by Jo Raven
They need all the help, all the affection and love they can get.
So I’ll do my best to give it to them.
Mary gives me the phone number. It’s on a piece of paper decorated with red hearts and unicorns.
“She gave it to me before we left,” she tells me seriously. “So I could always find her. But only my daddy has a phone, and he won’t call her.”
Oh God. I swear I can feel my heart cracking in my chest.
Also, I’m getting seriously pissed at Matt for doing this, taking this from them after they lost their mom.
Why won’t he let them talk to their grandma? What’s the harm in that? Come on!
So I take the kids to the sofa, and punch the number into my cell phone to call, with Mary on my one side, Cole on the other, both looking up at me with huge, anxious eyes.
The line rings and rings, and for a moment I think nobody will answer. That maybe the grandma is not at home, just our luck—or maybe the number Mary has is wrong.
Then a voice says from the other end, “Hello? Who is this?”
A woman’s voice, distorted by distance, and I swallow hard, wanting to cry and not even sure why.
I pass the phone to Mary who grabs it eagerly. “Grandma?”
No way can I hear what the grandma is saying, but watching Mary’s face is worth it. Her eyes light up and she grins widely showing the gap in her front teeth.
Adorable.
And then Cole grabs the phone from her and then his little face lights up, and aww.
God.
I have tears running down my face.
Wiping at them quickly, I smile as the kids pass the phone back and forth, talking about their new life in our small town to their grandma, telling them about a woman down the street who used to look after them until I came along, and then about me, and how much fun they have with me.
I lean in and give them a hug, just because. Adorable little brats.
In any case, it’s obvious they love their grandma very much, and that she must love them, too. So Matt and I, we need to have a little talk.
That’s what’s on my mind for most of the day, and I’m ready to ask him about it when I hear the key in the lock much later. He comes in, but then I take a good look at him, and it all flies right out of my mind.
“What happened?” I get up from my spot on the carpet where the kids are watching TV and drawing in their drawing books and I’m by his side in a split second. “Matt, what’s wrong?”
He’s breathing hard, not exactly that scary rattling sound from this morning, but still wheezing. Like he can’t draw a deep breath. His gaze is hollow, his jaw clenched, his lips white.
“Matt?” I haven’t touched him yet, not sure he has seen or heard me at all. His eyes are so distant he might as well be looking at another galaxy. It’s as if he’s not really here.
It scares me to death.
Then he lifts a scrunched-up piece of paper in his fist, and my blood turns to ice. “This son of a bitch.”
I reach for the paper, but he takes a step back, the movement unsteady. “What does it say?”
“Nothing. Just… motherfucker. Keeps fucking me over. What does he want?” He stares down at the ball of paper, his breathing growing more labored. He shakes his fist. “What do you want?”
He’s making no sense. I glance back at the kids, and they’re arguing over changing the TV channel to another kids program.
Good.
“Did you find that on the door?” I glance at it. It’s half-open. “Was there a knife? What does it say?”
He finally seems to notice me. He unclenches his fingers, and I take the piece of paper from his hand. “Tay,” he whispers.
And then he sways. One moment he’s staring at the paper I’m unfolding, the next he stumbles sideways, his shoulder knocking into the wall.
Shit. “Hey.” The paper flutters to the floor as I make a grab for him because he looks like he’s about to fall over. “Jesus, just…”
“Motherfucking shit.” He slams a hand into the wall, and I swear it leaves a dent in the plaster.
But his voice is shaky.
“Are you drunk?” I wrap an arm around his waist, trying to steady him, but he’s a big guy, all six feet something of him, big boned and heavily muscled. “Talk to me.”
“M’fine.” He slurs the words. “Not drunk.”
“Then what?” I manage to pull him off the wall and drape one of his arms over my shoulders. His body burns against me. “Lean on me, okay? Let’s get you to bed.”
“To hell with that.” But he is leaning on me, his breathing hot and fast, and Jesus, the heat wafting from his body is scorching. “Said m’fine.”
“Humor me.” God, this is like gentling a wild animal. The kids are staring at us now, and I smile at them, hoping to reassure them. “Your daddy and me, we have a few things to discuss upstairs, okay? Just stay here and be good, and I’ll come down in a bit to give you some ice cream. Okay, guys?”
They both nod, their small faces earnest and worried.
It doesn’t help that Matt groans, hunching over. What is wrong with him? Now I’m getting really worried, too. His breath doesn’t smell of alcohol, so he was telling the truth. He isn’t drunk.
But he’s shaky and unsteady, and too hot, and all this spells sick. “How long have you been feeling off?”
“All day,” he admits softly as we make our way to the stairs, defeat in his tone. “Threw up twice at work.”
Oh God, I get a feeling I know what this is. “You got the bug from the kids.”
He doesn’t deny it. “But you didn’t,” he sort of grumbles, then says more softly, “I’m glad.”
“I rarely get sick. I’m immune. Been through all the diseases on the planet as a kid.”
He doesn’t contest that, and it takes all my concentration to get him up the stairs, stopping every couple of steps for him to catch his breath.
By the time we reach his bedroom, my arms and back are killing me from trying to support his weight, and he looks terrible, his eyes glassy and his face pale and beaded with sweat. His back is soaked, his skin burning the inside of my arm that’s wedged around his waist.
We stumble inside and make it to the bed, and he falls on it, dragging me down with him.
I disentangle myself and roll him on his back. “You’re burning up. We need to get the fever down.”
He only grunts, his eyes closing, like he’s too exhausted to care if he lives or dies.
But here’s the crux of the problem, right here:
I do.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Matt
Who the fuck hit me over the head with a shovel? Because that’s how this feels like. Hit me over the head, and then kicked me in the chest for good measure.
Or… I’m sick. Right.
Tay said so.
Haven’t been sick in ages. Not physically sick, not like this, except when I drank too fucking much, but even then… This is like rusty nails being hammered into my skull, into the back of my eyeballs, into every joint in my body.
Guess it was a long time coming. The total destruction of Matt Hansen.
“You will lose what she has lost,” a voice whispers in my ear—or maybe inside my mind. The room swims in my eyes every time I open them, so I shut them again, and drift like a log on a river, gently spinning. “You will lose what’s precious to you.”
What’s precious? What’s the most precious thing?
My kids.
And Octavia. Her touch, her voice.
No, no. This makes no sense.
Nothing makes sense.
The river current gets stronger, whisking me down, over rocks, between logs, and it’s getting colder. I can’t stop shivering.
“Tay,” I whisper, because she can warm me up. She can pull me out of the water.
The other option is the bottom of his river, with the fish and the dead things.
“I’m here,” she says, and some warmth re
turns to my body. Blankets, I think, being wrapped around me, and something cool is placed on my burning forehead. “Rest.”
No choice but to do what she says. I feel like I’ve been running forever. I’m so fucking tired, I just can’t… can’t go on like this.
“Then let go,” Emma says. She’s sitting on the bed beside me, dressed in one of her favorite dresses, a black one with white polka dots. Her hair is gathered at the back of her neck and her face is grave.
“Of what?”
“Of me.”
A jolt goes through me, and I realize it’s fear. “I can’t. I fucking can’t, you know that.”
“You have to, Matt.”
“No fucking way. You can’t ask this of me.”
“I’m tied down.” And I know she’s telling the truth. “I don’t want you to go down with me.”
“Emma, no.”
She touches my face, and her hand is cold, so cold. “I want you to live, because I love you. Take care of our kids. And take care of yourself.”
I’m crying. I’m fucking crying like a baby, and I don’t care. I don’t want her to go, dammit. The tears rolling down my face are cold, like her hand.
“It’s okay,” she says.
But it’s not her.
I blink, and the pretty eyes looking into mine are familiar. “Tay.” I reach for her, and she lets me pull her down, close. “She’s gone.” I grab the back of Octavia’s head and drag her closer, until her face is pressed up to my neck. “Gone.”
She nods, the movement soft against my skin. “Yes, she is.”
I swallow hard, my throat like sandpaper. “She’s not coming back.”
She shakes her head against my neck.
“She was right here with me. Emma was here.” I struggle to keep my voice steady. “What’s even real?”
A voice in my head says, “You will lose what she has lost.” Who said that? Who told me that?
“I’m real,” Octavia says.
She is. She’s here. Not a ghost, not a memory, but flesh and delicate bone, a soft voice and that smile that warms me up like the sun.
“Now you’ll make me blush,” she whispers.
Did I say all that out loud? “I feel drunk,” I inform her.
“You’re sick. You’ll get better.” She lifts her head. “Let me take care of you.”
I turn my face away. I don’t want her to see how fucking shattered I am after the dream, after the realization that came at its heels. I’m laid open, my control gone, my defenses crushed.
Don’t want her to see how I want to believe her, how much I fucking need her, now more than ever.
How I want her to take care of me, to stay with me.
She’s trying to save me, but I don’t think she can.
I wake up what feels like ages later. My eyes are gritty, and my whole body aches. It’s dark outside the window, and inside the room only my bedside lamp is on, casting soft yellow light.
The bed creaks and moves, and a shadow unfolds and approaches me. Fragile, slender, and I know who it is. I don’t think it’s Emma, not even for a second, which is weird, and I frown.
Octavia leans over me. “Hey, you. How do you feel?”
Maybe it’s her scent, so unique and sweet. Maybe it’s the shape of her body, of her hair, of her face as she comes into focus.
Or maybe she’s the one I expect to see.
And the fact I expect to see her tells you just how fucked I am. Not only because it means I don’t expect Emma anymore, that I’ve given up on that illusion—but because Octavia won’t be here always.
Or even for much longer. A girl like her, she’ll find a boyfriend her age, get married and have kids—or go to college. She only works for me, and yeah, we fucked twice, but that doesn’t mean anything.
Can’t mean anything, not to a pretty girl like her. So young. I know for some people twelve years aren’t that big of an age difference, but on days like this… yeah, tonight those twelve years that separate us feel like a century.
I guess tonight I just feel way too old for my twenty-nine years. Hey, I’ll be thirty soon.
Practically an old man.
“Matt?” She’s still leaning over me, and damn, I completely spaced out.
“Yeah,” I grind out. “M’good.”
She puts her hand on my forehead, and it’s cool and smooth, and my eyes close from the gentleness of the gesture. It hits me straight in the chest.
Yeah, she’s gonna break me right through.
Something’s nagging at me, though. I frown and open my eyes to look at her. “You didn’t go home tonight.”
“I’m staying.”
And fuck me for the hope that lights up inside me, reading her words in the way I want to read them.
So I do what I always do: I break the moment. Get a hit in before life kicks the shit out of me.
“Go home,” I mutter, and then drive the nail deeper. “I don’t need a fucking nanny. It’s my kids I’m paying you for.”
She flinches, and a sick pain travels through my head, my chest.
Because this is Octavia, and it’s just wrong. “Tay…”
“Don’t worry,” she whispers and turns away. She walks to the window, looking out. “This night’s on me. Call it a gift. If you know the meaning of the word.”
Fuck. You piece of shit, Matt. “Hey, listen…”
She doesn’t turn around. “I read the message you found on the door.”
Holy fuck, I forgot about it. “You will lose what she has lost,” I whisper.
“I called the police, told them about it.”
Good thinking, girl.
“They were asking if you know what it means.”
“I don’t.”
Is it about Emma? She lost… her life.
We lost her.
No, this makes no sense.
“Tay, come here.”
She hesitates.
I don’t fucking blame her. And I’m still turning over in my mind the fact I expected to see Octavia when I woke up.
Octavia, not Emma.
And I was glad that I was right, that she was the one I saw when I opened my eyes.
What the fuck does that mean?
My hands fist in the covers, and my stomach is churning, and I’m back in a cemetery, standing over an open grave, a red rose in my hand and a gaping hole in my chest.
I’m looking down at her coffin, at her face.
And then I’m looking down at myself, lying in that fucking coffin, fucking dead and gone and done with.
Hell.
“Matt.” Octavia walks back to my side. “Matt, look at me.”
I do, and her sweet face brings me back to the room, the bed, the goddamn scent of her that fills me up like hope.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” I tell her, my voice so hoarse I barely recognize it. I reach for her, tug her to my side until she half-falls on the bed. “I want you here. Christ, you don’t know how much.”
She curls up on the bed beside me as my mind spins in circles, the image of myself in that coffin flashing through my thoughts like it means something.
What, though?
I tried to end myself, bury myself. Bury the pain.
But the pain is inside me, an open vein spilling poison, bleeding out. Was that why I tried to cut myself open? To let the poison out?
Well, it didn’t work. I guess I’ll have to learn to live with it.
And my dream with Emma… Fuck, no. I don’t believe in this shit. Messages from the Great Beyond. This is all my own mind, making up excuses for myself.
And yet… Emma always told me she wanted me to be happy. Not to stop living. I just couldn’t bear to think about the possibility of life going on without her.
Until now.
My fever breaks at some point, and when I open my eyes in the gray darkness, I feel much better.
I’m not sure what woke me up until I realize I’m on my back with Octavia half-sprawled over me and my dick rock hard and
aching.
“Tay…” I breathe against her loose hair, and she moans—a soft, feathery sound that shoots straight to my balls, tightening them.
Fuck…
She’s dressed in one of my T-shirts, I realize, huge on her, and the fabric is riding high on her hips, allowing a glimpse of her panties.
God, that glimpse is driving me crazy. She’s so hot, and she doesn’t even know it. All I want is to tear the soft cotton down her legs and bury myself inside her.
She shifts, another breathless moan escaping her, and I wonder if she’s dreaming. If she feels me underneath her, hard and so damn turned out I have to hold very still not to rub against her.
But apparently I don’t even have to try, because she’s doing it for me, shifting again, rubbing herself on me until my whole body tenses. My stomach clenches, and I groan, shoving my hand inside her panties, finding and parting her folds.
She’s soaked and scorching hot around my fingers. I push them deep inside her, stroking her, and she makes a mewling noise, her hips rocking.
God, she’s killing me.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I fingerfuck her, harder, faster. Her nipples are hard points pressing into my chest, the silk of her hair warm and smelling of flowers, wrapped around my neck.
She’s wrapped around me, and I don’t want her to release me.
That’s my last thought before she clenches hard, almost breaking my fingers, and lets out a small cry, writhing on top of me.
And I come.
My body seizes up, my cock spasms pressed between us, and I shoot my load with a long-drawn groan I can’t stop.
She blinks sleepily at me. Smiles a soft smile.
It undoes the last knots in my chest, and I close my eyes again, pulling her closer, tucking her against me until she’s once again sprawled like a starfish over me.
Drowsy, my every muscle gone lax, surrounded by her scent, I fall asleep once more, until morning.
Light is cutting through my lashes, stabbing my eyeballs, and I roll on my side with a grunt.
The shadow across the room turns into a pretty girl, and I blink at Octavia who’s puttering around my room, folding clothes and tidying up my meager belongings.