Famous Last Words (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 2)

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “Fingernails?”

  “Ya, I know,” I whine. “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “I’d like to get an x-ray and MRI on the left,” she mentions, removing the last loop of gauze from my right. The pins are still in?”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” I defer, and she blushes, which makes me beam. I’m gloating, high as a kite, as her hands hold mine. “What do you think?”

  “How many days are they estimating you will be in here?”

  “Lani recommended another week,” I reply, trying to move my fingers. “But Dr. Jack Kerris will give me as long as I ask.”

  “Stop that!” she scolds, glaring at me. “This isn’t about testing to see if they work. They don’t, at least not right.”

  “Figure a month for the swelling to go down and six months minimum for therapy.”

  “By then I’ll be looking at the second surgery…”

  She stretches back, raising her arms behind her head, and spreading her legs. “Forget second surgeries, pins, and cages for a minute. What do you want to do?”

  “Finish my case.”

  “Back in prison?” I blink in agreement. “Give me a minute to think.” She tugs the blanket lower and bites her lip.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Staring at sin,” she whispers. “Nothing is ever as good as perfect dick shadow.”

  I wave my arms about. “What about my bandages?”

  “They can wait a minute,” she mutters, lowering to kiss my belly button.

  “Is this how you think?”

  “It helps.” She tosses her auburn hair over her shoulder to look at me. It brushes over my cock, and I jump. “A lot.”

  She licks a line from my navel to the waistband of my gray sweatpants. A croak forms in the back of my throat as I grumble with pleasure. “Ohhh…”

  “Remember, if I hurt you, stop me.” Her blue eyes dash up to meet my steady stare, and her hand lays against my abdomen. I try and slow my breaths, but I can’t control them any more than the bulging erection bumping into her breasts. “This is kind of fun having you restrained.”

  A broad smile soars through my entire being. This girl, offering to give me her love, is hope. She is light and the promise of everything good and right in the world.

  And this is why I keep her a secret.

  With her teeth pinched on her lip, she pulls back the fabric and exposes just the head of my cock. She curiously tilts her head.

  “I had to take them out.”

  “That’s not what I’m looking at.” I lift my brows questioningly. “I like you, Sal.”

  “I like you, too.”

  She rubs the pad of her finger over the mushroom, and I close my eyes. “You make me wish I wasn’t going back to prison.”

  Flicking her tongue once over the tip, she asks, “What would you do?”

  “I would take you and run away from everything. We’d find a beach somewhere and retire.”

  “You’re twenty-five,” she announces with a giggle as her fingers curl on my hips. “Can you lift?”

  She removes my pants and drops them in a chair before unbuttoning her shirt and sliding out of her jeans. “What are you doing?”

  “Therapy,” she mutters, letting her hair fall and stalking closer to the bed. “Intense therapy.” Everything about Allison is delicate. She wouldn’t know the first thing about killing a man with a syringe, shiv, or bang. She straddles over me and looks down. “Put your hands up above your head and whatever you do, don’t use them.”

  “You’re testing me,” I mumble through rapid breaths.

  “I am,” she says with an honest smile. “Now, don’t fuck up.”

  Lifting my head, I stretch to kiss her lips. Her warm tongue slithers over mine, and I’m lost in her world. We are slow and tender as she teaches me how to be careful. “Don’t stop, baby.”

  “I’m not stopping,” she says, loving me with every swish of her tongue and slide of her body. I’m no longer battle-worn in her presence because I don’t have to be a soldier. I can drop the armor and pretense and just be Lucas. Her lips curl at one side as she slips her hand between us. “No hands.” Her eyebrow skirts up, flirting. “Be good.”

  “If you get me inside…”

  “You can take it all,” she says as I feel the wetness of her against my cock. I buck up and sink deep. “Oh, God…” Her eyes flutter. “I forgot how much…”

  “So, did I,” I say as we rock together. “You’re so different.”

  “Don’t say I’m vanilla,” she teases, passionately kissing me. I want to grab her hips and thrust properly, but I can’t. “Don’t you do it. Control it.”

  “It’s hard!”

  “Oh!” she laughs, rolling her body onto mine. “I’m very well aware of how hard you are.”

  I needed this. I needed her and the magic of us to stitch my unsalvageable back together. She saved my sanity the day of my wife’s funeral, and somehow, she’s inspiring growth in me that I hadn’t thought was possible. We’re controlled making boundless love, and it is fucking blissful. Shining her radiant glow onto me, she steals my heart and heals my voice. “I was abused from the time I was about five.”

  “Broken hands…”

  “Broken heart.” Her warmth brings the dawn of a new day with every breath she takes. Her lips plant little kisses over my scars and ink. “Is it too late, Allison?”

  “To mend your heart and your hands?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Her soul seizes mine with a blink. “I can repair the damage, but you’re going to have to trust me. And not question the method. Drop the analysis and aim to find the peculiar understanding in just being present.”

  I roll my eyes up at my hands above my head.

  “Master Tse has taught you many things.”

  “Stop compiling my file,” she gently asserts, washing her hands over my chest. “And feel me.”

  “I don’t know if I can…”

  “You have in your heart,” she says, lightly pounding her fist in the middle of my chest. “An ability to love, protect, guard, obey, and surrender. Do it. No excuses. Close your fucking eyes. Turn off the noise in your head and make love to me like this is the last time you are ever having this moment with another person, dammit.”

  Shit.

  “You had these great teachers—Masters of impeccable discipline—but not a damn one of them taught you how to receive love. You’re well trained in so many aspects of your life, but you fuck up the love. You use it as a bandage. And then you trust that bandage like you’re going to trust those pins in your hands. Your body, your mind, your spirit—which is so broken—can recover and heal itself, but you’ll have to learn some patience. And not with other people, but with yourself, Sal. You’ll have to forgive yourself.”

  Fuck.

  A steady stream of tears runs from the corners of my eyes. “I want to be fucking whole.”

  “So, do it.” Her movements never stop. Her love never quits. “Forgive yourself for the shit with Iris. Forgive yourself for damaging your hands. Forgive yourself for Kaci’s death. And my God, forgive that little boy who couldn’t stop his father from hurting him night after night.”

  “… How did you know?”

  “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist,” she says, grinning. “You want to kill the guy, and I want you to do it with passion. Because even if you murdered him tomorrow, he would still be eating your heart away for the rest of your life. He is in you. Tell him to get out. This is your shelter. This is your space.”

  I’m thrusting to meet every stroke of her soul. I hear the clocks ticking in my head. I ignore the sounds and savor the vibration deep in my gut until I’m flooding her with all of my love, and we spill over with hope.

  Allie quakes around me, and I find a new land where real, sincere hope exists. And I finally see the shoreline amidst the blazing forest chasing me. The waves crash and lap on the sand as I stop to turn around.

  And I succumb to the flames bec
oming the fire.

  23

  The Prisoner

  The next few days happen so fast as I hear Allie arguing her point with every doctor entering the room. Finally, an unexpected savior comes in the form of Dr. Tristan Kerris. He’s a trauma surgeon, much like his brother, but instead of having a secondary in plastics, he does holistic orthopedic research.

  He’s younger than Jack.

  Sweeter, even, but just as good looking as his brother.

  “The plan is to take out all the equipment. Reset and cast both hands. We go from there once you do some physical therapy. In two years, we reassess. I wouldn’t pin them.”

  Jack sighs as Allison stays balanced on neutral territory with me at the end of the bed.

  Watching the brothers on either side go to war, I realize how lucky I am to not have a brother.

  “Are they going to be strong enough?”

  “They’ll be plenty strong enough if we repair some of the damage with new tissue,” Tristan argues.

  “You’re talking grafts, which could lead to rejection,” Jack argues his case. “Not to mention infection.”

  “Dr. Randall asked for my opinion, Jack,” Tristan implores, bobbing his eyes between us. “Think about it, Sal. I can have you back on your feet in less than a week.”

  The brothers depart, and I’m left staring at Allie. “When did you get the doctorate?”

  “I don’t show it off very often.”

  “I think I’m jealous,” I say, drinking my hot tea. “What is it in?”

  “Physiology and Kinesiology, I was working on them when I first met you.”

  “Is this going to work?”

  She pulls the chair closer and pops the lid of her coffee. It smells delicious. “Do you believe it will?”

  “Oh, hell…”

  She bursts into laughter. “Power of the brain. Mind over matter. Your chances for a successful outcome are better if you think positively. It doesn’t always work, but it’s good for your psyche. It matters. Don’t discount it.”

  “I’ve been told I’m suffering from PTSD as well as a host of other mental ailments.”

  She sips on her java and elaborates, “You probably are, but my advice for that would be meditation, deep spiritual work, and probably with the severity of your issues, I would say therapy.”

  “I could use some more of your therapy…”

  “Unfortunately, I have to go, but I will see you soon. The casts will be off by Labor Day, and we can start working on those paws.”

  I reach for her hand, and she holds my bandage. “Are you not staying for surgery?”

  “I don’t need to,” she replies, kneading the fingertips on my left hand. “You are in competent hands.”

  “Sorry, did I interrupt?” Tristan asks with a shocked grin.

  “Not at all,” Allie says.

  He puts his hands together and says, “We have you scheduled for surgery tomorrow morning. Should be out by noon. And you’ll be back where you belong in no time.”

  “How am I going to manage this in prison?”

  “You’ll figure it out,” Allie charms. “Trust.”

  “I just need to know your favorite color?”

  I furrow my brow. “Dark blue like my truck, why?”

  “You’ll see.” He gives a little bow. “I’ll see you in the morning. Thank you for the opportunity to treat you.”

  “… You’re welcome?” I respond with an uncertainty. He leaves, and I stare at Allie. “He’s so different from his brother.”

  “He has a very natural vibe.”

  “How long were you together?”

  Blush flushes over her cheeks. “You’re profiling again.”

  “I’m good at it,” I cockily remark. “It’s what I do.”

  “Tristan and I have been involved off and on since med school.”

  “Oh…wow!” I may be good at reading people, but I never saw that one coming.

  She giggles. “Don’t turn this into something it’s not. We’re very career-oriented. He is leading the way in holistic orthopedics, and I’m a hand girl. Time is short. Sex is sometimes…necessary.”

  “You’d be good together,” I reply, knowing less than forty-eight hours ago…well, really if you counted the blow job last night less than twelve hours ago, my dick was buried in her body.

  “I cannot be with Tristan Kerris.”

  “You’re giddy.”

  Setting her coffee on the tray table, she sits up and spreads her hands. “You are not a matchmaker!”

  “Are you sure?” I quiz with a smirk. “I’d look charming in a Cupid toga with a bow and arrow. Oh! And don’t forget the halo,” I add, grinning ear to ear. “Cause I’m an angel.”

  “Salvatore, you’re the devil!”

  Pushing the limit, I skirt the edge. “I’m just saying you two would make some gorgeous munchkins.”

  She stands up quick. “No!” Her eyes widen. “No! No! No!”

  “You should say yes more often.”

  With her hands on her hips, she counters, “And so should you.”

  “You should get out of here and go do whatever you gotta do…”

  Reluctantly, she plops in the chair and states matter-of-factly, “I’m going to Houston to meet with a fertility specialist. We’re making a timeline for my body so that I can order the donor sperm for my eggs.”

  Blink. What? Mouth drops. What?

  “I’ve had my tubes tied since I was twenty-four. At the same time, they extracted the eggs, but if I’m carrying the baby, I need to get on with that. I have no viable eggs left, so I’m doing IVF.”

  “So, you’re flipping through a book and looking at hot guys?”

  “No, I have access to the book on my iPad.”

  I extend my bandaged paw. “Show me.”

  “You seriously want to see the guys I’m looking at?”

  “I do,” I say, wiggling over. “Come have a seat.” She sighs and pulls up the website before sitting beside me. “Oh, my God…you have a favorites folder.”

  “Yes,” she laughs. “Those are my final four.”

  I glance up at her. The shimmering excitement in her eyes is so real. “You did a final four?”

  “Well, I started with like forty-eight,” she says, hitting the picture of the first guy. “Slowly, I’ve been whittling it down.”

  “This one is English…”

  “So am I!”

  “With curly, red hair,” I mumble, displeased. “Between your auburn and his red, together you will make a carrot.”

  She lounges back with a sigh. “Why am I doing this with you?”

  “Because we are like kindred best friends.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she says, brushing me off with a smirk before laying back again. “Get on with it.”

  “Dear heavens, number two is stacked.”

  “Is that Jolt?” She peers over my shoulder to the picture. “Yeah, that’s him. He’s like six-five.”

  “… His name is Jolt. Enough said. Nope. Swipe.”

  “Sally…”

  “No, no.” I hunker over as she tries to grab the iPad. “I’m a wounded man, woman! Back off! Back! Back!”

  She bursts into a fit of laughter.

  “Well, well…he’s nice. Holy shit, he’s twenty-one!”

  “What?” she giggles so much she starts hiccupping between each word, which is adorably cute. “Does age have todowithsperm?” I wait. I give her a look.

  She hiccups as I say, “Everything!”

  After guzzling down her entire cup, she breathes out coffee breath and says, “Would you give me your swimmers?”

  I don’t bother to look at number four because I don’t have to. “Yes.”

  Her eyes well up with tears. “… You would?”

  “If you go out on seven dates with Tristan and it doesn’t work, I will give you my squiz in a cup.”

  I don’t think about The Arrangement or the challenges ahead because I’m attempting to stay in
the present. It’s a struggle. But I do it.

  The look in her is one of such genuine appreciation. She mumbles incoherently, busting through the awkwardness of the moment, before whispering, “Sal.”

  “You’ve given me so many precious memories. Nights spent lacing you up and welcoming my whip. Moments of transparent honesty like the other night and after Kace’s funeral. This is the very least I can give you. If you want a child and need a donor, then I will be him. You don’t have to ask because I’m giving it to you.”

  She doesn’t just cry; she waterfalls—sobbing happy tears—and clings to my body. “I will always love you.”

  “And I love you.”

  We say the words because we mean them. Because they are true. We are friends. We are lovers. And somehow, we know—to be anything more would ruin us—we are perfect in our present.

  “Be awesome,” she says, kissing me. “I’ll call you tomorrow night and see you soon!”

  “You better!” I smile, already missing her energy. “Thank you for coming. Be awesome!”

  “Surgery went well,” Tristan confirms, peering up from his papers the next afternoon when I wake up. He tosses the black frames onto the stack sitting on his crossed legs. “Incredibly well.”

  “You gesture like your brother.”

  His lip twitches as he says, “Thank you.”

  “… For what?”

  “Trusting me.”

  “It’s a new concept for me in practice,” I admit, looking at my hands. They’re in ice, but with the casts, I expected them to be so much puffier. He must sense my confusion because he leans forward and removes the packs.

  “State of the art. 3-D casts. Midnight blue.”

  “Holy fuck!” I notice the few thin bandages in blue camo covering the sutures. The webbing is heavy duty and completely immobilizes my fingers. Showing my vain streak, I bellow, “You color-coordinated me!”

  His long straight bangs drift over his forehead as he laughs. “Of course, I did. I take it by your reaction you’re impressed?”

  “I’m stunned!”

  “There are a lot of doctors and researchers experimenting with them. If they don’t work, we try another method. Do not take them off until you see me again in four to six weeks, but you can get them wet. I got them as short as I possibly could on your forearms to not risk stability in the wrist.” He grins like I’m his star student. “Now, go fucking play.”