“Could say the same for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, stop trying to prove to the world, and more importantly to James, that you’re always a-fucking-okay.”
I pout. “I am okay.”
“You’re full of shit, Beau,” he grunts. “Full of fucking shit.”
Recoiling, I wonder if he is right. Of course he’s right. Peace is a seesaw. Up and down. Glimmers here and there, threatening to complete me and give me that elusive eternal serenity. I’m a fraud, more to myself than anyone else. Even when I thought the root of my darkness was gone, there was something else to bring me back down to earth. Something else to channel my misery into. A miscarriage. “I’m just trying to—”
“Make James feel better? It ain’t working, Beau. You’re fooling no one but yourself.”
“When did this turn into a therapy session?”
“When you tried to make it about me.”
I frown. “What do you think Rose is having?” I blurt, the question coming from leftfield. “Could you imagine twins?”
He laughs, jolting me, and then stops abruptly. “No. I think one baby will cause enough stress, don’t you?”
“Boy or girl?” I can’t explain my curiosity. Part of me wonders is it’s something innate that’s guiding me. A maternal instinct that’s been unearthed and needs sating. Rose is my only outlet. Until, perhaps, she’s not. We’re nearly twelve hours into today and my period hasn’t come. Will it? A weird flutter happens in my stomach, and I smile to myself.
“Boy,” Fury says, disturbing my thoughts.
“Do you? Why?”
“I don’t know, Beau,” he says, exasperated. “I just do.” He rises to his full, towering height and turns toward the sound of a car coming down the track. “They’re here.”
“They?” I ask, pushing my palms into his back and craning my neck, blowing the hair out of my face. “James and who?”
“Brad.” He finally bends and lowers me to my feet, and my stomach flips as a result. “Do not move.”
“Where will I go?” I ask, helping myself to my gun from his hold and slipping it into the back of my sweatpants. It’s disconcerting that he knows me so well. “It was nice getting to know you.” I smile sweetly at Fury, and he bumps me lightly in the bicep with one of his boulder fists.
“I’d say the same, but I already knew you.”
“Smart-ass,” I mutter, going toward the Mercedes that’s driving with a bit too much urgency for my liking. What the hell is going on? We’ve been back in Miami mere hours. What could have happened already?
The car skids to a stop and both Brad and James dive out, both looking at my composed form with a mixture of concern and hesitance. “What?” I ask. “Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on? I just want to visit my mother’s gra—” I suck back air, homing in on James’s face. I hate his grieved expression. Hate it. Fury stopped me going to my mother’s grave. Why?
Panic crawls into my throat and clogs it. I can see James’s intention to get to me. To stop me. Can feel Fury behind me moving in, ready to grab me.
No.
I kick my flip-flops off and bolt to my right, the nastiest feeling rooting itself deep in my gut, speaking to me, telling me to get to Mom.
“Beau!” James yells. “For fuck’s sake, Beau, stop!” His boots hitting the ground behind me shake the earth, his bellows constant, begging for me to stop. I make it to the gate, and it takes me way too long fiddling with the latch to release it.
“Come on!” I shout, yanking at the stupid old, rusty thing. It doesn’t want me to go and farther either. I don’t listen. “Open!”
“Beau!”
I look back, seeing James getting closer, his tall, powerful body sprinting, his face straining. I have seconds. Maybe three. I give up on the latch and take hold of the iron gate, getting some leverage and throwing my legs over.
“God damn it, Beau, please!”
I feel his hand brush my arm as I break out into a sprint across the uneven grass, taking the shortcut across the graveyard, right over the graves and mounds, rather than wasting time circling the edge. I can’t hear him coming anymore. Can’t hear his yells or feel the impact of his boots hitting the ground. But I keep going, trying to focus on the far corner where what remained of Mom rests, but being unable to because of my jumping vision. I look back. James has stopped chasing me. He’s just past the gate, and I slow when I register the look of defeat and absolute agony on his face.
Because he can see what my eyes are failing to let me see. Because he’s standing still. Steady.
I breathe in and turn toward Mom’s grave, breathless, sweating, my muscles aching. Something’s different, the shape, the layout, there’s something not right. And then I realize.
“No,” I breathe, stepping forward, my eyes unable to comprehend what they’re looking at. A pile of dirt. A pile of dirt by Mom’s grave. I shake my head, refusing to believe it, as I walk forward, my stare unmoving, until I see a hole in the ground. “No.” It gets bigger as I get closer, deeper, until I’m standing on the edge looking into a dark, black pit of nothing.
It's exactly how my soul feels now. “No!” I scream, dropping to my knees, my palms slapping the ground hard. Fat teardrops fall, drenching the mud, my hair sticking to my face, my heart cracking. “Why?” I screech, throwing my head back, screaming to the sky. “Why, why, why, why!”
I suddenly can’t move, can’t breathe, as James seizes me in his arms and hauls me up, and I fight him with all I have. Problem is, I have nothing in this moment. Empty. Broken. Back to square one. My sanctuary has been destroyed. My calm place robbed from me. It was the only thing I had. Mom never wanted to be cremated, so I buried what was left of her. A few ashes and her invisible spirit.
I want to crawl into that hole and die.
I’m carried to the car and James slides onto the back seat with me cradled in his lap, holding me tightly, never letting me go.
I clench his T-shirt in my balled fists, burying my face in his chest, my body wracked with sobs. I can hardly draw breath. Can’t swallow. “Why?” I croak, pushing myself deeper into his chest. He says nothing.
He knows why.
Because of him.
9
DANNY
The next morning, I’m onboard my jet on my way back to Miami far sooner than I expected or wanted.
With my wife.
On top of the untamable rage simmering, ready to boil over and erupt, is my untamable worry. I can hand on heart say I have never been so stressed. Rose protested, of course she protested, when I told her I was returning to Miami. She saw the monster inside rousing, but she didn’t know why. I spat it all out while shaking uncontrollably. Worst thing I could have done. She got out of bed and dressed, then packed both our cases. I didn’t stop her. Was incapable. She looked as determined to come as I felt determined to kill, and manhandling Rose is out of the question right now. So is arguing with her. I didn’t want to bring her. I also didn’t want to leave her behind, especially on bad terms. Rose doesn’t want to be in Miami. She doesn’t want to leave Daniel behind. That fucker The Bear didn’t take my father from this life. Beau will be inconsolable. She’ll need Rose. And Rose can see the unbridled rage inside me. She’s my calm. I’m going to need that. Fuck.