“Which part?”
“All of it. I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind.”
“Me either.” There was a long pause before he continued. “I want to talk to you tonight about something important.”
“Why not now?” she asked, her curiosity ramping up quickly.
“I need to leave and you need to finish up work. It can wait until later.”
“You’ve got my mind wondering what it could be.”
“Well, it’s not bad. That’s all I’ll tell you.”
“Tease,” she playfully admonished.
“I’ll tease you tonight,” he promised. “If you meet me outside of Ollie’s shed, I’ll make it worth your while.”
Lizzie thought about what could happen in Ollie’s yard and her legs jellified in her chair. “You’re on despite the fact you just teased me again!”
His deep chuckle touched her ear. “I’ve got skills.”
“Yeah you do, Pooh bear.”
His grumbling made her laugh. Payback.
“Happy birthday, Tom.”
“Bye, pita pocket.”
“What does—”
His laughter plus the phone hanging up stopped her question. “Damn it!” she laughed, her mind trying to figure out what the hell that meant.
A couple minutes later a text from Tom showed up on her cell. She opened it and shook her head.
Because it’s my birthday, I thought I’d give you a gift:
P ain
I n
T he
A ss
<3
Tom
“Carlos, where the hell are you, man? I need my truck.”
“This lady is taking forever trying to decide where she wants this damn headboard.”
“Fuck,” Tom cursed. “You’re what . . . about thirty minutes out?”
“Well . . . if there was no rush hour traffic. I won’t be leaving here for at least a half hour. With traffic, I could get to the shop an hour after that if I’m lucky, but the way this day’s been going . . . ain’t gonna happen.”
Yeah, luck had been on short supply today.
“Well, I’ve got to go.”
“I’ve got your truck.”
“Yeah, park it behind the shop and put the keys in my office. I’ll just take my bike home,” Tom said. He could take the big ass delivery truck, but he hated driving that thing.
“Cool. Have a good birthday, boss man.”
“Thanks. See you on Monday.”
Tom packed his bag, grabbed his keys, and was off. First stop . . . jewelers.
He walked into the small shop and was greeted by name. “Tom, it’s ready . . . and it’s amazing,” Jill, the store’s manager, exclaimed, before heading to the back.
A proud smile greeted him as she set about displaying the ring for him. When it was finally out of the little blue bag, Tom swore. “It’s so much more than I’d imagined.”
“Your suggestion to have the emeralds and sapphires on the band along with the diamonds make this baby pop!”
As he stared at the ring, Tom smiled picturing it on Lizzie’s hand, the big ass diamond sparkling in the firelight as he told her that he loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.
He was going to ask Elizabeth McCullough, his friend, his lover, to be his wife.
He’d always thought that Mia was his one. For so many damn years. Then that one damn day happened when Tom saw Lizzie differently . . . as more than one of his best friends . . . and it changed everything.
Tom had always had what he wanted. He just hadn’t known it, but had simply needed to open his eyes. But now they were wide fucking open and all he wanted was Lizzie.
Every single goddamn thing with her.
Tonight he’d begin to make that a reality.
Lizzie
“Arf!” Foxy barked as Lizzie sat outside with her.
“I don’t know where he is,” Lizzie replied to the dog. She knew that Tom would be late, but he said thirty minutes not almost three hours. All these people were here to celebrate his birthday and he was missing it. Everyone was having a great time by the big ass bonfire Ollie and company had set up. The music played and the party goers talked and laughed and worked on getting drunk.
Lizzie wasn’t having any of it. She didn’t feel like being a part of the party without Tom. Strange how she depended on him, needed him and felt lost without him. She loved him, she thought with a smile, and it was the most wonderful feeling, but would be even better if Tom was here. She just wanted him—by her side, holding her hand as they sat by the fire and looked up at the stars.
Checking her phone again, she cursed when there was nothing from him.
“Hey Lizzie, what’s up?”
She glanced up and found Ollie by her side.
“Hi Ol, just wondering where the fuck Tom is.”
He nodded to her phone. “No word?”
She shook her head. This so wasn’t like him and panic was setting in.
“Where is he, Ollie? He’s already three hours late and he hates to be late,” Lizzie asked her friend.
“I don’t know,” he said. There was none of the normal laughter in his voice. Ollie was worried too and the panic she’d felt grew heavier. “Maybe he stopped to see his mom on the way. She has a way of getting him to do things around the house for her. Do you have her number?”
“No,” she answered and made a mental note to have Tom give her that.
“Okay. I think I may have it in the house. I’ll go check and give her a call.”
“Thanks, Ollie,” Lizzie said as she watched him hurry to the house. Her gaze swept over the party yet again to see if she may have missed Tom arrive. Her eyes stopped on Marc who was sitting on a blanket near the fire listening to a girl chatter away, his attention all on her. Was he finally moving on too? Liz shook her head because it didn’t matter if he was, or at least that’s what she told herself.
She grinned as she saw Ollie running towards her, Gwen in tow. He was such a bundle of energy and Gwen was probably pissed he pulled her from whatever she’d been doing. Lizzie’s grin disappeared when she saw the shocked expression on his face and the look of pity on Gwen’s. Her chest felt tight, squeezing her heart and pushing the air out of her lungs. She put her hand to it as Ollie and Gwen skidded to a stop in front of her.
“Ollie? What is it? You’re scaring me!”
The battle of emotions on his face told her the news wasn’t good. “I . . . uh . . . I just spoke with Tom’s grandfather,” he started then reached out for Gwen’s hand. Lizzie followed the movement, saw the tears fall from Gwen’s eyes and wished she had something . . . someone . . . to hold on to. “Honey, Tom was in an accident . . . he didn’t survive. He’s . . . gone,” Ollie said, the last word breaking her friend.
Gone?
“What? What did you just say? I don’t understand . . . gone? He’s not gone. He’s late. He’s not gone . . .” she repeated as her voice broke. Her whole body shook as her mind tried to process the unthinkable.
A hushed silence fell over the group, all looking at her. She slapped away the hands that attempted to hug her. “No,” she said, her head shaking furiously back and forth. “No!”
“Liz, Tom is dead.”
She closed her eyes at his words, her heart stopping. Her body felt so heavy like the ground beneath her had opened up and something was pulling her down. She didn’t resist. She couldn’t. When her knees knocked the ground, the sobs began as her heart exploded into nothing.
Tom was dead.
Her best friend . . . dead.
“No! It’s not true. It can’t be true!” she screamed and bolted up, but Ollie’s arms snaked around her stomach holding her to him. “No!” she keened.
Tom was gone.
Lizzie
The sound of the television woke her up and she rolled over to regard Tom, thinking about how cute he looked while he slept. His blond hair all over the place, his one arm covering his eyes.
The
bed was empty next to her. She felt the impact of his absence in two places—her chest where it felt like she’d been stabbed repeatedly. She couldn’t breathe. Then her entire face burned as the tears bombarded her. Her eyes, her nose, her throat.
When she was able to get a breath in, it was released as a sob.
Tom was gone and never coming back. She’d never be able to tell him that she loved him or that she didn’t want to be without him. How would she make it without him in her life? She didn’t want to know—she just wanted him there with her, by her side, holding her, loving her.
Flipping away from his side of the bed, she stared at the picture on her nightstand. It was of the two of them, staring into each other’s eyes. More tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision. She closed them as the tears leaked out. A different kind of wet touched her cheek and her eyes flew open. Foxy was there, her tongue gently lapping away her tears.
“Hey, pretty girl.”
“Arrooo . . .” the dog spoke back sadly.
Foxy knew something was up. How did you tell a dog that her man was gone? How do they even begin to comprehend that?
“Come on up,” Lizzie said, patting the bed. The dog did as told then curled up her body against Lizzie, resting her head on her stomach. Lizzie smoothed back the dog’s hair and broke the news. “Your daddy died last night, pretty girl. He’s not coming home. It’s just you and me, girl. But don’t worry. I’ll take good care of you. I promise,” she told the dog, her tears landing on the dog’s head.
She glanced up at the squeak of her door and saw Gwen and Ollie standing there. “Sweetie? Who you talking to?” Gwen began, her voice full of concern.
“Foxy,” she answered.
“Oh . . . do you mind if we come in?”
She shook her head . . . she didn’t mind at all.
Gwen and Ollie hopped on the bed next to Foxy. Ollie rested his head on Gwen’s shoulder as the three of them mindlessly watched the news, all trying to process their grief.
Lizzie registered the quick weekend forecast—rain—her attention fully on the news now.
A DEADLY ACCIDENT LAST NIGHT ON THE TRI-STATE CLOSED DOWN THE NORTHBOUND SIDE OF THE TOLL ROAD FOR A FEW HOURS WHILE POLICE INVESTIGATED THE SCENE.
ONE MAN DIED WHEN HIS MOTORCYCLE WAS HIT BY A SEMI—
Ollie scrambled for the remote and quickly shut off the television.
“That was him, wasn’t it?” Lizzie asked, tears burning her eyes yet again. Would they ever go away?
“Yeah, honey . . .”
Fighting to keep the sobs under control, Lizzie repeatedly nodded her head, her tears clouding her vision. Lizzie’s head fell to Gwen’s lap. Ollie held her hand as Gwen smoothed her hair.
“I loved him.”
“I know you do,” Gwen replied.
“I never told him . . . I mean, I told him when we were just friends, you . . . ‘I love ya,’ but I never said to him, ‘I love you.” And I don’t know why. It was like a given—the love we had . . . do you think he knew?” she asked, her eyes focused on Ollie’s fingers moving over her hand.
“Of course he did. How could he not? Anyone could tell by the way you looked at him,” Ollie answered this time and for some reason him saying those words had more weight than if they came from Gwen.
“How am I going to get through this? I don’t know if I’m strong enough. My best friend is gone . . .” she trailed off, letting her mind trail off with it. Later, she asked if Marc knew.
“He was at the party when we all found out, but he took off,” Ollie answered.
“Can you find him for me? I . . . need to know he’s okay,” she asked, worried how Marc would handle his best friend’s death.
Marc
Marc sat by the fire, listening to Amber tell him about a concert she went to earlier in the week. He’d been talking to her a lot lately. They hadn’t gone on a date or anything but Marc had actually thought about it.
It was a step.
He needed to take it. Marc saw how serious Tom and Lizzie were. Them as a couple was not going away. He couldn’t moon over Lizzie forever.
Searching her out, he saw her talking animatedly to Ollie, who had then run inside. Marc was too far away to read her face, but she seemed anxious.
Maybe he should go over to see how she was. As he was about to make his excuses to Amber, Ollie came back with Gwen by his side. Marc didn’t like the look on Gwen’s face. He stood up and walked towards his friends, without a word to Amber.
He heard Lizzie’s voice over the party noise. “You’re scaring me!”
Marc quickened his pace but skidded to a stop when Ollie said, “Tom was in an accident . . . he didn’t survive. He’s gone—”
His world muted as he tried to come to grips with what he just heard. His head fell back, the starry sky above, as it hit him.
Tom—dead.
“No!” Lizzie screamed. “No!”
That scream . . . he’d never forget it.
Marc couldn’t stay for the details. He couldn’t handle them yet. The need to leave the party had him running to his car. He had no idea where he was going. He just needed to get away.
When he found himself at Wrigley Field about an hour later, he parked the car and walked over to the main entrance and stood in front of the famous sign . . . staring up at it, feeling the avalanche of emotion coming out of him and when it got there, he screamed . . . and screamed.
He didn’t care who saw him or what they thought. His best fucking friend in the world just died. One of the best people he’d ever known . . . what the fucking hell?! It was so not fair.
After he’d gotten that out of his system, he’d walked back to his car, tears falling onto the sidewalk along the way. Once inside, he sat there—alone—and sobbed. It wasn’t pretty. He punched his steering wheel as the grief poured out of him.
Eventually his cries stopped. Marc looked in the glove box for some napkins and wiped his face. With a deep breath, he started the car and drove north on Clark Street, cursing the cemeteries on his right. On Montrose, he turned left and headed to his brother’s.
Marc let himself in. The lights were still on at two in the morning. His brother was home . . . somewhere. He went to the first place he’d thought Clark would be—his game room.
He was right. Clark sat in the dark room, focused on the video game on the big ass TV in front of him. His brother . . . the rock star.
“Hey Marc,” he said while he continued to play. Marc just stared at the screen, watching his brother kill alien after alien. When he didn’t answer, Clark paused the game and turned around. He met his brother’s eyes and Clark immediately got off the sofa. “Marky . . . what’s wrong?”
Marc must have looked a mess if only by his appearance Clark knew something was wrong.
“Tom died tonight. Accident. That’s all I know. He’s dead,” he told his brother.
“Fuck,” Clark exclaimed.
“Yeah . . .” Marc agreed, walking to the video game console and grabbing a controller. There was no way he was going to sleep and he didn’t want to talk about it, but he also didn’t want to be alone. Playing this game with his brother would numb his mind because he needed it fucking numb.
“Let’s play,” Marc said.
“You sure? You don’t want—”
“No. I don’t want to talk about it right now. Steps, Clark. That’s what I need to do. Take this in little steps. I can’t handle all of this at once.”
“Okay,” was all that Clark said, then he grabbed his controller and sat back down.
Marc had no idea how long they’d been playing but with a glance to the outside, the sun was trying to come out.
“Break,” Clark said, standing up. “I need something to drink. Want anything?”
“Yeah,” Marc said, getting up. “I need coffee.”
He trudged up the stairs to the kitchen and went about making his coffee. As the coffee brewed and dripped into the pot, Marc’s phone rang.
“Marc
?”
“Ollie?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s up?”
“I was calling to see how you’re doing. Lizzie wanted to know . . .”
Marc was unsure of what to do for Lizzie. He wasn’t her boyfriend and wondered if they would even be classified as friends. But her pain was there with him, wrapped up in his own.
“I’m . . . I’m with my brother.”
“You . . . uh . . . you’re okay?”
Marc knew what Ollie was trying to not so eloquently ask. Did he have the urge to take drugs? He hadn’t even thought about it until right now.
“Ollie, I’m okay. Tell Lizzie not to worry about me.”
“She does what she wants,” the other man said.
“Yeah, she does . . . how is she?” he ventured, needing to know how she was.
“Gwen and I brought her and Foxy to her house and put her to bed. She eventually woke up and saw the fucking news report about the accident. It showed the footage of his mangled bike on the road! I don’t know if she saw that part. I hope she didn’t . . .”
Marc hoped so too.
“She’s currently resting with Gwen and Foxy. I think her tears are exhausted for now.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t stay—”
“Marc . . . it’s okay. I get it. That’s why I called. To make sure you were all right.”
He didn’t know the answer to that.
Marc
November 18, 2009
With Clark by his side, Marc entered the funeral home. They were early. Marc wanted to see Lizzie before everyone arrived. Up ahead, he spotted Ollie and Gwen standing outside of the viewing room. When he reached them hugs were exchanged.
“Is Lizzie here yet?” he asked.
Gwen smiled sadly and gestured to the room ahead of them. His gaze followed her hand and his eyes closed. Lizzie stood in front of the closed casket, her hand resting on top of the dark wood.
“She’s been in there since we arrived,” Ollie informed him.
Gwen took Marc’s hand and brought him in front of her. “Marc, even if you don’t believe it, she needs you now more than ever. I think you’re the only person who can help her through this,” she said.
Losing You (Stars On Fire #4) Page 22