“I’m not okay,” I whisper jaggedly, taking the bag back to my mouth, as James virtually exhales his relief and Zinnea whimpers her sorrow, reaching for James’s arm and resting her hand there.
“I’ll give you a moment,” she says, coming to the bed and dipping, feeling at my hair as she kisses me. “My darling.”
I swallow, as a new batch of tears comes, and I surrender to the heartache. Zinnea will be missing Dexter in this moment more than any other, her husband always there, calm and controlled, to get us through these times. It’s so hard to comprehend the level of his betrayal when I think about him during those episodes. Compassionate, light. He had all the time in the world to remain by my side, as well as keeping Zinnea calm, while I fought through my attack. But it was all lies. Deceit. How did I not see that? His darkness.
Zinnea’s struggling to keep her own emotions in check as she backs out of the room, the vivacious woman wilting with every step she takes.
“She shouldn’t be alone,” I say, trying to get up again, worried about her state of mind. I hate that she’s seen me like this when she’s swimming against the tide herself.
“I’ll message Esther,” James says, stopping me, at the same time going to his cell and typing out a message. Within a few seconds of clicking send, he gets a reply and tucks it away. “Come here.” He takes the bag and helps me to the top of the bed, settling beside me and hugging me into his side. I relax in his hold, feeling my muscles yield and my heart quieten. I store this closeness and feeling in my mind to call upon when I need it. I must remember this. James can soothe me. Not like he has so often in the past with sex, but how he is now simply with his arms. Holding me. It’s another form of communication without words. But we need words now. If we’re going to make it through this loss, we need words.
“When I lost our baby,” I whisper quietly, building the courage I need to speak clearly and confidently, “I felt the same intense pain and hollowness that I felt when I lost . . .” I close my eyes and curl further into his side, fighting that pain back again. “It hurt,” I whisper. “Still hurts, and it’s getting harder to control it.” It’s backward. It’s angering. After the shock of my pregnancy, I allowed myself to consider an existence beyond struggling. Beyond the bitterness and hate that ruled me. James and who he is, what he stands for, was easier to wrap my mind around. Because we are the same in a sense. Polluted. Tarnished. We could fix each other, move forward, but our pasts would never change. A baby? It felt like redemption. Bright hope. An opportunity to channel all my energy into loving rather than hating. And what I hate in this world is the very thing that stole that opportunity from me, and despite having James to love, there was suddenly more to loathe. More to resent. More pain to feel.
James remains silent against me. I don’t need his words, because I know better than I know my pain that he feels the same. He has more reasons to kill now. More men to hunt. It’s his outlet. He’s mine. And the distance between us lately, our loss, isn’t relieving that.
St. Lucia helped, but it was short-lived. I’m a master at concealing my grief as well as my scars, and these past few days I’ve made a conscious effort not to cover my scars. It was a pathetic attempt to convince everyone I’m okay. Even more pathetic that I thought I could convince James. “I’m not okay,” I admit, feeling his mouth fall to my hair, breathing me into him, his arms constricting. “I’m not okay, and a desperately want to be okay.” A baby won’t fix it. That’s not what I’m saying I need. It was an unexpected opportunity, something to deal with, and we did. Now, my priority is getting both of us out of Miami alive. Alive and with no risk of being taken back to hell again, but until we can leave, I just have to deal with this constant, dull, consuming pain. I feel like I’m in limbo, my sadness and hope colliding and exploding constantly. Rose’s news has only amplified the odd sense of longing inside of me. But it will happen again, and it will happen when we don’t have death tailing us. When we have nothing to focus on but each other. “Rose is pregnant,” I murmur, and immediately feel his chest sink under my hand with a big inhale. “I’m okay.” I smile to myself. I can’t be anything but happy for her. It’s a gift. Perhaps not at the right time, but it’s such a beautiful gift. It’s also hope for us, because we know Danny, and now, more than before, he will move heaven and earth to get Rose out of Miami as soon as he can, which means we can leave too. We can leave and start to properly deal with the mess that is us.
“I know.” James encourages me from the warmth and safety of his body and takes my chin, looking down at me. “Danny,” he says in answer to my questioning face.
I’m worried this will trigger James too, bring on a fresh bout of anger and resentment. He needs his head on straight and his mind to think clearly. Is this the reason why Danny and James seem a bit off with each other? “I want you to be happy for them.”
“I am happy for them. But I can be sad for us too.” He gently rolls me to my back and lies lightly over me, framing my face with his big palms. “I’ve been waiting for you to open up. Hoping. I can’t see you like this, Beau. Tell me what I can do.”
“You know what needs to be done.”
He nods, brushing at my cheeks with the pad of his thumb. “I want you to pack your things,” he orders. “Be ready to leave.”
“When?”
“I don’t know yet. Just be ready.”
I nod, and curl my arm around his neck, pulling him down and pushing our lips together. It takes only a second for us both to open up, to introduce our tongues, to swirl and roll them through each other’s mouths. This isn’t advancing into more. This is just loving.
With everything I have, Beau, I fucking love you. Broken, fixed, happy, sad, I love you. If you do anything, just remember that.
I let our closeness, our love, pull me in and hold me in a place far brighter than the real world, absorbed by his mouth and his devotion, and we kiss, softly and slowly for an eternity. It’s the medicine I need right now, and I’m prepared to overdose on it.
James is the one to end our bliss, and he breathes in deeply, wiping my mouth with his thumb, smiling tenderly as he flicks his eyes up to mine. “Can you make me a promise?” he asks, and I nod, because that is what he needs now, just as much as I need his gentleness.
I already know what he’s going to ask me for. “I will stand down,” I say, my eyes searching his. I see no darkness at all. Only love. He needs his darkness to get through this.
On an understanding nod, he eases off me, pulling me up from the bed. “Come with me.” He leads me to the bathroom and stands me by the sink, running the faucet and wetting a washcloth. He proceeds to pat at my skin, dabbing down the blotchiness, no doubt.
“How bad?” I ask.
“Beautiful,” he replies simply, combing his fingers through my hair and pressing his lips to my forehead. “Are you ready?”
A few deep, stabilizing breaths and a nod, as he discards the cloth and takes my hand, assessing me, before taking the lead, guiding me back toward the celebrations.
The first thing I do when I enter is search for Zinnea, and to my relief, she’s here, smiling, though I detect the worry behind it. She spots me, and I’m quick to signal that I’m okay before she moves her gaze to James, looking at him in a way I’ve never seen before. Appreciation. Trust. She can see his love for me. That will give her some peace. He nods and sits me on a stool, putting a glass of wine in my hand and twisting the cap off a bottle of beer for himself. The chatter hasn’t died, neither has the laughter, and I take it all in as I lose myself in my wine.