“Look, your sister’s upset. She asked me to call. Tell me what happened to Sawyer Bishop.”
His long sigh echoed over the dead air. “I figured she’d be upset. She always liked Slade’s dad.”
It was strange hearing Lucian refer to Bishop as only Slade’s father. He really was clueless about his sister’s private life.
“Apparently, he’d been sick for a while. We’re still trying to figure out what’s factual and what’s hearsay, but Sawyer’s always been an extremely private man. Even Slade didn’t know he was sick. Vivian Sheffield, a friend of ours, was Sawyer’s GP for a few years, but she’s only giving us minimal information, something about the right to privacy.”
There was another long silence and he realized that was all the information he was going to get. “Thank you.”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine once she gets over the shock. It was a surprise to all of us. Christ, he’s younger than our dad. Tell her if she needs me, to call.”
“I will.” He ended the call. “Isa?” he said softly.
She lay in a crumpled mess of limbs on the floor, her teary eyes staring at nothing. He suspected Lucian’s deep voice carried and she’d heard everything.
She looked so broken, so shattered. He was afraid to move her or touch her in any way, but he couldn’t leave her like that. “Let’s get you off the floor.”
Talking her through each step seemed to be the only way to shove his own shock aside. He swept her into his arms and carried her upstairs to his bed. “I’ll take you to bed.”
She made no comment when he adjusted the covers over her and hardly seemed to breathe as he asked, “Do you want me to stay?”
He couldn’t bear to leave her, but she seemed to be fighting back her sorrow and he wanted her to get it out. “It’s okay to cry here.”
A jagged sob hiccupped out of her and she gave into her tears, letting them fall unchecked. She looked so small and fragile, so crushed.
He couldn’t leave her to bear such pain alone, even if everything that man represented in her life had threatened his one chance at happiness. Nothing would ever erase the fact that she loved him first. The threat was over now, but maybe this was worse.
Curling next to her, he gently folded his body around hers. This was something personal he was apart from, but she was too upset to be alone. He wouldn’t leave her.
There was nothing comparable to the growing sense of powerlessness that took over with each passing minute. A thousand questions raced through his head. But his greatest worry resounded like a gong cracking against his skull.
Did she have regrets?
Painfully, he knew the answer was yes. Maybe this was why Bishop had pushed so hard to get her back. Maybe he knew his time was limited and couldn’t bear the thought of her suffering or the thought that she might always have a lingering sense of unfinished business where he was concerned.
He should have told her. If he knew he was sick he could have prepared her for this—but then she might have gone back to him.
Parker folded his arms around her, protectively pulling her closer. Her grief gutted him, but he stingily couldn’t regret the way things played out. He didn’t want the man to die, but he couldn’t imagine a life without her, especially not for someone else’s sake.
The horrible truth was, she could have had closure had she chosen differently, but she chose him and now her heartache might never end. Parker wasn’t sure how guilty he should feel about that. This morning she was happy, but moments like that now played like tarnished memories in his mind.
A while later, when she’d fallen asleep, he slipped out of bed quietly to find something to eat. She probably didn’t have an appetite, but she needed to eat. He returned to the bedroom only to find her staring into space.
“I brought you soup. It’s after one o’clock and you haven’t eaten anything since dinner last night. I think you should try to get something in your stomach.”
“I don’t want to eat. I can’t.”
He placed the bowl on the nightstand and sat beside her. “Isa … I’m so sorry.”
Her shoulders trembled as tears returned to her eyes, sliding slowly into her hair. He swore he’d never brush away the tears she shed for another man, but he couldn’t bear to see them fall.
His thumb gently caught a lingering drop and wiped it away only to have another take its place. “I wish I could take this pain from you,” he whispered, kissing her cheek.
He silently caught every tear, each one gouging a needle sharp hole in his heart. There were no words, none for him to offer in comfort and none for her to make sense of this news. Just palpable sadness that inflicted every inch of the room, distorting the feelings that were there yesterday.
Last night had been incredible. He’d never been so certain everything was exactly as it was meant to be. This changed everything. It clouded their reality with doubt, stole part of their happiness, and replaced it with sorrow. He didn’t know how to help her and he might never be able to when it came to love for another man.
She didn’t move from his bed all day. Everything he brought her sat untouched. By nighttime, he was truly worried she was having some sort of episode and he might need to tell someone.
He considered calling her sister but hesitated. He’d wait until morning, not wanting to do anything that would upset her more than she already was.
He awoke to the click of his front door and bolted out of bed. “Isa?”
Looking out the window, he saw a yellow cab pulling away. His jaw locked as his worry mounted. Maybe she just needed time to process and wanted to grieve privately.
Fuck that.
He knew the agony of losing a loved one—had gone through it personally. Had it not been for Scout, the death of his mother would have swallowed him whole. Alone was no way to grieve.
She needed people near her, people close to her to help her through the shock. But even her family, the closest people in her life, wouldn’t understand why Sawyer Bishop’s death affected her so deeply.
Only he understood and that meant it was his duty to be her rock. No matter how much it cost him, he would not let her face this alone.
Chapter Eighteen
“The first thing to know about business, Hughes, is that a pen can be as lethal as a gun when you sign your name to something. Always remember that.”
Slade Bishop
He called Isadora several times only to have quiet conversations over the phone. The passing hours made things worse. She couldn’t intrude on the Bishops and ask about arrangements and had to resume the position of a silent secret in the background of someone else’s life.
“Maybe you should confess the truth to your family so they understand your grief,” Parker suggested during one of their quiet calls.
“No. They’ll never understand.”
He suspected she was lumping him in with those who could never grasp her pain. “You don’t have to go through this alone, Isa. I’m here. Whatever you need.”
“I don’t know what I need right now.” It was disturbing how little her voice sounded compared to the normal confidence it carried. “I have to go.”
The call ended and he debated giving her space, but what would that do to help her? She shouldn’t have to feel ashamed for loving someone. That wasn’t supposed to be how love worked. But it seemed, even in death, the shame she linked to Sawyer survived.
He drove to her house later that day and found her in wrinkled, mismatched clothes, looking like she had the flu. “You shouldn’t be here.” She didn’t invite him in.
“Why?” he wouldn’t argue with her, but he would try to reason with her. “I don’t care what did this to you, only that it’s happening. Let me at least try to help you, Isa. Please.”
Defeated or lacking the energy to convince him otherwise, she left the door open and walked into the den. Tissues littered the floor and a blanket was tossed on the arm of the sofa.
She curled into a ball on the far end of the couch and he hesitate
d. Was he making this about him? No. It was definitely about her.
He silently sat beside her. A quiet presence, there if she needed him. But she was so stoic in her pain, she didn’t utter a word to help him understand what she might need to make this better. She never once asked for him to hold her. She didn’t try to unburden her private thoughts. She simply suffered in silence as if she’d had more practice doing that than anything else in her life.
His inability to help her was infuriating, but he would be patient and promised himself, with a little time, she’d come back to him.
The funeral was set for Wednesday and he, being a former employee of Leningrad, donned a suit and drove to the parlor orchestrating the viewing. Isadora had not answered her phone since he left her that morning, but he knew she’d be among the first to arrive.
He wasn’t great with death, having seen too much of it too early in his life. At some point, he sort of started breaking down things into scientific facts. They were there. They were fragile. And when their time was up, it was over.
He wasn’t the most comforting person when it came to trying to justify the mysteries of life. Realizing this, made him hope that maybe one of her relatives would step in and say the right words, because for all his love of the English language, he was utterly inept at consoling her to the degree she needed comfort.
The line at the funeral parlor slithered through the colonial entryway at a snail’s pace. He stood behind a woman wearing potent perfume and a man who coughed every two minutes. These were the tedious norms he’d never adjusted to when he returned to polite society. His gaze scoured the crowd for any sign of Isadora.
As he made it through the front door, he spotted Lucian walking at a brisk pace, cutting straight to the head of the line. Of course everyone deferred, as he begged pardon and marched right to the front.
Parker frowned and stepped out of line, following his lead. He stilled at the hall to the viewing room as he saw Isadora.
She looked exhausted, as if she hadn’t slept for months. As Lucian took his place beside her she stiffened. Parker noted how much effort it took her to simply remain standing. Taken aback by how much she truly loved Bishop, he numbly drifted into the crowd. Maybe this moment should be hers. He didn’t want to intrude on her chance to say goodbye.
It became clear how much Sawyer represented, how wide the gaping void left in his absence would be. Could it ever be filled?
Isadora abruptly pivoted and pushed against the crowd trapping her at the front of the room. Parker’s gaze alertly followed her brisk pace as he wondered where she was going.
As the line progressed, the chatter slowed in respect for the mourning family. Her attention appeared riveted on the entrance he occupied, but she looked right past him, her red-rimmed eyes frantic, and she appeared desperate to escape.
As she approached, he tried to catch her attention, but she wasn’t looking at him. She reached the hallway and a gasp from her lips drew the attention of onlookers as her hand caught the wall.
“Pardon me,” he whispered, rushing to help her as she weaved through the guests.
Though she was barely moving at a staggering pace, there were too many people obscuring his way to catch up to her. He wanted to call out her name, but that would only draw more unwanted attention.
Suddenly, when faced with a mob of mourners clogging the front entrance, she turned again. Parker stilled, silently begging her to see him, but her attention was on the discreet door she’d just passed.
She slid it open and disappeared inside, shutting him and everyone else out. What was behind that door?
The house was old, so he turned the corner, not surprised to find another discreet door leading into the same room. Turning the metal knob, he quietly stepped inside what appeared to be a sitting area and froze at the wretched sound of her whimpered sobs.
She stood by the door, her shoulders quaking as she softly wept, pressing her cheek to the dark wood. He moved deeper into the room, keeping his presence as unobtrusive as possible.
Her whimpers sliced through his chest, each quiet sob knocking his heart. Her eyes were closed, her face pinched tight as she pressed her cheek to the wood and gasped in broken breaths. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and she sucked in a startled breath, her hands covering her face to hide.
A floor board creaked as he moved closer. “Isadora,” he murmured gently and her body tensed.
Slowly, her hands fell away and she silently turned away from the door to face him. She looked up at him in disbelief, her bloodshot eyes full of anguish, her composure destroyed. Her wet lashes flicked as her lips parted and her chin trembled.
It was unbearable seeing her so distraught. His hand was unsteady as he reached for her face and delicately brushed away a tear. There were too many, and each one was a dagger to his heart. He pulled her into his arms and a piece of his heart broke away as she came to him willingly.
He buried his face in her shoulder, breathing a sigh of relief. “I’ve got you.”
All he’d ever known of love had brought him pain. Until he’d found her. But now, her pain was his, because she was his.
“I’m here. Hold onto me, baby. I’m here.”
“Parker…” He heard her fear that this all-consuming pain might never wane and his heart broke.
The man was gone, but he’d taken something from her she’d never have back. “He left knowing you loved him. Do you know what a gift that is?”
Her shoulders shook as she cried, her tears seeping through his clothes and burning his chest. “This hurts…”
“I know.” Her pain was his. “Let me take you home,” he begged, gently pressing his lips to her hair.
Her shoulders quaked and he tightened his arms. This whole time he’d been focused on getting her over Sawyer when he should have been trying to help her find the closure she deserved.
She drew back and looked up at him with such sadness flooding her eyes. “I’m dying inside.”
“No, baby. It only feels like that right now. I know it hurts, but you have to believe it will get better.”
“I can’t face them. All those people… I couldn’t even pay my condolences. I couldn’t…”
“Shh.” His hand rubbed over her back. “Don’t worry about that. Let’s get you out of here.”
“I don’t want anyone to see me like this,” she wept, shaking her head as if he would let anyone see or judge her like this.
He kissed her temple. “They won’t.”
Much like he’d done the first night they met, he ushered her through the side door and away from the crowd. His body became her shelter as he walked her down a private hall, away from the other guests.
A back entrance led to the side of the house and he kept his arm around her as he slowly escorted her to his car. He buckled her safely inside and focused on getting her away from that place as calmly and quickly as possible. The moment they were off the property there seemed a shift in the atmosphere, like she could breathe again.
Once they were a few miles away her phone rang. She sluggishly pulled it out and placed it against her ear, her voice low. “Lucian.”
She waited as her brother spoke. “I had to leave. No, nothing’s wrong.” Her voice seized. “I’ll call you later.”
She slipped the phone back into her purse and rested her head on the window, her gaze on the world rushing by as tears trickled down her cheeks.
Once they reached her house, she took a shower and he made lunch, but again she wouldn’t eat. She was quiet, but he didn’t need her words. He only needed her nearness, however she had to be.
He sat on the couch, as she rested against his side. They didn’t speak and she barely moved for over an hour.
Eventually, she broke the silence and whispered, “He never loved me.”
Parker turned his body to face her. Voice gentle, he lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “Isadora, that man absolutely loved you.”
Her mouth compressed as she strugg
led to keep her emotions bottled up and failed. “He didn’t. He never once told me. For years, I asked him and… Nothing.” More tears fell. “And now he’s gone.”
But he did love her. He’d told Parker, only Parker wasn’t sure if telling her that would help. It might upset her more that Bishop confessed his feelings to him, but never admitted them to her.
She had nothing more to say after that and he imagined that was because the words she shared were deepest thoughts ricocheting through her mind. A torturous loop she couldn’t discredit or silence. She didn’t object when he followed her to bed and he was glad she let him hold her in the dark.
The next morning he decided to let her sleep. Maybe she needed some time to decompress alone. Though his gut told him to stay, he needed to give her a fair balance of space and closeness so she could process all that had happened.
His house felt cold and empty. Sitting in the den, he stared at the wall of books, his mind recalling the characters from each story, comparing them to the characters of his life. He wanted to be every hero, but he didn’t know how to save his lady now, when her heart was so clearly shattered.
Unsure where to go or what to do, he grabbed his keys and left. He drove for a while, circling familiar city streets and visiting desolate corners he hadn’t seen in years.
When his car turned onto a vacant lot, the pavement pockmarked with caved in cement, he shut off the engine. Sitting in the comfort of his luxury car, smooth leather at his back, he looked at a place he used to call home.
The mill was large with gaping windows and a soulless presence that seeped into the air. Even the clouds overhead seemed dingier than the soft ones in the distance. Abandoned tracks, too rotted for trains to ride, cut through the overgrown field with long rusted rails.
The hole in the chain link fence still was there. A doorway to hell.
As he sat in his car, his mind rolled over all the places he had been and the people who had come and gone from his life. Some were there for only a flash. Some were there too long. The ones he lost that hurt the most… the pain never truly subsided. His mother. Scout.
Queen of the Knight (Surrender Games Book 2) Page 22