy something as simple as a drink.

As I savored the champagne, I thought about my speech earlier, resulting in a comforting warmth washing over me. I was happy to see everyone applauded for me, to see just how much my words meant to them, but I was even happier to know that I made a difference, even if it was just for a moment. While lost in thought, a woman approached me, her expression mixed with gratitude and something else I couldn't quite place.

"Excuse me," she said softly, her voice tinged with emotion. "I just wanted to say thank you for what you said earlier. Your words... they really hit home for me. My brother... he was a victim of gun violence, too. Hearing your story, it was like you were speaking right to my heart."

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and I could feel my throat tighten. "Thank you," I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so sorry for your loss. It's people like you who give me the strength to keep doin' this. So thank you."

The woman reached out and grabbed my hand, a genuine smile curving on her lips. "You're helping people more than you know," she said. "Please, don't stop."

I nodded, a crooked smile on my face as my heart bounced from her heavy words. "I won't," I promised. The two of us exchanged a few more words before she gave me a final nod, disappearing back into the crowd.

I was surprised as another woman accompanied by her husband approached me right after, their eyes red with unshed tears and despair, yet they had bright smiles on their faces. The couple thanked me for my speech, saying that the way I spoke about grief changed their outlook and they would consider my words.

But the 'Thank Yous' didn't stop with them, in fact, the 'Thank Yous' seemed to be the only thing people could say to me. Person after person wandered up to me, smiles on their faces, tears streaming down their red cheeks, and their hand holding mine as they thanked me for sharing my story.

As the stream of people continued, each one sharing their stories and expressing their gratitude, I felt a swell of mixed emotions building inside me. It was overwhelming but in the best way possible.

Every 'Thank You' reminded me why I had begun speaking in the first place. It wasn't just for Myles; it was for all the brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers who had lost someone to the senselessness of gun violence. Each face that came up to me, each hand that clasped mine, was a testament to the strength in shared grief and the power of turning pain into purpose.

People weren't just individuals with their own stories— they were connected, bound together by the common thread of loss and a desire for change.

As I exchanged words with another grateful person, I suddenly felt all the hair on my body nearly stand up, my body tensing as I felt a warm and somewhat familiar presence approach me, and their footsteps heard as I strained my ears. 

But instead of focusing on the body behind me that nearly touched me, I deepened the conversation with the woman in front of me, my head nodding as she spoke and the smile on my face never faltering. Yet, I could still feel my heart quicken as I became even more aware of the person behind me, a soft cough escaping them as they waited.

Why did I suddenly feel this way?

I finished speaking with the person in front of me, offering them one last reassuring smile as they excused themselves and walked away. With a clearing of my throat, trying to calm my spiked nerves, I turned around to face the figure that towered over mine.

As I turned around, the sight that met me made my breath hitch in my throat. Standing there, towering over me in a perfectly tailored suit, was the man from the beach. The same man that had lingered in my thoughts since this morning, his presence even more commanding, and his blue eyes even more striking and captivating as I gazed into them.

For a moment, the world around us seemed to blur into black and white, the noises from the gathering fading into the background as we stood there, locked in silent recognition. It was as if time had stopped, leaving just the two of us in this moment of an unexpected reunion.

I never thought I'd see him again, yet he was here, right in front of me.

With a crooked grin, his ocean-blue eyes glistening with both amusement and recognition, the man extended his hand toward me, offering me a handshake which I hesitantly took, my mouth agape.

"Rick Grimes," he introduced himself, his Southern accent thick and warm, like a comforting blanket on a cold day. His grip was firm but gentle, and as our hands connected, I felt a spark of something I couldn't quite place—a mix of familiarity and curiosity.

"Magnolia Gates," I replied, my voice softer than I intended as I looked into his deep shining eyes.

My name, along with Rick's name lingered between us as I processed the man from earlier, who seemed so familiar, was right in front of me. It was clear by the look in his eye, and the way he smirked, that he recognized me from the beach as well, but there was somehow an unspoken agreement to leave it in the past.

Rick's hand lingered in mine for a second longer than necessary before he finally let go, his smile never wavering. "Your speech really moved me, Magnolia," he told me, his voice carrying a sincerity that made my heart nearly skip a beat. "The way you spoke about your brother and his story... it uh, it hit home for me."

I felt an unbearable warmth flush over the entirety of my body, my cheeks immediately growing redder by the second as I giggled like a teenager. "Thank you," I replied, my voice shaking with awe and shock. "It means a lot. I'm glad it resonated with you."

Rick nodded, his smile faltering as he shuffled on his feet, his expression softening as he seemed to contemplate something. "You know," he began, his voice more reflective, "I used to be a Sheriff down at King's County. Almost a year ago, I was shot on duty—felt like the world stopped right then. I ended up in a coma and didn't wake up until a month later,"

The smile on my face almost instantly dropped, my jaw slowly dropping as realization crashed over me, and everything around me finally started to click into place. Sheriff. King's County. Shot on duty. I suddenly understood why he seemed so familiar at the beach. My mind raced back to the article I had read months ago—the one that compelled me to start telling Myles's story. It was about a sheriff from King's County who had been shot and miraculously survived. That sheriff was the man from the beach—that sheriff was Rick Grimes.

The realization must have shown on my face because Rick's eyes glinted with recognition, and his tight-lipped smile widened slightly. "You might've heard 'bout it. Apparently, it was all over the news. It was... weird and slightly disorientatin'," he sighed, his tone more gentle, almost as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. "I was lucky to get outta there alive. But hearin' your story today... it reminded me just how close I came to not bein' here. And it reminded me of people who weren't as lucky as I was. So, I am incredibly sorry about your brother."

For a moment, I couldn't find words. The connection between us was now undeniable, a shared understanding of loss and survival that went beyond mere coincidence. "I—I did hear about it," I managed to say, my voice a simple shudder. "I read about it— your story."

The corners of Rick's mouth turned upward in a modest smile as he nodded, seemingly taking in my words. The air between us was thick with an unspoken understanding, a shared experience of trauma, near loss, and fighting for peace tied us together in ways we hadn't anticipated.

"Funny how life works out sometimes, isn't it?" Rick mused, his gaze briefly drifting to the side as if contemplating the strange twists of fate that had led us to this moment. "I never thought I'd meet someone who would understand... and yet, here we are."

I nodded slowly, his words settling deep within me. It was funny, in a way. The world was full of 6.9 billion other people, and yet our paths had crossed not once, but twice. The first time was on a quiet beach, the two of us watching from afar, and the second time was in the aftermath of shared vulnerability.

I think I would start calling it destiny if we met for a third time.

Rick and I stood there for a moment in silence, both absorbing the gravity of our situation and conversation. The room around us buzzed with chatter and laughter, but it felt as though we were in our own little world, separate from everyone else. The strong connection between us was undeniable, and it lingered in the air like a tangible force, drawing us even closer.

"So," I said breaking the silence, my eyes locked on his as I took a sip from champagne, "What brings you to an event like this? If you don't mind me askin'."

The man's gaze softened as he considered my question, his hand slipping into his pocket. "After I woke up from the coma, a lot of things changed for me. I wasn't the same person anymore. I started thinkin' about all the lives I'd come across durin' my time as a sheriff, the people I couldn't help or save, and the ones I could. It weighed on me, but it also pushed me to do somethin' more—somethin' that mattered."

He paused, his ocean-blue eyes searching mine for some ounce of understanding. "So, I started comin' to these gatherings, listenin' to others' stories, sharin' my own when I could. It helped me through a lot. I guess I was lookin' for peace, or just tryin' to make sense of it all."

I nodded, understanding all too well the need to find purpose in the aftermath of trauma. "It's not easy, tryin' to make sense of everything. But, I'm glad you're here."

Rick's lips curled into a gentle smile at my words, his soft blue eyes reflecting a sense of ease that hadn't been there moments before. He raised his glass—filled with what looked like whiskey—and took a small sip, his gaze never leaving mine.

"I'm glad you're here too," he replied, his voice raspy. "And I'm glad I got the chance to hear you speak. You've got a way with words, you know. Ever thought about doin' this more often? Inspirational speaker, I mean. Or just, public speakin' in general."

I let out a light laugh, shaking my head as I glanced down at my almost empty glass. "I never thought about doin' this full time, maybe just once a week in a different state in big towns. But I get nervous enough doin' this once every week. I don't think my heart could handle more than that."

Rick chuckled, the sound deep and warm, causing a pleasant flutter in my chest. "Well, you hid it well. Came across as real confident up there."

"Thanks," I said, feeling a blush flare up on my cheeks again. "Lots of practice in front of the mirror, I suppose."

He raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eye as he took a step closer to me. "So that's your secret? Hm, maybe I should try that next time I gotta give a speech."

I titled my head, surprise coating my features. "You? Nervous? Yeah, I find that hard to believe."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," he replied with a hum, his smile turning a bit sheepish. "Standin' up there in front of a crowd, barin' into your soul, it's not easy."

I nodded in agreement, swirling the remaining champagne in my glass thoughtfully. "No, it's not. But it's worth it when you realize how much your words help others."

"I agree," Rick told me, nodding his head as I spoke. "It helps us just as much as it helps them, I think."

I sighed softly, a small smile curled on my lips. "Yeah, it does."

A moment of comfortable silence washed over us, our eyes still locked on each other as we shared a level of understanding. Rick's eyes shifted to look behind me for a moment, then they turned to look back at me, a smirk quirking on his face.

"Have you had a chance to try the food yet? I hear the shrimp cocktail is pretty good."

I laughed outwardly, grateful for the change in topic. "No, I haven't actually. Been too busy talkin' to everyone. But now that you mention it, I am gettin' a bit hungry."

With a smile Rick extended his hand for the second time, offering it to me as if I were a princess and he was the prince in another life. "Care to join me on a culinary adventure?"

I bit my lower lip as I tried to conceal the smile that broke on my face, my hand moving to rest in his delicately, his fingers intertwining with mine. "Lead the way, Sheriff."

He chuckled at the title, his hand gripping mine as he led us through the crowd of people and to the lavishly decorated food tables. As we walked, I couldn't help but notice how natural it felt to walk next to him, our hands holding each other, and our feet in sync.

Maybe in another life, we're holding our hands, and walking in sync as well.

As Rick and I made our way through the crowd, hand in hand, a sense of ease settled over me. The warmth of his touch, the way our steps matched effortlessly, and the way he carried himself—it all felt so natural as if we'd done this a thousand times before.

Just as we approached the lavish food tables, the mouthwatering scent of shrimp cocktails wafting through the air, someone called out my name.

"Magnolia!"

I immediately turned, seeing a well-dressed woman from the organizing committee hurrying toward us. Her expression was a mix of urgency and politeness, and I could see she needed to speak with me about something important.

"Magnolia," she repeated breathlessly as she reached us, glancing briefly at Rick before fully turning to me. "I'm so sorry to interrupt, but there's something we need to speak about. The man who is in charge of organizing these events loved your speech and wants to see you in his office. Could you spare a few minutes?"

I felt my eyes widen, though I hesitated for a moment, my eyes flickering over to Rick, who was still holding my hand. A part of me didn't want to let go, didn't want to leave this moment with him.

I had just properly met him a few minutes ago, but why did I feel so connected to him?

Noticing my reluctance, Rick offered me a reassuring smile, his grip on my hand loosening. "Go ahead," he said, his voice gentle. "It sounds important. I'll be here when you're done."

I bit my lip, feeling a wave of guilt and disappointment rein on me at having to part with him, even if it was just for a little while. "Are you sure?" I asked him, my voice soft.

Rick's smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he tilted it to the side in a playful manner. "I'm sure," he replied, giving my hand a final squeeze before reluctantly letting go. "I'll save some shrimp cock-tail for you."

I couldn't help but smile back at him, his easygoing nature putting me at ease once more. "Okay," I whispered carefully, nodding with a sigh. "I'll find you later when I'm done. I promise."

"Promise," Rick's voice echoed, mainly to himself as he nodded, his smile never faltering as he watched me. "I'll see you around, Magnolia Gates."

With a small sigh with a smile, I slowly turned around, allowing the woman to lead the way. The two of us walked through the crowd of people, but our feet didn't walk in sync like mine and Rick's did.

•••

        That night, I was led into a strange office and spoke to a man named Bob, who told me that he had listened to my speech and wanted me to be a part of his team in Atlanta, Georgia.

And I accepted it. I was then reminded of the conversation I had with Rick, and I knew I had to honor Myles until justice was served for anyone who had experienced gun violence. I knew my words made a difference for the hundreds of people I've presented and spoken to, but what if I was able to make a difference to a thousand people, or ten thousand, or a hundred thousand, or a million? I couldn't pass that opportunity up when I knew I could change the future with my words.

I carried a large smile on my face once I walked out of Bob's office, my heels clicking against the floor as I practically ran to where the gathering was taking place. As I burst through the doors, I could see a handful of people had left, leaving the place more quiet.

My eyes immediately glanced around the room, the smile on my face not once faltering as I stepped further into the place, my eyes instinctively searching for Rick, hoping that I could keep my promise and find him before the night ended.

But he wasn't here. I couldn't find him.

A sinking feeling settled in my stomach as I realized I had just lost my chance to reconnect with him. I had been so eager to accept the chance to speak with Bob, and now Rick was gone. I sighed softly, cursing myself for getting so caught up in the moment.

Maybe it wasn't destiny or fate after all.

It had been a day since then and I was now back in Atlanta, Georgia, preparing myself to drive over to Senoia to see Hershel, Maggie, Beth, Annette, Shawn, and my parents—who still lived in our old farmhouse.

I had spoken to Maggie this morning, telling her everything that happened the previous night. I told her about the beach, my speech, Rick, and Bob. She listened to every word that came out of my mouth and responded to it in the most sisterly way she could. And I appreciated it.

My jeans were cool against my skin as I sat on the bench, my hands resting in my coat pockets as I stared out into the lake in front of me, the wind blowing against my face. I sighed to myself tiredly, feeling a mix of emotions swirl within me.

I was happy at the fact that from now on I would be able to continue to honor Myles and share his story around the world. But I felt a deep weight of sadness press on my chest at the thought of Rick disappearing, the feeling didn't feel new, which confused me.

Deep down, I knew the exact reasons I felt this way and the list of reasons why, but in the back of my head, I was confused as to why I was so affected by his disappearance. Why did I feel so connected to him?

As I sat there, lost in my thoughts, the gentle rustling of leaves and the soft lapping of the lake's water provided a soothing backdrop to the turmoil in my mind. The chilly breeze caused my cheeks to go numb, which pulled me back to the present moment, but it did little to soothe the ache in my chest.

I just gained a tremendous opportunity to spread Myles' story–my brother's story–and fight against gun violence on a larger scale, yet the absence of a certain sheriff gnawed at me, leaving me feeling incomplete.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady the conflicting emotions within me. I knew this was a once-in-a-lifetime chance, and I was ready to give it everything I had in me. But why did the thought of Rick, a man I had only talked to once, keep pulling at my heartstrings?

As I thought about this, I heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching. I didn't pay much attention, assuming someone was walking on the trail. But when the footsteps stopped right beside me, I felt a presence–familiar, warm, and almost magnetic. My pulse quickened, and before I could gather my thoughts, they sat down next to me on the bench.

I turned my head slowly, and my breath immediately caught in my throat. There he was, Rick, sitting beside me with that same crooked grin that had been etched in my memory since the night before. His light blue eyes sparkled with a hint of amusement, relief, and something deeper, something that made my heart skip a beat.

"Fancy meetin' you here, Magnolia Gates," he said, his Southern drawl warm and inviting as if we were old friends who had planned to meet all along.

"Richard Grimes?" I breathed out both playfully and in surprise, a smile growing on my face as my eyes observed his face closely.

The man shook his head with a brief chuckle, a toothy smile on his face. "Rick's not short for Richard," he informed me with a stifled laugh.

I suppressed a smile, biting my lower lip as I simply shrugged my shoulders. "Uh-huh, sure. What are you doin' here? You a stalker or somethin'?"

Rick chuckled, the sound low and easy as he leaned back on the bench, turning his gaze out toward the lake. "Nah, not a stalker. Just a guy who couldn't stop thinkin' about this woman he met at the beach and a speech. Thought I might find her again if I was lucky,"

I felt a warmth spread through my chest at his words, a mixture of relief and something else I couldn't quite name. "Well, it looks like luck's on your side today," I replied, my voice softer than I intended.

Rick glanced at me, his smile falling and his eyes softening as if he were trying to read something deeper. "I was hopin' it was destiny," he admitted, the honesty in his voice causing me to inhale sharply as my heart skipped a beat.

"Destiny, huh?" I murmured, a teasing smile playing on my lips as I tilted my head slightly, studying his handsome face. "Well, if that's the case, maybe we should make the most of it."

His smile widened, relief and something more profound flickering behind his eyes. "I hope that means you'll let me make it up to you for last night and ask that you let this be our first date?"

I instinctively raised my eyebrows in surprise, but I pretended to consider it, pursing my lips as I leaned against the bench, letting the cool breeze ruffle my hair. "Hm... maybe. But on one condition," I finally said, turning to face him.

Rick raised an eyebrow as well, his tongue sticking out of his mouth to lick his lips as he leaned closer to me. "And what's that?"

"You gotta tell me why you left last night, after sayin' you'd wait for me," I replied, my tone light but filled with seriousness as well. "'Cause I looked for you, and you weren't there. I promised I would be back, and I was, 'cause I don't ever break my promises... unlike some people."

The sheriff's expression softened, and he let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "I... I'm sorry 'bout that, Magnolia. I really am. I didn't mean to disappear like that, I shouldn't waited or given you my phone number, or somethin'..."

I waited, my eyes slightly narrowing as I searched his face for answers.

"My son, Carl," Rick began, his voice low as he turned to face me, "he was at his friend's house and I needed to go get him and take him to his mom's house, it... was somethin' so small and I should've told you. I'm sorry,"

I listened intently, taking in Rick's words as he explained the situation. The sincerity in his voice and the vulnerability in his eyes softened my internal frustration and confusion. It was clear he had been genuinely preoccupied with his son, and I could understand how his child would be more important than some chick he met.

"Rick, I get it," I told him gently, reaching over to softly pat his arm. "Your son is far more important. I was just... it's nothin'. You're here now, and I'm glad you are."

A quick flash of surprise sprung on Rick's face as he took in my words, his brows drawing together in almost confusion from my understanding. He then shook his head, clearing his throat. "Thank you for understandin',"

A brief silence passed between the two of us as we turned to look at the sparkling lake in front of us. The quiet between us felt both comfortable and charged, like the air before a storm. We sat side by side, staring out at the shimmering lake, the gentle breeze teasing the surface of the water. The emotions I'd been wrestling with earlier seemed to settle, replaced by a sense of calm that I hadn't felt in a long time.

Just as I was about to say something, Rick stood up, his movements graceful and deliberate. He turned to face me, offering his hand with a gentle smile that made my heart do a little flip.

"How 'bout we take a walk?" he asked, his voice warm and inviting. There was something in his eyes—hope, maybe—that made me feel like this moment was more significant than I could fully grasp.

I hesitated for a moment, looking at his hand and then back at his face. A walk seemed like a perfect way to continue this unexpected connection, to let whatever was growing between us unfold naturally.

I reached out and placed my hand in his, feeling the warmth of his skin against mine. The simple contract sent a shiver through me and caused my body to nearly go numb, but it wasn't from the cold. "I'd like that," I replied softly, a cheeky smile on my face as I let him help me stand to my feet.

Rick's hand closed around mine, his grip firm yet gentle, and we began to walk along the path that wound around the lake and led into the thick woods. The world seemed to shrink down to just the two of us as we moved in sync, our footsteps crunching against the leaves and gravel below us.

As we walked along the path, the leaves crunching underneath our feet and the scent of pine and earth filling the air, the silence between Rick and I was comfortable and relaxing. Every few seconds, in the corner of my eye, I could see Rick glancing over his shoulder, his eyes lingering on the side of my face.

"You mentioned your son, Carl," I began, turning to lock my eyes on Rick's as we walked hand in hand on the trail, the thick trees full of orange, yellow, and brown leaves ahead of us.

Rick nodded, his expression softening as he glanced down at our joined hands before looking back up at me. "Yeah, Carl's my world," he said, a hint of pride and affection in his voice. "He's a good kid, smart, strong. Been through a lot, but he's tougher than most adults I know."

I smiled, touched by the way he spoke about his son. It was clear that Carl meant everything to him, and that kind of love was rare and beautiful, yet something I had not yet experienced. "Wow, he, uh, sounds like a great kid. You must be proud."

He gave me a small nod, the corners of his lips shifting slightly. "I am," he replied quietly. "Carl means everythin' to me. I don't know where I'd be without him."

There was a brief silence as we walked, the crunch of the leaves beneath our feet and the whistle of the wind the only sounds. It felt good, the quietness around us—like we didn't need to fill every moment with awkward small talk and uncomfortable conversations.

After a few minutes, Rick glanced over at me again, his gaze soft but curious. "How about you?" he questioned, his voice breaking the comfortable silence. "Do you have any kids?"

I shook my head, a small sad sigh escaping my lips as I thought about my past, more specifically when I was 21 years old and in my very first serious relationship. "No," I said, my voice softer than before. "I wanted to, but... my last serious boyfriend—Adam—didn't want any kids with me." I paused, feeling the familiar ache of hurt and disappointment as I bit my lip. "That was one of the reasons we didn't work out."

Rick frowned at my words, his brows furrowing slightly as he tightened his grip on my hand momentarily. "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that,"

"It's okay, really," I replied with a shrug and soft chuckle, trying to brush it off. "I've made peace with it. The relationship... wasn't the best, and it all should stay in the past. Him included."

I could tell that Rick wanted to pry further into my words but he forced his lips into a firm line, knowing it was best not to question me about my ex. So instead, he nodded in understanding, a thoughtful look in his eye.

"It's hard when things don't go the way you thought they would," he hummed in response, his voice low. "But sometimes... sometimes life's got a funny way of givin' you somethin' better than you ever expected."

I quickly glanced over at him, my throat and chest burning in awe from the sweet words that escaped his mouth. I stared at him for a moment, observing his face, ensuring he didn't have any ill intentions—because nowadays, it was hard to tell.

But from the twinkle in his eye, and the glimmer in his smile, I knew his words were full of complete honesty. As my eyes locked on his, he grinned delicately, and from that look alone I knew the two of us had an unspoken connection.

A careful breath escaped my mouth as I smiled openly, though, in the back of my mind, I couldn't help but wonder about Carl's mother— was she still in the picture? I swallowed painfully as I glanced between the ground and Rick, trying to work up the question I was about to ask.

"Uhm, what about Carl's mom?" I asked carefully, looking at Rick to gauge his reaction. "If you don't mind me askin'... I hope I'm not crossin' any boundaries,"

Rick's expression darkened for a split second, but he quickly composed himself by shaking his head and clearing his throat. "Nah, it's fine," he said with a sigh. "Lori... she left me for my best friend—Shane—a couple of months ago," he admitted, his voice steady despite the hurt that consumed it. "And now they're havin' a baby together."

I felt my face drop, my body going cold from the words that he struggled to string together, I watched as he kissed his lips and outwardly hissed in remembrance. "I'm so sorry, Rick," I murmured, squeezing his hand carefully as I twisted my head to look at him.

The man peeked down at our combined hands with a suppressed smile, he gently pulled me closer, our arms pressed against each other as we continued to stroll deeper into the woods.

"It's alright. I'm over it now. Took me a while, but I realized I deserved better than that," Rick told me, his voice firm and soft. "Carl deserved better."

I walked quietly beside Rick, absorbing everything he had just shared. The pain in his voice when he spoke about Lori leaving him was subtle, but it was there, layered beneath the calm exterior. His words hung loosely in the air around us, and for a moment, I struggled with what to say next. It was clear that he had been through a lot, and the fact that he was still standing here and talking about it spoke volumes about his character.

After a few minutes of silence, I glanced over at him again, trying my best to lighten the mood. "You're stronger than what you give yourself credit for, Rick. I can tell. And Carl is lucky to have you as his dad."

Rick's blue eyes softened at my words as he kept his eye on me, offering me a small appreciative smile. "I'm just doin' the best I can with what I have," he said, his voice nearly a whisper. "But I appreciate you for sayin' that, Magnolia,"

I chuckled softly, playfully nudging him with my elbow as I turned my full attention to him. "You know, you don't have to keep callin' me, Magnolia. It feels like I'm about to get in trouble every time you say it,"

The sheriff jokingly rolled his eyes at my silly remark, his arm twisting around mine. "What do you suggest I call you then? You gotta nickname?"

"Oh, I've got many," I replied, raising my eyebrows with a bright smile. "Most of my friends and family call me Nola... or Lia, but no one's called me that in a while."

Rick tilted his head slightly, a smirk curving on his face as his sparkling eyes glanced up and down my body slowly in both amusement and affection. "Okay, Lia," he purred out, my name rolling off his tongue beautifully, nearly causing my chest to collapse from the intense pounding of my heart against my ribcage.

Rick's southern-accented voice, rich and warm, sent shivers down my spine as he said my name, "Lia." The way he said it made my heart leap in a way I hadn't expected and that I had never experienced before. I bit back a grin, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks.

We continued walking side by side, our hands no longer intertwined, but our arms lightly brushed against each other as we moved. I felt a lightness I hadn't felt in years, and it was a feeling that I wanted to feel forever.

"You sure you wanna stick with 'Lia'?" Rick teased, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "I kinda like callin' you Magnolia now that I'm thinkin' about it."

I rolled my eyes playfully, my smile widening as I skipped ahead of him. "Only if you want me to start callin' you Richard all the time," I shot back, bumping him with my hip as I spun around and began to walk backward.

Rick smirked, shaking his head as he watched me. "Alright, alright, Lia. You win," he said, the sound of my nickname rolling off his tongue like honey.

But before I could respond, I could feel my foot snag on a hidden root beneath a blanket of leaves. My smile vanished as my body lurched forward, the world tilting around me as I tried to brace my fall. I gasped, instinctively reaching out, but the uneven ground sent me tumbling down hard.

The pain hit me like a lightning bolt, sharp and immediate. My ankle twisted awkwardly as I hit the ground, and I let out a piercing cry, clutching my leg as the pain radiated up through my foot.

I could hear a loud gasp and "Shit!" escape Rick as I crumbled to the ground, tears pricking the corners of my eyes as my ankle screamed in agonizing pain. His footsteps were quick as he approached me, his knees banging against the ground as he crouched beside me.

"Lia, are you okay?!" he called out urgently, his hands moving to cover mine which caused a loud hiss and screech to escape me.

I winced, gripping my ankle tightly, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps. "I-I think I broke it," I managed to choke out, the pain overwhelming. Tears began to trail down my face, splattering onto the ground below me.

Rick removed his hands from my ankle, his warm touch moving to gently hold my cheeks as my lips trembled in fear and pain. "Hey, look at me," he said softly, his voice low and soothing. "It's gonna be okay. Let me take a look."

I sucked in a sharp breath, wincing again as I leaned back, trying to ease the pressure off my ankle. "What? You're gonna kiss my boo-boo?" I muttered through the pain, trying to force a weak smile, but my attempt at humor barely masked through the agony coursing through me.

Rick paused for a moment, his expression softening as his lips curled into a slow, gentle smile. His thumbs gently rubbed against my wet tears, wiping them from my face. He looked at me with such warmth, such tenderness, that it made my breath catch in my throat despite the pain shooting in my leg.

Damn, now I really wanted him to kiss my boo-boo.

"Maybe," he said distantly, leaning in closer until his face was just inches from mine. His eyes flicked down to my plump lips before meeting mine again. There was a beat, a suspended moment where everything around us—the woods, the pain, the world—seemed to disappear.

Then, without another word, he closed the distance between us, his lips brushing against mine in a soft delicate kiss. 

It was then for a second, I forgot about the pain. I forgot about everything. All I could feel was Rick's wet mouth on mine, the warmth of his body as he leaned in closer, his hands gently cupping the side of my face. The kiss was gentle but electric, a quiet, tender moment that felt like a promise.

When he pulled back, I was breathless, my heart racing in my chest for reasons entirely different from the pain in my ankle. I stared at him, wide-eyed, as the shock of the kiss mingled with the dull throb of my injury.

Rick grinned at me, his blue eyes glimmering in both mischief and awe. "We should probably get out of the woods, huh?" he hummed carefully, his voice teasing but laced with concern as he glanced down at my ankle.

I blinked, still processing the kiss, before nodding slowly, wincing as I tried to shift my leg. "Yeah. Yeah, we should."

As Rick helped me stand to my feet, his arm wrapping underneath my armpit to help me up, I couldn't help but feel a hint of deja vu as we limped out of the woods together, our bodies moving in sync.

It was then my hand began to swarm with the same thoughts that I had the day before, about how Rick and I were somehow connected because in another life I knew the two of us were still together, hand in hand, lips on lips.

Because destiny and fate exist. In this life and beyond, no matter what universe we may be in together, our connection seemed to transcend the ordinary boundaries of time and space. It was as if our souls were tied together in every universe and lifetime.

In another life, I know we are together, changing the world one step at a time with destiny and fate by our side.

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WORD COUNT: 13,200+

surprise! a bonus chapter just for you all! it was so much fun to write and i tried my hardest to sneak in some stuff from the original story between nola and rick, hope you enjoyed <3

this is now officially, the very end of OOTW. :(

but while we're here, i would like to speak about the message of this chapter specifically and why it spoke so deeply to me.

gun violence in america is REAL. and it is something that i fear every single day i walk outside, or when im in a car, or even when i go to school— places where im SUPPOSED to be safe.

a few days ago, there was another senseless act of violence towards another school in Winder, Georgia, taking the lives of 2 students and 2 teachers, injuring many more.

i was immediately struck with sadness for the students and teachers that had to hear those shots, who had to live in that agonizing pit of fear, not knowing if you were going to live or die in that exact moment.

i was saddened at the fact that families now have to go to a funeral for their child, their mother, and their father just because they sent them off to school—- thinking they would be safe.

i am frustrated that this is the reality that so many children, teenagers, and adults have to live through, and i am frustrated that there is NO action being taken.

gun violence is a big issue. it needs to be addressed, and it needs to be stopped. my heart aches for the victims and their families, and i hope they can get the justice and peace that they deserve.

we need to stop gun violence once and for all.

i hope you all enjoyed this final chapter, and i hope you listened to the speech i wrote out for nola— and you read what i wrote above, because it means the world to me.

please be kind and respectful in the comments if replying, we are all human, and we all are deeply impacted by this situation. again, my heart goes out to everyone affected by this tragedy.

be safe, be kind. i will see you again for BLAZE. :)

tpwk,

- L x

<3 <3 <3 <3

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