by S. L. Scott
“I’m here. I’m never going anywhere. I’m here because of you. I’ll live for you.”
Leaning back to look into my eyes, pain courses through his brow. “No. I want you to live for you. Never me, because when I’m gone, I need you to live on, carrying me with you.”
“You’re so set on dying. Take it from me, living is so much better.”
I’m given the smile I was hoping to evoke. The reward is so worth it. “What am I going to do with you? You almost die, but here you are a few days later making jokes.” His smile eases, and the worry that’s becoming his trademark reappears. I hate that I see his concern more than his smile these days. He says, “Don’t ever treat your life carelessly. I don’t.”
“You don’t, but you treat your own as if it’s worthless.”
“It is. To me, it is.”
“Alexander,” I say at the end of an exhale.
“You’re fighting something you’ll never win.”
Looking into his eyes, I ask, “If I asked you to stop this search, to live a simple, but good life with me, could you?”
“You shouldn’t ask such a thing.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t let her death mean nothing. Her life mattered. To me, it mattered, so her death can’t just slip away without someone paying for it.”
Reaching to cup his face, I bring him closer until our lips are a mere breath away, and whisper, “We can pay a detective. You don’t have to live and breathe this murder.”
“I’ve paid people, Sara Jane. They’ve come up empty-handed.”
“Maybe because there’s nothing left to find. No evidence to lead you anywhere. Alexander, please.”
“I’m sorry. I’m unsettled inside. I wish I didn’t have this burning desire to keep going, but I do and it makes me restless, so I can’t promise you’ll live a simple life with me. I can’t promise it will even be good.”
When my hands lower, his hands embrace my neck, sliding up until he’s cradling my face, and kisses my lips. When we part, I lower my gaze to my body. The gravity of what used to be still weighs heavy on my mind. He stands, a towering figure. Even the white room can’t balance the aura of his dark heart. I used to think we were destined to be together. Now I know it was inevitable.
We’re two souls fated to fight a battle we may never win. It’s all for the same outcome—truth and justice—but how we go about it seems to divide us.
He wants answers he may never get. I want him happy. Is it possible for us to both get what we want?
I look up at him and ask, “What can you promise?”
“It will be worth it.”
10
Alexander
I sit watching her sleep. The hours have passed and night fell without warning. It’s easy to lose time in this room. Sometimes it drags. Sometimes the hours speed by without the courtesy of the usual reminders like hunger or sleep. I don’t need anything except her.
She is my air.
She’s what I crave most.
She feeds my soul.
She heals my heart.
She is my survival.
She is my demise.
I’m not naïve enough to think she doesn’t control my world in the palm of her fragile hand. Or maybe it’s my world that’s fragile. Sara Jane has shown the strength I always saw in her. I just think she’s starting to finally see it herself. She’ll need it.
Resting my elbows on my knees, I lean forward, letting my eyes appreciate that I have the ability to watch her, to see her, to hold her, to touch her. What will come of us? What should come of us? I still feel so guilty. She shouldn’t be in a hospital. She never should have been a target, and we both know it’s because she chose me. How did O’Hare find her? How did he know she was coming back before I did? Did he track her like I had?
I scrub my hands over my face, tired. I may not get answers. The fucker’s dead. His partner is not . . . were they in this together?
How many more people want to hurt her because of the sins of my father? Because of my sins against them? I need to know who took my mother from me. Yet, that need is costing lives. Chad’s . . . and nearly my Firefly’s.
It seems the universe is conspiring against us. From her parents to her recovery, she has a mountain to climb. I’ll be there to boost her, catch her, or break her fall. I’ll do anything to help her. I’ll do anything to protect her.
I feel the twist in my gut. O’Hare had to die. I won’t spare any minutes whiling away the time over his death; I won’t forget or regret the feel of the metal in my hand, the recoil when the bullet left the chamber, or the look on his face when his sentence was served.
I’ll never forget the blood . . . so much blood surrounded my innocent girl. Sara Jane was so much smaller than I remembered, her presence always taking up so much space in my life. I preferred that. I prefer to hold her at the forefront of my mind instead of tucking the feelings of broken emotions back into some cobwebbed compartment deep in my heart.
A nurse comes in, the one I recognize from the night I brought Sara Jane in. She whispers, “You should go home and get some rest. We’ll take good of her.”
“There’s no rest for the wicked.”
“You’re going to need your strength, just like she does.” She takes Sara Jane’s wrist and carefully checks the IV. Her gaze darts my way. “The police are back. They’re in the waiting room.” She’s caught my attention. “If you just happen to go to the cafeteria for coffee, there’s a side door just behind the register. It’s unlocked during cafeteria hours.” Checking her watch, she smiles. “They close in five minutes.”
“I’ll have to face them again sometime.”
“Maybe with a clear, rested mind, it might make things easier.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I’m a sucker for a love story.”
“Is that what this is?”
She smiles, clicks a button on the bed, and resets the call button. “She may not remember how you saved her, how you carried her in here, but it’s a sight I’ll never forget. Only true love can reach the depths of a tortured soul.”
She has me figured out. The risks didn’t matter. Only Sara Jane. The nurse saw right through me, watched the darkness fill her halls searching for the healing light for the only one I would sacrifice myself to help.
Tapping her watch, she adds, “Three minutes.”
Standing, I kiss Sara Jane’s nose, and then ask, “Down the hall to the left?”
“And down one flight of stairs. Two minutes.”
I go because she’s right. I’m exhausted, and if I’m going to be taken in for an interrogation, I need to get some sleep so I’m on top of my game. Sara Jane is healing and safe for now.
Dashing down the hall, I take a right and push through a closed door to the stairwell. I grab the railing and swing my legs over, skipping a half flight. With my phone pulled from my pocket, I call Cruise. As soon as he answers, I say, “Pick me up out back ASAP.”
“I’ll be there.”
My hands slam against the push bar and the door opens. I make a run to the cafeteria just as they are closing the doors. “We’re closing, sir.”
“Just passing through.” I maneuver around the little lady in a hairnet and find freedom just outside the side door. Leaning against the brick wall, I try to catch my breath. The car zooms around the corner like he robbed a bank and I roll my eyes. “Jesus, Cruise. The whole point was to not draw attention to my whereabouts.” I’m in and buckled within seconds, and we leave the parking lot through the doctors’ exit.
He laughs. “But what’s the fun in that?” I shake my head, and he asks, “What’s up, King?”
“I hear the cops are looking for me.”
“So you’re on the lam?”
Doing a double take, I ask, “What the fuck does that even mean?”
“I don’t know. They say it in the movies.”
Exhaling loudly, I run my hand through my hair. I need a haircut, bu
t I might let it keep growing just to piss off the suits that remain in Kingwood Enterprises. “They want to talk, but I need to call my lawyer first.”
Under his breath, he groans, “Shit.” Veering into a neighborhood, I recognize the route he’s taking. Is this what I need to do to avoid the cops? Back roads and roundabout routes to the manor?
“Where’s Jason?”
“Last I heard, he had your bike down at some shop on the east side.”
“What’s he doing with it?”
Cruise glances, shrugs, and then looks back to the road. “He said they can fix it and keep it off the grid of major shops. People get wind of the damage and they’ll start snooping around.”
“When did we start talking like gangsters?”
“When you shot a man.”
Killed. Not shot. When I killed a man. There’s no comeback for his comment. He’s right. It was coming—we were changing. There was no going back, and I don’t want to now that Sara Jane and Chad have been dragged into it. I know the attack is related. Everyone involved will pay. I owe it to Sara Jane and to Shelly. A pang of pain stabs my chest thinking about our friend. “Where’s Shelly?”
“At her folks’.”
“Sara Jane needs her. It’s been three days, and she’s not been up to see her.”
“She lost Chad, man.”
I know. “Sara Jane’s parents are assholes, and she needs her best friend.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing. I’ll call her.”
Two hours passed and the police haven’t turned up at the manor. My lawyer is on standby. I’m clean, needing the shower after spending so much time at the hospital. I plan to go back soon, but I need a break from the sadness and sickness that hangs heavy in the air there. My sweet girl deserves so much better. I’m bringing her home tomorrow. She needs fresh air and sunshine. She needs the best care, and now that she’s out of the ICU, I can give that to her.
I’m pulling on a pair of jeans I grabbed from a shelf in the closet when my phone buzzes with a text: Ms. Delano has arrived.
I reply back to Neely, the only staff member I feel comfortable around these days: I’ll meet her in the living room. Grabbing a white T-shirt, I pull it over my head and finish getting dressed so I can head to the hospital after this quick visit.
When I close the door to my bedroom, April’s opens. I’m still not used to seeing her here, to seeing anyone in the manor other than staff, much less someone just a few doors down and across the hall from mine.
Her smile is timid, our relationship built beyond acquaintances but not quite familiar yet. She says, “Hello.”
“Hi.” I stop, keeping my distance, not sure what to say. We’ve done this dance every other day or so for the last two weeks. “How are you today?”
“I’m okay.”
It’s been months since her last hit of anything that used to run her life, but the effects can be seen if you look for them—shifting eyes, a shake to her hands. I’ve tried to make her life as comfortable as I can. She’s my mother I remind myself several times a day. My fucker of a father screwed her over for what sounds like a fairly clear case of kidnapping and to off his enemies. Even though I don’t like to think of myself as the product of that fucked-up situation, it’s always in the back of my mind. So I owe her a lot more than a roof over her head.
I walk a little farther down the hall and say, “I’ve set up a spending account in your name. I wasn’t sure what your monthly expenses would be but I hope it’s enough. I don’t want you reliant on anyone for your needs. “
Eyeing me she asks, “But you?”
“Not even me, but I’m paying a debt that my father accrued.”
“Is that all I will ever be to you?” She leans against the doorframe, sadness taking hold of her expression, the corners of her eyes dipping to match the smile that was there.
Madeline is my mom. Always. But April is . . . I run my fingers through my hair. “I hope not. I’m just not ready for everything all at once. We’re still getting to know each other and unfortunately, other things have taken my time and precedence.”
“Like Sara Jane?”
“Not like Sara Jane. Sara Jane. She needs me right now.”
“How is she?”
“Recovering. I’ll bring her back here to continue her recovery.”
“She’s a sweet girl. It’s tragic what happened to her.”
It’s more than fucking tragic, but yeah, April doesn’t know all the details. She adds, “I look forward to getting to know her better.”
“Thank you. If you’ll excuse me, I have a guest.”
“Yes, of course. I’m going to rest a bit.”
I start to walk away, but stop and turn back. “I almost forgot. There’s also a car at your disposal in the garage.”
Her eyes go wide and the smile returns, her whole demeanor perking up. “The Aston Martin is a beautiful car. My father used to drive one.”
“I drive the Mercedes when I need a car, so please use the Porsche.”
“The SUV?”
“Yes. Is that all right?”
A smile appears. “Yes, more than all right. Thank you, Alex.”
“You’re welcome.” I descend the stairs into the living room. Shelly is hard to miss among the dark brown tones of the large room. Deep red hair flows down her slender back, her shoulders disappearing under the mane of hair. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Turning around, her back is almost touching the French doors that lead to the terrace. Her shoulders are slumped, the weight of death crushing her spirit. This is not the vivacious girl I met years ago. Discounting her in so many ways back then because I was so fixated on Sara Jane, I didn’t realize until now how much a part of my life she had become. Seamlessly, she blended into our group, never needing my attention, and content with only Chad’s.
When I approach, her face is pale, and black is smudged under puffy lids. She tries to smile, but fails and drops her head to cry. Wrapping my arms around her, I whisper, “I’m sorry. So sorry.”
Her breakdown challenges my willpower. I’ve tried so hard to remain a pillar of strength for Sara Jane, Cruise, and myself. But here now, under Shelly’s devastation, I falter. She cries, “I love him, so much. I loved—”
“I know.” I stroke her hair, holding her against me. “I did too.”
Tilting my chest back, I bend my head while lifting her chin up until our eyes meet. “Hey. I need you to stay strong, Shelly.”
She shakes her head with tears flowing freely down her face.
I say, “You haven’t been to see Sara Jane.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t be what she needs me to be right now, and I don’t want her worrying about me. She has enough to worry about.”
“Of course she’s worried about you. Just because she hasn’t seen you doesn’t mean she doesn’t cry for you or miss you.”
She sucks in a harsh breath and her tears dry in her eyes. “I’m a terrible friend.”
“You’re not terrible, but she needs you, and I need you to be strong for her as well. I know this is a lot to ask right now—”
“They found his body . . . in the river.”
This discussion isn’t pleasant for anyone. “Chad deserved better.”
Her eyes snap to me. “He deserved not to be murdered.”
Neely appears in the doorway leading to the kitchen. “My apologies for interrupting, but may I get you something to drink?”
“No, Neely. Thank you. You can leave for the night.”
“Yes, sir. Have a good night.”
It drives me mad when she speaks to me like I’m my father, but I don’t have the inclination to get into that right now. I have more pressing matters, like Chad and Shelly. I back up to the couch and sit on the arm. “I’ll drive you to see her.”
“Right now?”
“Yes, now.” Our eyes are fixed. Winner takes all, and I have no inten
tions of losing.
She blinks and backs down though still challenging me. “Why? Why now? I know you love Sara Jane, but I’m grieving—”
“Because we lost Chad, too.”
“But you didn’t lose Sara Jane. She’s recovering.”
Abruptly, I stand. “She needs her best friend.”
“You expect me to make her feel better when I can’t imagine waking up in the morning without Chad by my side?”
Stepping closer, I take her arms in my hands to get her attention. “You’re going to live, Shelly. You’re going to survive the pain you feel now. It may not seem like it, but you will. You will because Chad would want you to. So for thirty minutes, I need you to be strong for Sara Jane.”
She turns her head away from me, and her voice wavers under her grief. “I don’t know.”
“It’s not a question.” I don’t mean to raise my voice, but it gets the reaction I want.
Her eyes go wide and her back straightens. “Let go of me, Alexander.”
I release her arms but don’t move back. My stare remains heavy on her. “King,” I correct.
Anger is what I need from her. That’s the only thing that will save her from overwhelming sorrow. The fight returns to her eyes and she walks around me. “Fine. I’ll go.”
“Thank you.”
Looking back over her shoulder, anger flames in her eyes. She stops, and says, “You’re welcome . . . King.”
Compliance is a trait I’ve always valued in Cruise. He never questions. He just does what needs to be done. That’s loyalty.
What I need from Shelly isn’t loyalty to me, but loyalty to Sara Jane, something my girl doubted when she saw Shelly at the penthouse. I need Shelly’s fire that burns deep inside. And then I see it . . . what I pushed for. Despite her grief, Sara Jane will come first. Shelly will be there for her friend. Always.
