Royal Disaster #5

by Renna Peak

  I continue to stroll along the beach, drinking and checking out the women all around me. A couple of really hot chicks are building a sandcastle, their bare asses high in the air as they bend over their carefully constructed towers. A few others are playing a game of tag, chasing and tackling each other. I consider joining in, but something draws me onward.

  I’m aware, somewhere in the back of my mind, that I could have sex with any of these women if I wanted to. That all I’d have to do was ask and I could have any of them bouncing up and down on my cock within seconds. Hell, I could have half a dozen of them at once—one on my cock, one licking my ear, one rubbing her breasts across my chest, others joining in or watching at their pleasure.

  I know I could have it, but for some reason, I don’t stop and ask for it. Even though my body’s responding to everything going on around me, I’m not sure that’s what I want.

  I don’t know how long I’m wandering before I stop. The beach seems to go on forever, and the only thing that changes are the women. The rest of the scenery stays the same, stretching on and on with no end in sight. The beer in my hand is empty, and I consider wishing for another one, but ultimately I decide against it.

  “I love you, Pax!” calls a woman behind me.

  I turn, smiling. It’s a pretty young woman with dark hair and skin that looks like shiny bronze under the sunlight. She’s wearing a little string bikini, and her breasts are barely contained by the tiny triangles of fabric as she jumps up and down, waving to me.

  She stops bouncing and crooks a finger at me, beckoning. “Come here,” she says. “Let me put some sunscreen on you.”

  Another girl next to her turns around, breaking into a smile when her eyes land on me. This one is so pale that her skin almost glows, and her hair is white-blond and halfway down her back. She’s completely naked.

  “Yes, come here!” she says. “I’ll help!”

  Half a dozen other girls join in, stopping whatever else they’re doing to call me over.

  I consider their offer. It certainly sounds like a good one. I’m not even sure why I’m hesitating.

  “Come here, Pax!” they call.

  It’s just a little sunscreen. What harm could it do? Sunscreen is good for you, after all.

  Grin widening, I stride over to them across the sand.

  They’re on me the minute I’m in reach, hands running over my skin. They help lower me onto the sand, and I don’t fight it.

  This is the life, I think. I’m living the fantasy. This is exactly why I became a rock star.

  Also to sing, of course. Come to think of it, that would make this even better.

  “What would you ladies say if I threw a concert later?” I ask them. “Put on a little show for you?”

  They squeal in excitement. Most of them have sunscreen in their hands now, and they’ve started rubbing me all over—my shoulders, my arms, my chest, my legs. One of them is diligently massaging my feet, while another simply watches, her fingers absently toying with the tie to her bikini bottoms.

  I lean my head back in the sand, soaking it all in.

  More girls are coming over, asking for turns. Part of me likes watching them fight over me. But for some reason, it also turns my stomach a little.

  “Girls,” I say with a laugh, “there’s time for everyone to have a turn. Be nice and share.”

  A girl kneels in the sand beside my head. Something feels different about her. I can’t put my finger on what, exactly, but the energy around her feels strange. I turn my head, squinting up at her.

  She’s young. Very young. Her hair is shoulder-length and strawberry blond, looking gold in some places and coppery in others. Her eyes are soft brown and big like a doe’s. And she looks at me lovingly, trustingly.

  Kayla.

  Immediately, I leap to my feet. The other girls fall away, squealing in surprise, but I ignore them. I grab Kayla by the shoulders and pull her to her feet beside me, wanting to look her in the eyes.

  The girl who stares back at me now is completely unfamiliar to me. Her eyes are green, not brown, and her hair is just blond. Whoever she is, she isn’t Kayla.

  The woman bats her eyelashes at me and runs a finger down my chest. “Want to play, Pax?”

  I release her, running a hand through my hair. What the hell just happened? I could have sworn…

  Whatever it was, I’m no longer interested in getting rubbed down by these women. I turn and march down the beach, trying to clear my head. I only make it twenty feet before I see her again—the back of her, anyway. But I’d know the back of Kayla’s head anywhere.

  I run toward her, grabbing her shoulder and twisting her around. But the face that stares back at me belongs to a stranger.

  It happens again fifteen feet later. Then again thirty feet after that. Over and over again I see her—floating in the water, or running past out of the corner of my eye. Every time I approach her, though, I find someone else in her place.

  Finally, I can’t take it anymore.

  “Kayla!” I call. “Kayla, where are you?” All I know is that I have to find her. I have to protect her—from what, I have no fucking clue. But I know it.

  I keep calling for her until my voice is hoarse. Then I see her again, laughing and spinning on the sand, her face tilted back to face the sky. Unlike the other girls on the beach, she’s wearing a dress, and it twirls around her. She liked to do that—twirl and twirl until she’d fall over laughing.

  I run toward her. “Kayla!”

  She stops twirling and looks at me. She’s still Kayla this time, even when I reach her.

  “Kayla…” My voice is a croak. “I thought…” I grab her and pull her into my arms. Thank God she’s okay. I thought I’d lost her forever. I was supposed to protect her, but instead, I was the one who caused her death.

  I stiffen at the memory. How could I have forgotten that she’s dead? What’s happening? Where am I?

  Slowly, I release her, holding her at arm’s length. “Kayla, I—”

  My voice cuts off when I realize she’s not Kayla anymore. But it’s still a woman I recognize.

  “I knew we’d be together, Pax,” says Abby, looking up at me with wild eyes. “I knew you loved me.”

  I release her. Why the fuck is she here? “I never loved you. Leave me the fuck alone.”

  Anger flashes in her eyes. “No one can love you like me, Pax!”

  “LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!”

  “I never meant to hurt you, Pax. It was supposed to be her. It was supposed to hit her!”

  The her she’s referring to isn’t Kayla, but it takes me a moment to realize who she means. My heart stops.

  Sophia.

  How could I have forgotten Sophia, even for a second?

  “Where the hell is she?” I demand of Abby. “What the fuck did you do to her?” Try as I might, I can’t remember anything.

  “It was supposed to be HER!” Abby shrieks. “She can never love you like I can!”

  “Where is she?” I ask again, but it’s clear I’m not going to get any answers.

  I turn and run down the beach. Suddenly it seems urgent to find Sophia. I have no idea what Abby is talking about, but something tells me Sophia is in danger. I have to find her. No matter what it takes.

  Women call to me as I run, but I ignore them.

  “Sophia!” After shouting so long for Kayla, my voice is raw and useless, but I keep calling anyway. “Sophia!”

  I run for fucking ages. She’s nowhere. I can’t find her anywhere.

  Something catches my eye out in the water. I turn, and I see Kayla standing there, waist-deep in the waves. She’s watching me with a sad look on her face.

  “Kayla,” I say, turning and wading out to her. “Please, Kayla, you have to help me find Sophia. She’s in danger.”

  Kayla’s eyes grow even sadder, and I stop several feet away from her. Here I am, begging her to help me find the woman I love. Kayla—the first woman I ever loved. The woman who died because o
f me. How can I ask her to help me keep Sophia out of danger?

  There are tears running down her cheeks. It breaks my heart, but I’m frozen in place, unable to move. She walks slowly toward me through the water.

  “I’m sorry,” I hear myself saying. “I’m so, so sorry, Kayla.”

  She stops just in front of me. “I know, Patrick.” She wraps her arms around me, lays her head against my chest. “You have to let me go, Patrick.”

  My arms come around her, but I don’t have the words to answer her.

  “Let me go,” she whispers. “Forget me.”

  “I’ll never forget you, Kayla.”

  “Forget me.” Suddenly she releases me and shoves me. Hard. I fall backwards into the water, and it closes over my head.

  “Let me go, Patrick.” Her voice is muffled by the water, but I hear every word.

  I struggle to find my feet again, to stand up, but I can’t.

  “Let me go,” she says again. “Let go.”

  I can’t breathe. I feel like something is choking me. The water is down my throat and I can’t breathe.

  “Let go.”

  No. No, I refuse…

  I claw at my throat, trying to release whatever is squeezing me, holding me down. My hands are slow, weak. They’re not working properly. Same with my legs.

  “Let go.”

  I freeze. That didn’t sound like Kayla’s voice this time. That sounded like Sophia.

  “You have to let go, Pax.”

  My brain is struggling to put the pieces together.

  An unfamiliar male voice speaks next. “Mr. Donovan, you need to relax.”

  Who’s that? What the hell is he doing here?

  My fingers are aching. I realize I’m gripping something hard.

  “You need to release your breathing tube if you want me to remove it properly,” the man says. “And Her Highness’s hand.”

  I struggle to open my eyes. To makes sense of it all. I feel someone—or multiple someones—pry open my fists.

  “Pax.” That’s Sophia again. Thank God she’s all right. “Pax, can you hear me?”

  But before I can answer, the world goes dark again.

  Sophia

  Pax’s body goes lifeless again.

  It’s been two months since he was shot—I haven’t had the heart to let him go. My chest feels like it’s being squeezed so tightly it’s ripping in half. I can’t believe I have to let him die—not now, not before I really got to tell him how much I love him.

  The doctor releases my husband’s hand before he looks up at me. “This is what I was afraid of.” He shakes his head slowly, glancing over at Pax’s mother before he looks back at me. “We call it a rally. Sometimes, right at the end of life, people even in the worst of conditions will come around, show some sort of sign that they aren’t ready to die yet. It might be for a few hours, or it might only be for a few moments.” He glances between Pax’s mother and me again. “But it isn’t a reason to suspect that what we’ve been discussing isn’t true. Your husband…” His gaze slides over to Pax’s mother. “Your son…is brain-dead. Grabbing at his breathing tube is only a reflex.”

  Tears fill my eyes as I realize that little act of struggling for life—Pax grabbing at that tube—probably meant nothing.

  “Take it out.” His mother’s voice cracks as she says the words. “My son wouldn’t want to live like a vegetable.”

  One of his sisters sobs behind me. I don’t dare to look back there. All three of them are at the end of the bed, flanked by the members of Pax’s band.

  Nicholas stands beside the door, watching the scene from across the room. It seems strange to think about, but Nicholas has been my biggest supporter these past few months. The others have filtered in and out—all but Andrew—giving their counsel. But Nicholas has been here for me, helping me to sort through all the decisions and what is best for everyone involved.

  “Your Highness?” The doctor’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “As Mr. Donovan’s wife, the decision is still ultimately yours to make.”

  I look over at Nicholas who gives me a small nod. I turn back to the doctor, giving him the same slow bob of my head. “Yes. We need to do it.” My voice sounds just like Pax’s mother’s, broken and hoarse. “I don’t want him to live like this.”

  One of his sisters audibly sobs again at my words, and Rider slides his arm around her shoulders. “It’s the right thing,” he says to no one in particular. “It’s what he would have wanted.”

  Pax’s mother takes my free hand in hers, nodding. “It is. As much as I disagree with it in principle, he wouldn’t have wanted to live like this.”

  I look up at the doctor again before looking down at my husband. His hand is still in mine, but as strong as it was only a few moments ago, it’s become lifeless again, just as it has been the past two months. My chest aches—I never could have predicted that letting him go would hurt this much. I never knew I could love someone so deeply. And I never would have imagined that I would lose him before he ever knew how I felt about him.

  My voice is little more than a croak as I lift my gaze back to the doctor’s. “Yes. Do it.”

  He gives me a single nod of his head as he begins the process again.

  This time, Pax doesn’t fight him.

  The physician slowly pulls the tube from Pax’s throat, and a nurse turns off the machine that has been breathing for him for the past two months.

  The room goes silent as we watch Pax’s chest rise and fall, first at the same rhythmic rate it was while he was on the machine, but over the next minute it begins to slow.

  Fight, Pax. I don’t dare say the words aloud. Tears stream down his mother’s cheeks as she watches her son. His sisters are crying at the foot of the bed, and Rider is blinking back tears, too.

  Fight, Pax. I look back down at him, trying to send the message to him with every fiber of my being. Fight.

  The machine recording his heart rate has been quietly beeping in the corner, and I don’t notice it until it begins to slow.

  Pax is only breathing a few times a minute now. The doctor warned us that the process wouldn’t be immediate, that it might take several minutes for the breathing reflex to stop on its own.

  I look up at the heart rate machine. I don’t know what a normal rate is, but I’m sure it isn’t this slow. And each second, the number drops.

  I should be looking at my husband, not at some idiotic machine. My gaze goes back to Pax before I close my eyes. I’m not even sure what I’m doing, but I can feel a big ball of energy in my chest, and I imagine myself throwing it at him, screaming silently at him to wake the fuck up. To not give up. To fight like the man I know he is.

  Part of me knows it’s fruitless, but I can’t help but do it anyway. I’m begging him—pleading with him—to pull himself away from the grip of death.

  Fight!

  Nicholas has come up beside me, and slides an arm around my shoulders, patting my back. He tips his head to my ear. “He’s gone, Sophia.”

  I open my eyes to see the machine is now showing just a flat line instead of the occasional jagged one. The beeping has stopped, replaced by a single, uninterrupted electronic sound.

  The nurse pushes a button and the sound stops as the machine goes black.

  The doctor lets out a long sigh, pulling his stethoscope from around his neck and fitting it into his ears before he listens to Pax’s chest.

  Tears spill down my cheeks. Letting him go was the right thing—it was the only choice. It took his mother and me two months to make the decision, but I know in my heart it was the right one. Pax wouldn’t have wanted to spend the rest of his days lying in a hospital bed. He’d want to be free. He’d want to—

  My thoughts are interrupted by the furrowing of the doctor’s brow. It deepens as he stands, turning back to the nurse. He motions at the heart rate machine.

  Her own brows draw together, and she turns the machine back on.

  Blip. Blip. Blip.

  So
meone gasps—it might be me.

  “This…doesn’t make a lot of sense.” The doctor stands and turns to me. “He’s not breathing—”

  Pax sucks in a large breath of air, sputtering for a moment before he begins to cough.

  The doctor shakes his head, but he and the nurse go to work, raising the head of the bed and fitting an oxygen mask over his face.

  Pax coughs again. His arms are waving wildly in front of him, almost as though he doesn’t remember how to use them correctly. He pushes the mask away with his forearm, shaking his head violently.

  “Mr. Donovan—”

  He coughs before he speaks, his voice so hoarse I wouldn’t recognize it if he wasn’t sitting in front of me. “Sophia?” He coughs again before he finally opens his eyes, glaring at the doctor. “Who the fuck are you? I need to see my wife.”

  Pax

  I don’t know where the fuck I am, but if I don’t see Sophia soon, I’m going to start throwing punches.

  “Pax,” comes the sweetest sound I could ever hear. “Pax, I’m here.” Sophia squeezes my hand, leaning over me. There are tears in her eyes. She’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

  “Patrick, oh, Patrick.” That’s my mom, leaning over my other side. Why is she here? On that note, where the hell am I?

  I blink a few times, trying to bring the rest of my surroundings into focus. There are lots of people here—my sisters, my bandmates, Mick.

  “What the fuck is going on?” I demand. My voice is hoarse. Like I haven’t used it in ages.

  I feel like I’ve been gone for ages. My head is fuzzy, my memories clouded.

  “You’re in the hospital,” Sophia says. The tears are openly falling down her cheeks now.

  It takes a couple tries to speak again, my voice is so raw. “What the hell happened?”

  This time, it’s Mick who speaks. “Abby Ericks happened. She shot you.”

  Suddenly, it all comes rushing back—the dingy hotel room, Abby at the door, the argument, the gunshot.

  She was trying to kill Sophia. I look at my wife, searching for any sign of injury.

  “The bullet only grazed me,” she says, turning her face. There’s a thin scar along her cheek, pointing toward her ear.