"Wait," Ronan says, then steps between me and the driver's door.
I sit in wide-eyed wonder as he leans in close, lays a gentle hand on my thigh, and presses his lips to mine. He kisses me slowly and thoroughly as everything he feels surges into me in a bittersweet amalgam of guilt, sadness, fear, hope, affection...and lust. When he finally ends the kiss and backs away, I'm smiling with yet more tears wetting my eyes.
"Goodbye, sugar," he says with equal parts warmth and sadness in his eyes.
"Bye," I whisper.
He closes the door for me without another word. I watch him as I start the truck and back out of the tiny driveway. Then I pull away with my eyes locked on him in my rear-view mirror until he disappears from sight.
15
RONAN
"Will?"
In my dream, my father's gruff voice sounds harried and frantic as he uses the first name I haven't gone by in twenty-two years.
"Will," he repeats. "You need to wake up. We need to go."
I groan and roll away from the heavy weight dipping the mattress down next to my hip, and curl into a ball. "Don't feel good...don't wanna move..." I mumble out as pain sears my joints and feverish shivers rack my thirteen-year-old body. A hand jostles my shoulder and makes me feel worse. I moan in discomfort. Why can't he just go away and leave me alone?
"I know, son," Dad says sympathetically. "But we don't have a choice. It's not safe for us here anymore."
I feel another slighter weight settle on the other side of the bed in front of me.
"Will, sweetie," my mother's kind and melodic voice says. "I know you don't feel good, but you need to get up for us, okay?"
I groan in reply. Don't feel good? That's an understatement. I've never felt this horrible in my life. If I had known the change felt like this, I wouldn't have hoped and prayed for it every night since I learned what it was. Part of me almost wishes I'd die just to end this nightmare.
Soft and tender fingertips brush my hair off my clammy forehead. "Bill," Mom says to Dad. "He's burning up. Are you sure we can't wait?"
"You know we're probably as good as dead if we're still here when he comes looking for us, Helen," he replies, his rough voice wavering unfamiliarly with fear and worry.
I've never in my short life heard my father sound like that before. It, along with his words, jostle my brain enough for me to realize that something is seriously wrong, even though I don't know who or what he's talking about. The bed shifts as Dad places a hand on my shoulder again. I crack an eye open just enough to see him reach across me to lay his other hand gently on Mom's very large and very pregnant belly.
"I won't risk any of you," Dad says.
Just the thought of my mom or my unborn brother or sister being hurt in any way finally gives me the incentive I need to move. With every ounce of strength I possess, I somehow fight through the pain and suffering, and force myself to roll onto my back. Then with Mom and Dad's help, I manage to sit up with a painful gasp and grip their hands tightly as the world spins nauseatingly around me. It's all I can do not to vomit in my own lap. I feel delirious and muddled, and so cold and hot at the same time. My head starts to pound like a jackhammer inside my skull in a throbbing counterpoint to my aching body.
"Mom," I whimper. "It hurts."
My mother's hand sifts gently and soothingly through my hair. I open my eyes to focus on her electric blue eyes. They're set in a familiar and beautiful face that's framed by long and gleaming jet-black hair. Tears of sympathy trickle down the flawless ivory skin of her cheeks.
"I know, baby," she murmurs. "I'm so sorry."
"We need to go," Dad says as he starts tugging me toward the edge of the bed.
I moan as the world spins again, feebly trying to cooperate with limbs that feel rubbery and weak as Dad dresses me and puts my shoes on. Then he pulls me to my feet on wobbly knees that I fear might give out at any second. I fling an arm over his shoulder for support-I'm almost as tall as Dad now, thanks to a recent growth spurt-and stumble along next to him. Mom comes up on my other side to put an arm around my waist to help, but I refuse to lean on her since she's pregnant and only a week or so from her due date.
I manage to stay upright as Dad helps me stagger out of my tiny room and through our equally tiny house. It's shabby and dated, yet clean and ours, with the woods that I've been exploring since I could walk right outside our back door. Somehow I suspect I'm never going to see this place again after tonight, but I'm too sick to dwell on it much or mourn the loss of our home as we walk out of it for the last time. If I only knew just how much I was actually about to lose, I would have savored the few moments I had left.
It's still dark outside as Dad hastily drags me out of the house with Mom waddling along next to us. We cross the gravel driveway toward an old sedan I don't recognize, and Dad wrestles me into the back seat and lays me down. Then he tucks a soft blanket over me as I curl into the fetal position, shivering as my teeth chatter like a mad man.
"Go back to sleep now, son," he whispers as I close my eyes. I feel his fingertips gently stroke my forehead, then give in to the fatigue crashing down on me. Black nothingness pulls me under into blessed pain-free slumber. When I awaken again, it's to the sounds of my parents arguing.
"No, Bill," Mom says. "This is a bad idea."
"He's my best friend," he replies.
"We can't afford to stop for anything," she insists.
Dad sighs loudly. "I'm never gonna see him again, Helen," he says. "I have to say goodbye."
A long moment of silence passes, and I'm almost asleep again when Dad finally speaks.
"I have it all planned out," he says. "I stashed my truck nearby, and you'll be perfectly safe here in the car while you wait."
"B...but what about you?" Mom asks. "What if you don't come back?"
I force my eyes open and look up between the front seats to see my parents staring at each other. Dad reaches up to cup her cheek and rub his thumb across her lips in a gentle caress.
"Sugar," he says, his dark eyes gleaming with warm affection as a smile tempers his usually hard masculine features. "You're my girl. I'll always come back for you." He leans closer and kisses her fiercely as her hands come up to clutch desperately in his dark hair. They pull apart, and I see tears glitter in Mom's eyes.
"Promise?" she whispers as she lays a hand over his.
"I promise."
She sighs softly, then nods. "Okay."
He tells Mom where he's going and when to expect him back, and I feel a horrible and gut-wrenching sense of foreboding suddenly fall over me. I know in my heart that he should stay with us, that separating is a terrible idea. I just know it.
"Dad," I croak out desperately as fear clutches my heart. "Don't go." I feel tears welling up in my eyes as I muster the strength to reach for him with a trembling hand.
He turns to look at me, his face softening even further. "I'll be coming right back as soon as I can," he says as he takes my hand in a firm grip.
"No!" I cry. "You need to stay...please...don't...go..." I trail off into whimpers as pain wracks my body in a debilitating wave that nearly steals my breath away.
"William Ronan Nash," Dad says, using my full name like he does when he has something of grave importance to say to me. "I promised your mother that I'll come back, and I'm promising you the same now." His voice is filled with stark conviction.
"But-" I say with a sob.
"When have I ever broken a promise to you, son?" he asks, cutting me off.
"N...never," I whisper, still holding on to his hand for dear life. It's true. This man has kept every single promise he's ever made to me without fail. Good God, I have to believe he won't this time. I need to for my own mental and emotional wellbeing.
"Alright then," he says with a nod. "I need you to take care of your mother for me while I'm gone, okay?"
I nod because what else can I do but trust my father. He's never given me a reason not to...ever.
"I'll be back
before you know it," he says, then looks between Mom and me with warmth and affection. "I love you both," he says in an emotional voice that I rarely hear from him. Then he smiles as he glances at Mom's swollen belly and gently cradles it with his other hand. "I love all three of you."
He leans forward to kiss Mom briefly, squeezes my hand, and then he's gone. I'm vaguely aware of my mother's soft sobs before fatigue crashes over me and sucks me down into sleep again.
Eventually, I wake up and force my eyes open to find that it's daylight now. I blink blearily and stare up out of the rear window to see the interior of a slanted metal roof crisscrossed with steel support beams high above me. Dreary gray daylight streams down from a line of mostly broken out windows bunched near the ceiling. I guess we're hiding away inside some sort of industrial building.
A sharp intake of breath, followed by a low moan of suffering captures my attention, and I look toward the front of the car. I can see Mom hunched forward in the passenger seat, clutching at her stomach. Instant terror streaks through me.
"Mom?" I gasp out as I struggle to sit up. The world spins dizzyingly as nausea rolls through my belly and throbbing pain ignites in all my joints, but I stubbornly manage it. "Mom...what's wrong?"
"I'm okay, baby," she answers in a tight voice. "I'm alright." Then she hunches over even further and lets out a long agonized groan that completely belies her words.
The fear gives me strength that I didn't know I had, and I scoot to the passenger side and wrangle the door open. Then I get out of the car, and nearly hit the floor when my knees threaten to buckle under me. I hold on to the still open car door for dear life as I fight to stay on my feet. I feel so weak and tired, and even though I want to collapse and curl up into a ball of misery, I know my mom needs me, so I force myself to move. Using the door as support, I manage to stagger around it and get to the front passenger door, then pull it open. Mom is still hunched over and whimpering in pain in her seat.
"Mom?"
She lifts her head to look at me with pain pinching her eyes. I can see a large swath of wetness darkening the crotch of her pants like she peed herself, but I'm pretty sure that's not what it is. I'm pretty sure it means she's about to have a baby, and I'm absolutely sure I'm not prepared to handle it in any way whatsoever.
"I'm okay, Will," she insists again in a weak voice.
"No, you're not," I say as I grasp the roof of the car to stay upright. "You...you need a...a hospital."
"No!" she responds. "It's not safe, and we...and we can't leave." She grits her teeth as another wave of pain hits, and a few moments pass before she's able to continue speaking again. "We...we need to wait for your father."
"But M-"
"No!" she cuts me off, her eyes flashing with stubborn determination as she holds my gaze. "We're staying right here until Bill comes back."
"But what about the baby?" I ask, trying to reason with her.
"If the baby wants out now, then we're going to have to do it right here," she says. "We're. Not. Leaving." She leans forward and grunts in pain with her hands balled into fists.
I know there's no arguing with her anymore. My mother is the most stubborn person I know, and there's no point in trying to change her mind. I decide to change tactics. If Mom is having a baby, it's not going to happen in the front seat of a car. I glance around the area to see that we're in some sort of giant abandoned warehouse with a filthy concrete floor and a line of huge garage doors along the wall behind our car that explain how Dad drove us in here to hide. I spot some wooden pallets leaning at an angle up against a steel support beam several yards away, along with a couple of sheets of plywood lying on the floor nearby.
With a strength supported only by fear and adrenaline, I lurch over to one of the pieces of plywood, then bend down to pick up one side and slide it over to the pallets. I stagger to the still open back passenger door of the car and snatch up my discarded blanket. I take it over to the pallet and drape it across the plywood to cover the rough wood. Now Mom will have a somewhat soft place to lie down that's off the cold and dirty concrete floor.
I return to my mother and coax her up out of the car. Then the two of us slowly wobble our way over to the blanket where I help her lay down with her back against the pallets for support. I drop to my knees next to her, gasping through the pain and vertigo that sweeps over me. I lean against the pallets myself, shaking all over with my teeth chattering and my skin feeling clammy and feverish. I'm so damned tired, and I begin to drift in and out of consciousness for I don't know how long until Mom's voice suddenly snaps me fully awake again.
"It's time, Will," she says in a pained and quavering voice as her hand feebly pats my leg. "It's...it's time."
I'm so scared that I don't even think twice about doing it when she asks me to help her get her underwear off from beneath her long dress. Then I glance down between her legs when she tells me to, knowing I don't have a choice, and am shocked to discover that the baby's head is already sticking partway out of her. I freeze for several moments as icy panic surges to life inside me in a terrifying and paralyzing rush.
"Will!" Mom finally shouts, jerking me back to reality.
"I see the head, Mom," I say in a clipped and hysterical voice. "What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?"
"Shh, baby." She reaches out to cup my cheek. "Calm down. It's okay." She grimaces in pain again and gasps in a few breaths. "I'm gonna push, and you're going to support the baby. Okay?"
I nod, because what else can I do, and position myself at her feet and ready to help my new sister or brother come into the world. The next few minutes pass in a blur as I focus on the task at hand and not the fact that I'm seeing parts of my mother I never wanted to see. Between pushing, Mom somehow finds the strength to gasp out instructions to me about how to support the baby and not to pull. It doesn't take long and the head is out, followed in short order by one shoulder and then the other.
The next thing I know I'm lifting a slippery and feebly crying baby up onto Mom's chest and into her welcoming arms. On an impulse, I swiftly pull the sweatshirt I'm wearing off, leaving me in just a plain T-shirt and lay it over my new sister to keep her warm. It's not really cold out, but I'm not taking any chances. I sit back on my heels to catch my breath as I watch Mom smiling and cooing down at the baby. Suddenly, everything starts to whirl around me, my fatigue and pain returning in the wake of the ebbing adrenaline rush I've been riding this whole time. Blackness edges my vision, in and out...in and out, until the darkness finally sucks me under completely.
"Will."
My mother's frail whisper pulls me back to reality after what only feels like seconds. I feel a hand patting my upper arm feebly as I try to fight past the exhaustion still muddling my brain.
"Will, something's wrong."
Her words, and the fear I can clearly hear in them, wake me right the fuck up. I jerk upright with a gasp and try to ignore the vertigo that has my stomach lurching. The daylight streaming down from the windows above us has faded, and I realize I was asleep a lot long than the mere seconds it felt like. There's still enough light to see my mother's strangely pale face though, and the obvious fear gleaming in her eyes.
I instantly glance down at the baby to find the tiny little thing sleeping soundly on Mom's chest, appearing completely fine. The relief I feel is short lived, because that's when I notice how rapid and shallow my mother's breathing is. Dread grips my heart.
"Mom?" I ask, my voice wavering as I meet her eyes again.
Her face isn't just pale like I first thought. It's a ghastly and pasty white, and when I reach up to touch her face, I find her skin cold and clammy. Something is very wrong. I scan down my mother's body and still when I see the huge puddle that's saturating the blanket between her legs...the huge puddle that's the unmistakable deep red of fresh blood. My heart instantly seizes in my chest at the terrifying sight.
"I'm tired, Will," she whispers. "So tired..." She trails off, moaning softly as her eyes drift closed.<
br />
"Mom!" I cry out in a panicked voice.
Her eyes flutter open at my shout, and struggle to focus on my face as her brow furrows with the effort. "Will," she says between breaths. "I'm...I'm scared."
"It's okay," I say, frantic to comfort her. "I'll get you to a hospital," I tell her, despite the fact that I don't even know where a hospital is, let alone have the time to get her there. "You'll...you'll be okay," I lie, even though I know in my heart that she's not okay, and that nothing will ever be again.
Her eyes close once more, and she feebly reaches for my hand. I grab it and hold on tight, feeling just how cold she is, just how weak her grip is in mine.
"I love you, William," she says. "Take care of your sister." She gasps in a shallow breath as her head lolls to the side. "Tell...tell Bill I...I love him too." Her final words are the barest of whispers, then her hand loosens in mine, and her entire body goes limp.
Scalding hot tears pour down my face in a torrent as I helplessly watch her fade away. And with the last breath that slowly sighs from her body, my mother, the center and axis of the entire world as I know it, is gone...
I'm woken from my nightmare by my own wrenching sob and lurch up into a sitting position on the decrepit old sofa I fell asleep on. Tears are trickling down my cheeks as the image of my dead mother sits center stage in my mind. The dream was so real, so vivid, that I feel like I just lived through it all over again. Thank God I woke up before the dream continued on to the horrors that came next. I feel raw inside, my old pain and heartache now a fresh wound that has been ripped open to bleed and hurt. I hunch over under the weight of it and sob a few more times as I fight for control of my emotions.
What is happening to me?
Since meeting Lyric, and especially since fucking her last night, my usually stoic and unflappable demeanor has been replaced by a basket case of a man I barely recognize. I'm an emotional mess. Which is why I stayed here in this shabby little cabin last night and slept, instead of going after Weylin, like I originally intended before Lyric showed up at my motel room door and hijacked my plans.
Rogue Heart Page 11