Oh. My. God. This can’t be happening. This. . .Oh. My God. Not to him. Not this. Not to me.
Tears well in my eyes as I climb out of bed, flip on my light, and pull on some clothes in a haze. Pirate perks his head up from Lachlan’s side of the bed. I stare longingly at the pillow where his head should be lying. Where his hands should be touching me. Where we should be cuddling after we make love. But he’s not there. A sharp pain strikes my heart, knocking the wind out of me. I rub it with my fist, trying to massage away the lingering ache.
Get a grip, Mags.
“Maggie, you still there?”
Gosh damn it, I forgot about Bonez.
“Yes.” I try to hide the tears in my voice. It doesn’t work.
“You’re crying. No crying. You have to get it together before you wake Pip.”
Right.
He’s right. I have to be the adult. I can’t cry. I can’t be weak. I have to put all my fears aside so I don’t alarm her.
Just like I couldn’t tell her about the dinner, I thought Lachlan might’ve had. Which made me insanely jealous and insecure. A dinner he assured me didn’t happen when I finally read his texts before I went to bed. All eight of them as well as seven missed calls, on top of the two calls from Whisky and one from Casanova. She didn’t leave a message, so I didn’t bother calling her back. However, I did text Lachlan, but I’ve not heard anything since. Until now. Oh. My. God. What if he was out there getting injured while I was concerned about what he might’ve done? What if he was worried about me being angry with him and that’s why this happened?
“Maggie!” Bonez yells into the receiver, tearing me from my morbid thoughts. “You have to stop thinking and do what I asked.” His tone is demanding before it lowers, growing gentle. “I know you’re worried, sweetie. But can you please do what I asked and wake Pip up?”
“Yes. Yes, I can get her up.” I fake my confidence, knowing that my mind won’t stop swirling with possibilities and shame until I see him again. Until my lips are on his and I can tell him I love him a hundred times. Why didn’t I do that sooner? Why. . . .
Damn it, I have to stop thinking and just do.
“Good. That’s my girl,” he praises with love, which makes me smile a sad smile. I’ll take it. I’ll take anything at this point to get to the hospital without having a meltdown. I’m not good at this kind of stuff. “I’ll call you in ten minutes to check to see if you’re safely on the road, okay?”
“Okay,” I murmur vacantly, schlepping to my bedroom door and opening it, hoping to see Lachlan standing on the other side with a hug waiting for me. No such luck.
I wipe my tears away with the back of my hand and forge ahead. Bonez hangs up, and I slip my phone into a random pocket as I make my way downstairs to Bridget’s bedroom door. Not bothering to knock I see myself inside and find her sleeping peacefully on her side, with wild hair fanned over her white pillow.
Expelling a depleted sigh, I click on her night lamp and nudge her shoulder.
“Bridge, ya gotta wake up, honey,” I soothe, channeling my inner grams.
Groaning, she rolls onto her back, drowsily opening her eyes. They widen with concern when she spots me standing there. “Is everything okay?” she asks, too smart for her own good.
“Yes and no.” I give it to her straight. “Your dad has been injured in a fire, but he’s being taken care of. So we just have to get to the hospital. I need you to get dressed so we can leave.” Apparently, my inner grams works, because Bridget climbs out of bed without freaking and glides on a pair of slippers by her bed. Then nabs a hoodie off her dresser and combs her fingers through her hair, gathering it to secure into a messy ponytail. I stand to the side and allow her whatever space she needs while my own mind runs a billion miles an hour with fear so intense that I might throw up. Despite the fact that, on the outside, I remain cool as a cucumber for her.
On the never-ending drive to the hospital, we don’t speak. Bridget spends the entire ride staring out of the side window as I drive Viola, trying not to cry as the violent thoughts in my head overwhelm me. Visions of Brian’s dead body surface, as does my grams rocking her last moments on our porch. Coldness seeps into my bones with fear so immense that my entire body aches as it shivers in tormented silence. My fingers squeeze the steering wheel to keep us safely on the road, and I swallow hard every few moments to keep from purging as the bile rises higher and higher, forming a thick knot in my throat.
Soon, the dim lights of town near.
Bonez calls like he said he would, and I make it brief, unsure of what to say at this point.
The hospital arrows make my heart crash into my ribs. My palms sweat as the lights of the ER bay illuminate before us. I reach over to grab Bridget’s hand and give it a tiny squeeze for comfort. She doesn’t react to my touch and continues to stare blankly out the window, her forehead resting on the pane. My heart goes out to her, wishing I could steal her worry away.
We park in the designated ER lot and exit Viola. My legs fill with liquid lead the closer we get to sliding doors, anxious of what I might find on the other side.
Through the tall windows, I can see into the main lobby where the entire club is gathered, wearing their vests. I spot Whisky tucked under Sniper’s arm as the first set of doors retract for us. Taking Bridget’s clammy hand into my own, we enter. And when the final door opens for us, all eyes swing our way.
Whisky’s eyes rimmed in red meet my gaze first. Then I turn and meet Bonez’s stare, one that’s stricken with agony and communicating my worst fear.
“I—is,” I fumble, and Bonez strides to us, securing his arms around Bridget and me, pulling us to his chest, surrounding us in comfort. I snuggle closer and curl one arm around Bridget’s back as my other wraps around Bonez, holding them both tight.
A hiccupped sob tears from Bridget’s throat, and I do everything within my power not to succumb to the pain and emotional torture. Not again. Not until I know more. Not until. . .
“He. . .” Bonez chokes on his own cry, and then I know. I know it isn’t good. I know deep in my marrow what’s coming next. And nothing in the world will prepare me for this moment. Nothing.
“He died in the ambulance,” Bonez forces out, shattering my world into a million little pieces of broken hopes and dreams. Blackness fills my heart and I go numb. Everything I wished for, everything I’d wanted in life, everything I saw in my future is gone—vanished.
Lachlan’s dead!
I can’t even process that. How can this be possible? This has to be some sort of sick joke, right? I mean. . .my iron man, my thighs-for-arms, beautifully broken man can’t be dead. Can he? This isn’t right! None of this is right. This can’t happen to me again! Brian and grams, and now Lachlan. The man I knew I could spend the rest of my life with. The man I love.
Oh. God.
He’s dead!
Fat droplets of loss spill down my cheeks.
Bonez tries to speak to me through Bridget’s endless wails of grief. Nothing registers.
Whisky’s arms surround us, pressing us into Bonez. More arms and more bodies curl around our growing ball of suffering, and I feel like I’m being suffocated. I can’t breathe. I can’t. . .
Words try to filter through the pounding in my ears, through the pain, through the tears. But I can’t hear them. I can’t make them out.
Oh god. I can’t breathe!
I struggle for air. In and out, air passes through my lungs, but I can’t get enough oxygen. I stuff my face into Bonez’s chest to make this go away. To make everything right again. To make this nightmare end. To allow me to breathe. To fix this. To do something. Anything.
This can’t be happening!
“My dad’s dead!” Bridget screams beside me as Whisky tries to soothe her, tormented by her own grief.
I can’t be here. I can’t take this. I need to leave. I need to go far-far away where this pain can’t reach me. Where my life can start over. Where I can forget cold lemonade and warm ki
sses. Where I can forget his face and those teal eyes that will haunt my dreams forever.
Shoving off Bonez’s chest and away from the group of bikers, I make a beeline for the exit.
Barely making it past the first set of doors, steel arms wrap around my chest, locking my back to his hardened front. “It’s going to be okay,” Bonez tries to reassure, but he’s lying. I’m not going to be okay. I’m not going to be anything. I’m going to die alone with another broken heart. One that won’t be fixed this time. Never again. Never!
Bonez kisses the back of my hair. His arms hold me close as I struggle, twisting and grunting in frustration to make him unhand me. He flips me around and locks his arms around my back, fingers interlacing so that I can’t escape. Inclining his head, his lips speak to my forehead as the heat of his breath fans over my scalp. “I know this is hard, Maggie. But we’re your family. We are going to get through this.”
“No,” I croak. “No, we’re not. I was in love with him, Bonez. Brian died. . .a boy that I loved died. Then my grams. . .died. Then I went and fell in love with him, and he died, too. Why does everyone I love, die?” I press my nose to Bonez’s chest, seeking comfort. Unable to sustain any longer, my resolve to be strong fades fast and I let it all go.
Pain, fear, anger, love, and agony flow freely as I cry in Bonez’s arms, and he whispers tender words of reassurance to me.
I’m never going to get over this.
This is the beginning of my end.
Please pray for me.
My tears, fears and forgotten dreams skip like a child around a barren merry-go-round. Around and around it goes. Where it’ll stop, nobody knows.
I exhaust an extensive sigh.
In the cool breeze, bagpipes play for our fallen firefighter, spreading love with their bittersweet farewell song. Another tear trails down my cheek, and I brush it away, smearing the wetness into the black cotton of my dress. Who knew this day would be like this? Not me. It feels all too surreal.
Gathered around the cemetery plot, hundreds of people say their final goodbye to a shiny, black casket draped with an American flag. The wooden box hovers above its final resting place as a faux grass tarp covers the excavated hole. More than twenty people spoke kindly about a man they barely knew as many others openly mourn, tears teeming down their cheeks. Their show of sympathy and support hits deep in my gut as I swipe more than a days’ worth of tears from my puffy eyes. I can’t believe this happened this way. I’m still in shock─ numb from the aftermath of truth. This is all too much to take as memories from my other life are trudged up, stripping me raw.
A preacher I’ve never met before speaks his peace, providing his condolences as a pillar of the small community. Stoic men in dress uniforms gather around the casket to show their utmost respect for their fallen hero—their brother.
My lip wobbles at the sight, and I suck it into my mouth. Bridget squeezes my hand in support, her own fingers trembling in mine as she sniffles.
It’s almost over. It’s almost over.
I release a shaky breath, watching as they carefully fold the flag and present it to the leader of the family—his sister. The finality of this moment settles like a rock, deep in the pit of my soul. He lost his life trying to save an elderly woman who refused to leave her old, rickety farmhouse because her three cats were still trapped inside. Sadly, that’s something I could’ve seen my grams doing if she were still alive.
Walls caved, beams fell, and firefighters were trapped. That woman died, along with her cats, when the kerosene heater in the kitchen exploded into a fiery ball of death, simultaneously bringing down the roof and the floor beneath it.
Stories of his heroism have been whispered throughout the crowd today. First, they spoke of it at the church where the wake took place. I tried to listen. And now, as fellow friends and neighbors drape flowers on the closed casket, they speak of their pride in hushed tones. Not that I think he can appreciate their words. He’s gone. Off to a better place where angels sing. Or that’s what I have faith in. Something I have to believe in, or those that I’ve lost would have been for nothing.
Thick fingers startle me as they begin massaging my shoulders. I tilt my head back just as he bends at the waist to kiss my upturned forehead. “It’s almost done,” he soothes, kissing his way down my cheek, to my lips. “Just a few more minutes, then we can go home,” he whispers, hovering his mouth above mine. Those words wash over me with a gentle wave of elation, and my bottled stress scatters.
Going home. We’re going to go home.
My shoulders relax as his fingers continue their love.
Home.
With Lachlan.
Us.
Yes. He’s alive. Still alive. Thank God.
The past three days have wreaked havoc on my already sensitive emotions. At the hospital, I’d spent nearly an hour crying in the waiting room, while Bonez held me. Then, when it came time to identify the body, Sniper did his duty and went back with the nurse. To our bittersweet surprise, the man on the table wasn’t Lachlan. It was Steve. Steve, who was tattooed, and big, but looked nothing like Lachlan. From our fuzzy understanding, the four ambulances that had carted seven of the fallen firefighters away had gone to three separate hospitals in the county and those neighboring. Among the chaos, there were multiple wires crossed, which resulted in mix-ups with the patients locations. How that’s possible in this day and age, I have no clue. I’m just relieved he wasn’t the one lying on the table.
Sniper went wild on the doctors and nurses for putting us through hell. Whisky had to hold her husband back, and the cops were called to restrain him. Afterward, Bonez drove me to another hospital to see Lachlan since I was in no shape to drive. Bridget rode with Cas in his truck.
Arriving at the hospital, I’d sprinted inside and demanded to see him. They had already been informed of the mistake, and immediately showed us all back to his small ER room. It was packed like sardines, but the hospital didn’t complain about the noise or the ten plus bikers. Smart choice, if you ask me.
Without thought, I threw myself at him, and he pulled me across his lap, his lips claiming mine in haste. The world phased out as we made love with our tongues, his hands roaming all over my body like he couldn’t get enough. His erection poked me from under his blanket. I was close to stripping all my clothes off to be with him right there, until a haughty nurse went and ruined our little bubble when she came to check his vitals.
In the end, after all of the tests, Lachlan sustained two cracked ribs and a sprained wrist. While we waited to be released, he described what had happened to the group of us. Evidently, he was the one who had tried to save Steve, but the roof had come down, trapping them both. He’d freed himself, and by the time he’d dug Steve out from under all of the flaming debris, the man was unconscious. I’m almost thankful that the poor guy didn’t have to endure the last few moments of his life in agony.
I’d stayed with Lachlan in the ER, cuddled right next to him in his bed, my leg strewn over his, until they released him. Ever since then, I’ve been eyeing him like a hawk to make sure he’s safe and still alive. That hour was one of the hardest moments I’ve ever had to endure, and because of that, it’s excavated all of those ugly memories from when Brian died. I’ve been obsessing over Lachlan because of it. He’s been understanding of my internal struggle, and more than accommodating with how clingy I’ve been. I can barely stop touching him to go to the restroom. I’m too scared that if he leaves my sight, he might vanish forever. I know it’s stupid, and I’m acting crazy. But I can’t help it. I’ve regressed. Thankfully, though, I have the most amazing man to hold my hand through it. And for that, I couldn’t feel any more blessed. I knew when I’d began to love him that it wasn’t going to be an easy road for us, but he’s made it worthwhile.
Lachlan rounds my chair and pulls me to my feet, his arm snaking around my shoulder, holding me to his side. “Let’s say our goodbyes.” He propels us closer to the casket, and my legs lock up. I don�
��t want to do this. I hate funerals and caskets. Even if I’m grateful that Steve passed without any pain and didn’t leave anyone but his sister and brother-in-law behind. It doesn’t mean I want to move closer, to replay my past again and again. I just want to go home.
Lachlan stops and turns to me, his front to my front. Tapping his finger under my chin, he coaxes me to make eye contact. “My leannan, I know this is hard for ye. But I’m here.” He leans to place a tender, lingering kiss on my forehead. “We need tae say goodbye. Aye? This man was my brother for the past three years. It fuckin’ blows that he’s gone. But I need tae say farewell tae a friend, and I need my lassie tae do it with me. I need ye with me.”
He needs me. He’s asking me to help. I can do that for him. If not for me. For him.
Straightening my spine, I take a deep breath and nod. “Okay.”
He dips to kiss my forehead once more. “Thank ye.”
With his arm locked around my shoulders, Lachlan saunters up to his fallen brother’s casket and lays his hand on the top. Quickly, he whispers a few kind words, and I say a silent prayer for Steve before Lachlan escorts me back to the Tahoe. Cas is waiting for us next to the rear passenger side door, speaking to a teary Bridget.
Cas raises a hand in greeting and steps away from Bridget. “Hey, sorry about Steve,” he says, offering up a man hug. Lachlan disengages from me to do a quick pounding, and I stand back to watch with a small smile, warmed by their affection.
Then Lachlan’s arm is secured around my back again, my body glued to his. “Aye, it fuckin’ kills, but that’s what we gotta live with,” he remarks.
“I suppose it is.” Cas bobs his head, moving to stand next to Bridget’s door, and reaches inside to grip her headrest. “Hey, I was wonderin’ if I could take Pip for a ride? I’ll drop her back tonight sometime. You know, she’s pretty torn up. I wanna take her mind off this shit.” He flicks his free hand toward the row of cars lining the edge of the cemetery road.
Beyond Her Words (Corrupt Chaos MC) Page 38