Last: A Copperslane Romance Novel

by Garnet Christie

  His eyes round. “Bianca . . .” His voice is soft.

  Shit. My lie is evaporating. He needs to leave. Now. “Brett—”

  “I’m in love with you!”

  His broken declaration is loud, booming off the walls of my house until it ricochets back and plants into my heart. Fuck. That’s the worst thing he could have said. Same for the dampness glistening at the corners of his eyes. My knees lock and I stand like I’ve been electrocuted—in some way I think I have. My limbs are numb and while I hear the loud swallow I take, I can’t feel it.

  The two sensations I’m aware of are my pulse, radiating hard through my body, buzzing and reverberating out my fingers and through my toes, and my neck. I think I’m being choked. “You . . .” Shit. The word gurgles out, I start over. “You don’t mean that.”

  “The fuck if I don’t. What do you think I’ve been trying to say this past month, Bianca? Me moving here? Me saying how complete we are? What do you think has been going through my mind?”

  “Don’t,” I croak.

  “I’ve been thinking about our future together. How crazy fucking in love I am with you, and how I’d do anything for you.” His fists unclench some. “Anything,” he repeats in a softer tone.

  My stomach won’t stop somersaulting. God, I hate hearing this from him, because all it’s doing is making ripping him away more painful . . . heart wrenching. I’d give anything to kiss him. To hug the life out of him and confess I feel the same. I wall all of it off by inwardly repeating Dad’s words. It won’t last. Somehow it steadies me. “Seems convenient to tell me now.” I send off my accusation like ice pellets, hoping it hits him and drives him away. “If you’ve been in love with me all this time, why didn’t you say something?”

  He rakes a hand through his hair. “Because I’m shit at it, that’s why. I’ve never been good at confessing my feelings. I can show them all day, but talking about them is hard.”

  “Well, I think you’re lying.” I hiss the words out even though it’s forced and try to turn on my heel.

  “No!” He grips his hand around my arm and tugs me back. “You don’t get to go anywhere.”

  He feels so good holding me, even when he’s mad, but I can’t give in. I clench my teeth and try to sound mad. “You don’t get to control me.” When I try to yank away and he doesn’t allow it, I want to turn into his arms and cry.

  “Control you?” He laughs a bitter laugh. “Oh, trust me, I know. You’re superb at showing me who’s in control.” His lips form a sneer. “It’s always about what you like, isn’t it? And forget about facing the things you can’t let go of.”

  My head jerks back, his words striking a bitter chord in my heart. “What the hell does that mean? Of course I can let go.”

  “But you can’t,” he growls. Darkness seeps through his pupils the longer he stares at me, and I retract my shoulders inward. “Your mom’s blouse, the necklace you wear, the grudge you hold against your dad, it all tells me that you can’t let go.” He ducks his head, bringing our mouths mere inches from each other. “That’s gangrene to you, Bianca, and now it’s coming between us.”

  “You’re wrong.” Straightening my spine, I infuse strength into my voice. “This was a mistake. We’re just not meant to last.”

  “We’re not lasting because you’re not giving us a chance.” He drops my hand and paces over to the door, his hands shaking. “Fuck!” He punches the door. The thud his fist causes is hard enough to make my stomach spiral. He splays out his hands against the entry, then claws his nails down the white paint. Spinning around, there’s something wild in his eyes. It breaks me from the spot on the floor, allowing me to stumble back a step.

  Kicking him out has never been harder. All I want is to soothe away his anger and confess all the lies I’m telling, but that’s a mistake. With my shoulders tangled like a cord, more of my resolve cracks. I know that if he doesn’t leave soon, I won’t let him leave at all. “You should leave.”

  “Why? Because you’re a fucking coward who won’t talk things out?”

  “Don’t call me that.” I bite my cheek so hard a copper flavor floods my tastebuds. “And you’re lying because I do talk things out.”

  “Ha!” He grips the door, and it makes him look like he’s scrambling for control. “Tell me one time when you’ve talked out your problems. Because you haven’t.” Flicking his hand, he gestures at my body. “All you fucking do is put up walls, run away, and shut me out.”

  “No—no . . .” The words are bitter on my tongue, and they fight me on the way up. “That’s not true.”

  “Then you’re blind to who you really are, because if you think clamming up and shutting out your problems is the sign of being a strong-ass woman, then your way of thinking is more twisted up than I thought. I mean, look at you . . .” He scoffs. “All this is, is you running away.”

  “I’m not running away.” I stand up straighter, the bristling of my tattered emotions making it happen on its own. “You . . ” The words cut off. The hottest lash of blinding pain descends. It’s different from all the rest—ten times worse than normal, but doesn’t sink me to my knees like I’d expect. Somehow I bite back the pain this time. Brett always sees me at my weakest and when I’m most vulnerable, and I won’t let that happen tonight. I’m sick of it. This inconvenience won’t be my undoing.

  “You what?” His voice is a deep grumble. “Finish what you were going to say, Bianca. Have the courage to at least talk to me like a human.”

  Fuck. I’m not sure if I can. I try to shake my head, to jostle the pain away, but my muscles are stiff, tingling from the base of my neck to the tops of my shoulder blades. And the longer I stare at Brett the more it feels like we’ve done this before, although I know we haven’t.

  With the tingle creeping up to the left side of my face, I try to speak. “Leaving . . .” Something tangles up. The room floats. I push on. “Leaving that you have the ability . . .” Shit. What am I saying?

  Brett’s brows come together. “What?”

  It will come out better this time, even though now I’ve lost my ability to swallow. “My home with not having you to leave.”

  His breath sucks in, eyes tightening, tone going soft. “What the fuck are you trying to say?”

  Nothing comes out. My throat binds up, and every tendon and fiber inside wraps around me, like I’m receiving the hardest, most painful hug in the world, and I might be falling. Everything tilts to one side.

  “Bianca?” Brett sounds distant. “Bianca?” He blurs in front of me and his voice echoes. “Bianca.”

  Everything fades away.

  Chapter 29

  I’m in an area I’ve never seen before. The walls are white. Light bounces off the border of the stark and bare area, making me squint. Looking down, there is no floor, but I don’t fall. Taking a few steps, a click-clack echoes all around me, but I’m barefoot. My head cocks in confusion. “Where am I?”

  “Bianca.”

  My head jerks up to the voice of my dad. Disbelief strikes at my heart when my eyes see the figure—blonde hair like mine, but shorter, and thin features so slim she could be a doll—it’s Mom, even though I heard Dad’s voice. She’s a few feet away. My hand stretches out and strains for her, to feel her comforting touch once more. “Mom?”

  “No.” The figure turns away, her white garment glittering in light, and a hallway opens before her.

  “Please.” My voice cries out. “Don’t leave.” I chase after her, an odd feeling as I’m weightless yet heavy. Walking is fine, but running is a different issue.

  She doesn’t wait for me, and it doesn’t appear she struggles to move like I do. Reaching the end of the hallway seems easy for her. Gifting me one more view past her shoulder, a sad smile passes across her mouth. She vanishes.

  “Mom! No!” An ache cracks my heart in two. Explosive energy barrels me down the hall. However, when I reach the end, there is no teleportation.

  Instead, the nonexistent bottom vortexes be
neath me, and something crumbles under my bare toes. I jump back and scream just as a chasm opens up, and my heart leaps up into my throat.

  Blackness, lightning, and fire cloud my vision and screams assault my ears. I drown out the unholy shrieks, placing my hands over my ears, tears streaming down my face as I wonder if Mom is down there. It doesn’t look like a place she deserves to be in. I scream into its depth, but it’s not my voice. Instead, other voices break out—ones that sound like me, but are not me.

  “Let go,” says one voice.

  “I love you, Bianca,” says another, in a tone closer to my Mom’s.

  “Revenge is a sign of pain,” shouts one more.

  “Say you don’t want me in your life.” This voice sounds like Brett.

  I clutch at my necklace, but it’s not there. My rigid fingers search for the item for a moment before finally deciding to rest around my neck. A white figure shoots out from the chaos below and hovers across the valley, and a tremble seizes me.

  I hate the way it floats closer, even though it appears not to be moving. The more it draws near, the more I move back, until I’ve tripped and crash landed on my hip. I bump my head on the invisible barrier along the way, and hot searing pain shoots through my skull, letting me know pain is real here.

  “Shit.” Rubbing at my eyes, I’m hoping to stamp down the ache that rolls behind each socket. It seems to dissipate. Dropping my hands, I open my eyes and scream.

  The figure is over me and it’s old. Old enough to make me wonder how it exists. With an ancient grace, it floats down, sweeping long gray hair away from its face, and it looks me in the eyes.

  Paralysis winds through the fibers of my body.

  The figure is me.

  Old. Weathered. Grayed out. Permanent tear stains streaking down my leathered face. A bony hand levitates up and reaches out.

  I try to withdraw, but can’t move fast enough. Her bony finger connects to my shoulder, and a reel spans out before my eyes. There are no words, yet I want to sob as I watch my figure transform from the body I have now to the one I see in front of me.

  Helplessly, I watch as my life dwindles away until I am old and colorless. I see myself crying on my bed, alone and cold. In one spot, I push away a tall man standing with open arms who wants to embrace me. He mouths for me to “let go.” One reel shows me screaming to an open sky. In one section, all my books lie in a pile, burning to ash as I weep in front of them. Eventually, I see myself on my deathbed, alone, gray, and with no one to care for me.

  When the hand pulls away, the movie screeches to a halt. Looking up, I clutch at my neck and although my lip quivers, I manage to form words. “Wh-what was that?”

  A weak, broken-hearted smile passes the figure’s lips, and she nods. “Your path.”

  She plunges into the pit below—lightning crashes, shaking the room as she vanishes.

  More of the barrier underneath me crumbles away, and I think I’m going to fall into the darkness underneath.

  Then the room is black.

  Gone.

  Like it never even existed.

  Chapter 30

  My eyes peel open. I regret it. The room blinds me and I squint, trying to filter the natural sunlight which overtakes the room. Where the hell am I? The brightness is a trivial thing as I observe the unusual ceiling above me. I’ve never seen it before. Large squares hang overhead. They make their shapes by metal dividers running the entire length of the room. It’s not like an office. There’s a starkness to it all.

  My ears perk up at a beeping sound. Then I notice the tubing attached to my arms and the awareness of my surroundings hits me like a freight train. I’m in the hospital. Shit. What happened to me?

  Twisting my shoulders, I groan.

  “Bianca?” I’d know the deep voice in a screaming sea of people. It’s Brett. He’s at my side, casting a shadow over me before I blink, and maybe my perception is still fuzzy from whatever the hell this is, but I swear dampness forms at the edges of his eyes.

  My heart sings at the sight of him, slowing down in its previous rising tempo. Having him here when I’m clueless is like a weighted blanket to my jumbled nerves. He’s here, and because of that, everything is going to be alright.

  His hand wraps around mine, but the connection is feather light and tender. When he grazes his thumb over my hand, it’s so soft I wonder if he thinks me constructed of porcelain. He draws in a breath, but it looks half as deep as it should be, and a deep crease forms between his brows. “Do you know who I am?”

  The question and the tight way he says it makes my heart want to fall out, landing at his feet. I force a stronger connection between our hands by squeezing. “Of course I know who you are, Brett.”

  His eyes widen, his brows hitting his hairline, but the way his brows crumple together makes it look more like overwhelmed shock. Air sucks deep into his lungs, then he expels it all. “Oh thank God.” He breathes out the words and places his hand on my cheek. “You can talk.” Sniffling, dark clouds dispel from his eyes. They halo with a gentle glow. One I haven’t seen before. “The doctors weren’t sure you’d be able to when you woke up.”

  Not talk. Anxiety claws at my neck, making each thread of muscle in it tighten. I need to find out what happened. “Brett—” My words vanish as he extends his arm out toward my legs.

  The sound of the sheets rumple and he directs every ounce of attention in that direction. “Can you move your legs, can you feel them?”

  Wiggling my toes, there’s numbness in my calves and shins. Shit. Will I be able to walk? The uncertainty has me clenching my fists. My skin pinches thanks to the IV’s taped to the tops of my hands. “Brett.” His name is hoarse off my lips, the slow panic creeping up toward my neck, causing my voice to rasp.

  Looking down, I can now see he’s squeezing up and down my legs, but I can’t feel it all that well. Just some pressure. I want to cry. He doesn’t notice. “The doctor said you might need therapy, but some feeling is better—”

  “Brett.” His name crackles out of me and a tear of alarm slides down my face. But at least he’s finally looking at me again. With my heart slamming against my ribs, I try to keep my question steady sounding. “What happened to me?”

  He returns to my side, bundling my hand in his while his eyes turn downward. “You had a brain bleed.” The answer is so soft I barely hear it, but from the gut punch of shock it brings to my senses, it feels like he shouted the words.

  For a moment, I can’t move. Can’t think. When I replay what he said, I stammer over the words. “A-a brain bleed?”

  “Yes.” Sinking down into the chair, he frowns. “You almost died, Bianca. And you would have if I hadn’t been there.” His grip around my hand tightens, but only by a touch. “They had to perform emergency surgery to drain all the pressure from your head. When they saw your condition, it shocked everyone that you were still alive, much less talking and walking until the point of your seizures.”

  I blink as more shock tidal waves through me, causing a raw buzz in my nerve endings. “Seizures?”

  “That’s what happened, baby. You had it in the middle of . . .” His shoulder sags and he tears his gaze away.

  My head tilts. “In the middle of what, Brett?”

  He gives me a sharp sideways glance. “You don’t remember?”

  Damn. He makes it sound important. Closing my eyes, I replay anything that sticks out. When I’m able to see myself throwing his clothes in a bag, I gulp and my limbs tense. “I was . . .”

  Guilt swallows up the words I want to say. I can’t finish them when I see how wrong I’ve been.

  Brett Walker. The man I was kicking out of my life—the one I feared not lasting, is here with me and he’s talked to the doctors, being privy to all the ins and outs of what I’ve been through. He’s been here the entire time. Fuck. I cringe at how foolish I’ve been.

  Your path. My choices. All terrible ones that have been pushing me to my own destruction.

  My hand covers
my eyes, masking the shame that’s pulverizing my insides.

  “Did it come to you?” He strokes his hand over mine while asking it.

  The gentle coaxing makes me feel worse, and my breath goes shaky. “Yes. Brett, I—”

  “Bianca.” The broken way he says my name forces my hand to fall away, and my heart threatens to crack in two when a tear wells up in his eyes. “Baby, please,” he’s pleading with me. “Don’t make me leave. Don’t do this to me. Us.”

  I frown, my eyes stinging from the river of tears resting behind them. I’ve been the most selfish, shallow person on the planet with him these past several months—afraid, and unwilling to allow him to prove himself to me, all because I’ve been too scared to even try. Crap. Why he wants to stay with me, I have no idea, but I’m glad he has to show me what a fool I’ve become and opened my eyes to how I’ve allowed my past to control me. A past that’s dead.

  “Brett . . .” My hand trembles in his. Actually, my entire body does. From head to toe, I vibrate with remorse. “I don’t deserve you.”

  “Bullshit.” The first genuine smile tugs at his mouth. “Yes, you do.” Standing up to lean over the bed, he captures my chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to find someone like you? To come across a woman who lines up with all my rough edges?”

  I shake my head, swallowing back a sob.

  “That’s you, Bianca.” He ghosts his thumb across my mouth. “From the moment we locked eyes in that basement and you didn’t turn away, I knew it was you. Please.” The previous smile is stolen away as his lips set in a hard line. “Don’t take this away from us. Don’t choose fear.” His voice cracks. “Not when I’m only now discovering there’s more to life than the shallow things I’ve known.”

  “Brett.” My fingers grip tight into his arm as words pour out of me, ones I never thought I’d utter. “You’re right. I’m a coward. I’m scared. I’m afraid, and I’m sorry I hurt you.” An anvil of desperation presses down on my chest, and I’d do anything to shove it off. “I’m sorry—”