C-26

by D. D. Lorenzo

  "Why don't we go inside. Take a rest." Her tone was soft. She wasn't sure if he was with her.

  "A rest?" He canted his head, puzzled. Though he seemed to be cognizant of most or some of what she was saying, Dash's comprehension skills had been severely affected. At first, she’d remained silent while he’d searched for words and meanings, but now she filled in with definitions when he didn’t seem to understand. It pained her to see his struggle to inspect his thoughts while reaching for a proper response. Things that had been so familiar were lost to him. She’d found a way around his residual frustration and anger by merely adding clarification when he asked a question.

  "Yes." She smiled as she watched his eyes. Once he caught on they illuminated, much like someone had opened the shutters and let the light pour in. "A rest in bed. You'll be more comfortable, and it will do you good. You’ve been sitting in the same position for a long time today. You'll have more energy after you give your body and mind time to recharge."

  "Right." He brought her hand to his lips, kissing it in that princely way that always made her feel cherished. "I'm here, Sky. I understood you the first time. We're just approaching dusk. I'd rather stay out here enjoying a beautiful sunset with my wife."

  He was here!

  Her heart leapt, dancing with joy. She had no idea how long this episode of clarity would last but she would treasure it all the while. Whatever happened tonight would be a fond memory for her tomorrow. Her smile widened as happiness bubbled inside. "We can do whatever you'd like."

  Dash again pressed a kissed to the back of her hand, then spoke as they caught a sailboat crossing the vista. "The last I remember, you hadn't spoken to the press. Has that changed?"

  "No, and so far, we’ve been able to keep them at bay. We have a good security system here, and Caton has been keeping everything in check."

  "Caton?" He raised his eyes, searching his memory, then looked back at her with a smile. "Caton! I remember him." He paused, pleased with the small victory. "Okay. You might not want to talk to them, but you have to. They might not be visible, but they're out there. Probably hiding in bushes and trees. It's better if you control the story. Once this gets out, there will be a shit storm of paparazzi, and they'll be hunting for photos."

  A sigh escaped her. This was the third time Dash had brought up the same subject, though he didn't remember bringing it up at all. She’d been doing everything possible to maintain their privacy, but it had become increasingly difficult. "I know you're right. They have a small amount of information. Some outlets reported that the incident was due to exhaustion. Still, the jury is out in the court of public opinion. They'll keep digging until they get what they want.”

  "That's partly true. Even when the press gets what they want, they put their own spin on it. That’s the downside of fame." Dash shrugged. Still holding Skylar's hand, he tugged it, a tender look in his eyes. "Come sit on my lap."

  A gentle breeze fluttered the curtains at the doorway. They billowed softly as she rose from her seat. Honoring his request, Sky carefully took a seat and placed her arms around him. She would take as many quiet times like these as she could get. The bright vista faded into hues of blues, pinks, and yellows. She felt Dash's body relax. He pulled her legs up across the top of his thighs and cradled her in his arms. The invisible weight she’d been carrying slumped her shoulders. She leaned into his chest and spoke quietly. “What are you thinking about? Tell me what’s on your mind."

  "I'm afraid." He responded without hesitation. His tone was flat, yet calm, as the words rushed out. She lifted her head to find him looking out at the bay waters. They, too, were peaceful and blue, reflecting his current mood.

  "Of?" she asked.

  He chuckled, his reaction seeming inappropriate for such a heavy topic. "Of everything, pretty much.” He held her tight. “Of what's to come. Of losing you. Of losing me." He paused to look at her. "If I haven't already, I want to say thank you."

  Confusion knit troubled lines across her forehead. "For what?”

  "For loving me the way that you do. Before you, I'd heard of love, but really had no understanding of how the feeling could affect a person. You've defined it for me—just like you do with some of the words I'm forgetting. I don't know what I’d do without you. You've taken care of everything, and you've never flinched." He hugged her. “You're my anchor, Abigail.”

  Abigail.

  Again, the interchange of names. Dash had been using both her name and Abigail's for several weeks. Surprisingly, it no longer bothered her. After talking to Dr. O'Hara, the mix-up had lost its power to hurt her. She'd grown accustomed to it. Where she used to feel a threat when he swapped them, she answered to the name Abigail as well as she did to her own.

  "You're welcome, but thanks isn’t necessary. I love you.” She snuggled closer, placing her head on his shoulder. Inhaling deeply, she tilted her nose toward his hair and took in his fragrance. It was an intoxicating mix of shampoo and brine; the air of the Chesapeake clung to the strands. The aroma was distinct, a blend of freshwater from the rivers and sea salt from the ocean. Though most thought a brackish water breeze would be unpleasant, living on the Bay proved that to be untrue. Dash spent as much time outside as possible, his scent also hinting of the outdoors. Since living there, they’d only experienced a few rainy days where he had to be confined. That first day he was unpleasant to the point of combative, but, as luck would have it, there was a covered veranda off the master bedroom. Though the gentle breeze and serene waters had morphed to stronger winds and white-capped waves, Dash's temperament had calmed once he was outside. That was another facet to Alzheimer's—mood swings. The changes in his demeanor couldn't have been predicted any more than the uncertainty of their future.

  Sky closed her eyes, savoring everything about him from his essence to his body heat. It was unbearable for her to think of a future when she would no longer be able to do this. A day when all she would have left were memories. It didn’t matter to her that in his confusion, he intermingled names, mixed-up words, and muddled past events. She’d learned to sit quietly while he spoke, branding her mind with the sound of his voice. Knowing that the time would come when these precious moments together would tax her recall. The quiet terms of endearment. The soft whispers while lovemaking. Those were hers and hers alone. Her heart would break when he was gone, and all she would have were recordings of him to remind her of the sounds of him singing and playing his guitar. But it was the sounds of the tender moments they shared—the ones of his pleasure and hers while making love—she tucked those into her heart. They would have to serve for the rest of her life. It wasn't enough. She was greedy. She wanted more.

  Skylar gently swiped away a tear, knowing that there would be hundreds more to drown in in too short a time. She was watching her husband deteriorate before her eyes, and it was as much an emotional death to her as, eventually, it would be a physical one for him.

  "A penny for your thoughts, Abigail."

  "I was just thinking about how much I love you." Sky pushed away from her disturbing thoughts. All they brought were sorrow. If she were to survive this, she would have to stay in the present and simply concentrate on these sweet moments as they occurred.

  Dash leaned his head back against the wood. A considerable yawn consumed him while amusing her.

  "Now, you really are acting like an old man." Skylar's eyes twinkled as she teased him.

  Dash playfully waggled his brows. "Then maybe you should put me to bed and tuck me in."

  She slid her legs from his, placing her bare feet on the cool patio tile. Despite their situation, it had been a magical day. Though the pull of sadness had a solid grip on both of them, she was determined to fight the bad things and cherish the good ones.

  She stood, moving in front of him and offered him her outstretched hands. "C'mon, you old fart,” she teased. “Let's go."

  He grabbed hold of them, a merry gleam sparkling in his eyes. As he stood, the nurse appeared. "Let me help you
with that, Mrs. Barrows."

  The nursed looped an arm through one of his to assist him, as the tremor in his leg caused him to lose his balance at times. As Sky went to do the same with the other arm, the doorbell rang. Both she and the nurse exchanged questioning looks. She hadn’t been expecting anyone other than Vince today.

  "Why don't you go into bed. I'll be there in a minute." Dash nodded, following the nurse's lead. Sky looked at the nurse. “Would you please take in his dinner? He hasn’t eaten much today.” The woman nodded. Skylar waited until the bedroom door closed behind them before going to answer the front door. Whoever was there was now pounding impatiently.

  Placing a tired eye against the peephole, she let out a sigh. It wasn't enough that she was exhausted, and her nerves were worn thin. Now she had to deal with Ian.

  Chapter 39

  Skylar stared at the floor, inhaling a deep breath. Hopefully, Dash wouldn't be able to hear anything from inside their room. The last thing she wanted was for him to know Ian was there. It wouldn't do anything but upset him. Still, Ian was Dash's friend, and though she owed him no loyalty, what was happening to her and Dash would also alter his future and the future of the group. Though she wasn't ready to have any discussions regarding the band, addressing Ian was an immediate issue. He was persistent, she would give him that. He’d phoned her more than a dozen times and called Dash's cell even more. It had been too much to deal with at the time, so she’d turned off his phone. All of it was hard enough on her without having to deal with Ian's possible threats and slurs about her actions and character.

  "Open the damn door, Skylar! I know you're in there." Ian's shouts penetrated the wood. She could only hope his rough voice and harsh tone weren't indications he was drunk or high.

  "Do you want me to take care of him, missus?" Caton came up behind her. She’d barely heard him approach, she was so preoccupied with her thoughts but was glad he was nearby. Ian would never have slipped by security, but she had added the guys in the group to the list of people who could get past the gate that secured their property. Now Ian was at the door, but he posed no threat. Caton would see to that.

  Caton had traveled with them from London after Skylar had asked for his help a second time while there—to get them to the airport as inconspicuously as possible. He’d had everything arranged within hours, taking the burden off her so she could focus on her husband. That was what mattered to her. He was the only one of the security staff that lived with them. Although he supervised a team of three other men, he took one of the bedrooms in the house and was ready any time she needed him. It eased her mind to know that he was there.

  "I’d like it if you would stay close by." Her voice was heavy with sorrow. "If I let Ian stay, I'm going to tell him what's going on. He’s unpredictable and if he gets out of hand, I’d appreciate you removing him from the house so he doesn't upset Dash."

  The burly man nodded, stepping a few paces behind her but close enough so that he could intervene if necessary. He took a military stance, legs apart and hands behind his back. Skylar turned her attention back to the door, closing her eyes for a moment to center herself and mentally prepare for the firestorm she was certain awaited her.

  "Skylar! I said, open the door!"

  Just as he finished shouting the demand, she swung open the door. "Hello, Ian." Her tone resembled a hiss over barbed wire. Soul shivering and menacing. Hopefully, Ian detected the chill in her voice. "Do you think you could keep it down? Dash is resting."

  "Fuck that." He pushed past her. "I've known him since high school. You've known him for what? Five minutes? If you're here, I'm here." He went past the foyer, his head turning left and right as he looked around the room. He stalked toward her, his eyes ablaze with anger. "Where the fuck is he?"

  Caton, who’d positioned himself against the wall, stepped forward. He walked right up to Ian, bumping his chest with his. He towered over the skinny singer by nearly a foot and outweighed him by at least sixty pounds. Ian's eyes flew open, having hit a brick wall made of flesh and bone, but the rage was still evident in his eyes. Skylar intervened before the smaller man was injured.

  "Ian, this is Caton. I’d like to talk to you, but if you aren't up for a quiet, rational conversation, I'll have him escort you out."

  Ian's eyes narrowed as he gave Sky a sideways glance and then returned his gaze to the monster of a man before him.

  Skylar gave Ian's arm a gentle touch. "If you can put all your attitude and bullshit aside, Ian, I really would like to talk to you."

  Ian looked into her eyes. She could only hope the sincerity he saw there was what caused him to let down his guard. His posture relaxed as his attitude deflated. He nodded, though his eyes still shot hateful, warning daggers at Caton. Sky chuckled inside. Caton would flatten him if she just said the word.

  "Thanks, Caton. I think I've got it from here."

  He kept his feet planted firmly in front of Ian but turned his face to Skylar. "I'll be in the next room if you need me, missus."

  "Thank you." She followed Caton with her eyes as he went into the kitchen, then turned to Ian. "Let's go into the den." She didn't wait for Ian to agree or disagree, she just walked, hoping she would be able to find the right words to say. What she had to tell Ian wasn't going to be easy, no matter her personal feelings.

  The den was lit by a table lamp, the soft light lending itself to a quiet atmosphere. Both a combination of office and library, the back wall was lined with books, mostly the classics. She took a seat in one of two fireside chairs, and Ian took the other. He wasted no time, attacking her verbally as soon as she’d settled back in her chair.

  "So, first you marry my boy behind my back, then you steal him away from the concert, and land his ass in the hospital? It took me a while to find you, but I told you I would. What did you do to him, Skylar? Fuck him up in the head?"

  If only it were that simple.

  "Ian, I don't want to fight with you. If you love your friend, you'll let me speak."

  "Fine." Ian sounded like a petulant child. "Tell me what the hell's going on."

  Again, Sky closed her eyes, centering herself. Knowing she needed to protect her energy, she didn't want to rush through the conversation, no matter how deep a barb Ian became under her skin.

  "Do you remember when Dash called me Abigail?"

  "What the hell! It's no big thing," he scoffed. "I get chicks' names mixed up all the time."

  Sky ignored his comment, knowing that recalling the events and telling Ian the truth of what and why they were there would cause him the same pain she felt. "That was the first indication that something was wrong. The spasms and tremors that he couldn't control were another. He's losing himself, Ian, and it's not going to get better. In fact, it's going to get worse. Eventually, Dash won't come back to us. He has dementia. A form of Alzheimer’s but a rapid onset type. CJD. It stands for Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease.”

  He gave her an incredulous look, his forehead pinched painfully tight, one corner of his mouth crooked in disbelief. "You're bullshittin' me."

  A puff of air escaped as Skylar closed her eyes. She shook her head, unable to catch an errant tear. "I wish I was, but I'm not."

  Ian took a moment to examine her. As she looked into his eyes, he read the truth. "You're really not, are you?"

  Skylar swallowed the lump in her throat. Her eyes stung as a fresh supply of tears threatened to breach the red rims. She watched as Ian shifted uncomfortably in his chair and wiped his hands over his face.

  "Is he going to die?"

  Suddenly Ian’s voice sounded like he’d just swallowed broken glass, his tone so torn with emotion, and her heart broke for him.

  She nodded. “Months at best.”

  "Ah, fuck." Ian ran his hand through his hair, dropping his chin as he sniffed back his tears. It took a few moments before he could again look at her. "We'll get him to the best doctors. It doesn't matter what the fuck it costs, we'll just make it happen. I know the other guys will be more
than willing to—"

  "He isn't going to get better, Ian. I've already had him to Hopkins. His condition has deteriorated rapidly in the time since you've seen him. He has early onset Alzheimer's. His prognosis is grim."

  Ian pushed himself up from the chair, his emotions clearly getting the best of him. Closing his eyes for a moment as if this news was causing physical pain, he paced, then nervously tapped his foot. There was no denying the information had broken something inside of him he didn't know how to fix. After a few minutes, he looked at Skylar, his eyes sad, his mouth downturned. "So, that’s why he called you Abigail?”

  Skylar nodded.

  Ian bit down on his lip, which was now trembling. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" He walked circles as he spoke. "And I made a joke out of it." His last comment traveled on a repentant breath before he stopped and looked at her.

  She felt the hopelessness that washed over him, sensed his pain, and she knew at that moment that Ian loved Dash more than he let show. There was no denying it. The wave crested as she delivered the news but crashed the moment he realized how grave the situation indeed was.

  "He has trouble walking or holding a cup, and he mixes together words in conversation that don't go together. He tells me stories about the business, but he isn't talking about music. He speaks at length about real estate and keeping the books. Sometimes, when I use his name, he becomes flippant, demanding I use either his given name or my nickname for him, which I've learned are Isidore or Izzy. When he raises his voice to me, it’s in a strict tone, yet shortly after that, he is repentant and tells me that he loves me. He has called me Abigail at least a hundred times, and, when he does, he has no problem articulating he’s lost patience with me. Those are the times when he adopts a fatherly tone and addresses me as one would a child.”