by Hazel Grace
Mills is at his wits’ end with me, and now he has to go up against B723 as he fathers my twins in secret.
That’s what we’re hoping for anyway.
The half-ass plan is that I’ll be done with Alexander before the twins even get out of the NICU. No one will know. All I need my best friend to do is make sure Atlas and Alaric never get put into my ex’s hands.
When Mills is done with his calls, we drive in more deafening silence to the address I gave him. The air between us is so thick that it's suffocating, and I loathe the absence of sound as much as I do with what I have to do to keep my kids safe.
“I know you don’t want to hear this,” I start, filling in the car with words. “But I owe you. Anything you ever—“
“Shut up, Ems,” he mutters through a growl and readjusts his grip along the steering wheel of his tinted out BMW M4.
I gently turn myself in the passenger seat to face him, feeling my stitches pull. “Will you send me pictures? Can you call me so I can talk to them and they hear my voice?”
He gives me a curt nod but keeps his eyes on the two-lane road outlined by tall pines and too many miles between me and my squishies.
I set my jaw, allowing my tone to sound however it’s going to because I’m exhausted, devastated, and draining of hope. “I know you hate me right now. I hate me too. I’m so sorry that I had to—“
“Stop it, Emmy.” My nostrils flare in frustration. I need to make sure Mills knows how much I appreciate him. That this means everything to me and my babies.
Communication and talking about things—mainly this—make me feel better. There is no room for error, especially with something as important as my children's lives.
I swivel myself around to look out my window, giving Mills the space he needs. The further we drive away, the more I feel my heart crack open.
These are the vital and happy moments where I should feel blessed that I gave birth. That I’m a mother to two beautiful babies that need me as much as I need them.
Not cruising away with one of my best friends and throwing him into a shitty situation while I’m alone as if I did something wrong in my and Alexander’s relationship.
Well, you did.
A cell rings, and Mills pulls his out then glances over at me for the first time. “It’s not mine.”
Reaching into the pocket of my hoodie, I didn’t realize that I had taken it with me and must’ve shoved it there out of habit.
The screen lights up, and my stomach drops.
It’s Bishop.
“I…” I practically choke the phone with my fingers so that I can’t speak to him. That he’ll feel it and hang up.
“Who is it?” Mills asks before I drop the phone in the cup holder of his car like it’s burning through my skin.
“I thought you told everyone,” I reply.
“I did.”
“Then why...why is Bishop calling me?” I swear I hear Mills lightly scoff as he turns left and continues down a dusty gravel road. “Didn’t you?”
“Yes, Emmy. I had the pleasure of letting everyone know that you’re dead.”
“I know this fucking sucks and I suck, but—”
“You do suck,” he agrees, locking his jaw. “You wouldn’t let us help you, so you decide to put our family through hell so you can—”
“I need you to respect that I want to do this on my own,” I snap, my heart seizing up from being such a bitch to him, but I don’t want to agree about it anymore. It’s too rough. “That I don’t want everyone to be used as collateral damage.”
“That’ll still happen. If you think he wants those kids so much, he’ll only try to kill me with legal fees or for real try it.”
“Look what happened to Stormi and Marty. Eli used us to lure Marty to him. I’m not doing that with Bishop, Kyson—“
“We would’ve taken our chances.”
“I wouldn’t have. I’m not losing anyone over a fucking asshole. I just lost precious time with my children because of him.”
He doesn’t say another word as done with this conversation as I am with this situation.
I can’t say that I blame him.
“I’ll be done by the time the kids get out of the NICU,” I remind him. “No one has to do about you on the birth certificate.”
“You better hurry the fuck up. I already feel the target on the back of my head.”
“I’m going to do this as quickly as I can. I promise.”
“I know.” He peeks over his shoulder to me. “I know. We’ll…I’ll make sure the babies hear your voice twice a day when I visit at the hospital.”
“I’d love that.”
“I mean, what’s two to three weeks? You and I might have to disappear after the gang finds out you’re alive, but you’ve forged passports and new identities before. I can pick out my own name and shit.”
“This will work.” I lean back in my seat and cross my arms. “I take care of him in that amount of time.”
“Now wait a minute—“ Mills’s voice transforms from just being a smart ass a moment ago back to skeptical. “—you’re not going to be doing that alone.”
My brows knit. “That’s the whole point of the squad not being involved in this.”
“Then I’m calling in one of my many favors,” he counters. “You won’t go off assassinating without backup, which will be me.”
“Alright…when I’m ready, you can be nearby and on standby if I need you.”
Minutes later, we pull off on the side of the road in a highly shitty part of town. The studio apartment is run down with chipped white paint, hanging gutters, and cracked cement stairs.
Neither of us makes an effort to get out. The moment that I do is when everything will crash around me. The reality of going to a home without my babies will suffocate me until I rid myself and them of Alexander.
My heart beats triple time, and my palms begin to sweat from nerves.
Self-doubt begins to creep its ugly head, but I try to focus on revenge.
He almost killed us.
Alaric and Atlas shouldn’t be in the world yet overcoming their medical needs.
“I don’t like it,” Mills quips. “You couldn’t pick out anything better?”
“Didn’t have a lot of time.” I hold out my hand. “I need your gun.”
“How about we get you into a hotel room and—“
“It’ll be fine,” I urge. “It’ll give me something to do when I’m not obsessing over what I’m missing.”
“This place is a dump.”
I snort. “Then it’ll match what this whole situation is.”
A month later…
My heart is ripping in two, and I can’t breathe.
The outcome of this ordeal isn’t going to end well, and I can’t help but feel guilty for everything that’s happened.
I spent the lot of six years protecting and loving her, and I’ve only admitted it out loud once. But I’m proud of who she is and what she’s been in my life.
And when large hands wrap around her neck, I can see that her face begins to turn paler mixed with a light shade of red.
She’s trying to fight him off, but he’s too big, and I can’t help her. The zip-ties around my wrists are too tight. My throat aches from screaming at them to stop.
But she can’t hear me.
I’m watching my life fade before my eyes.
I’m looking upon my soul crushing into powder because there will never be anything that’ll make me be able to get past this.
I was always afraid that I’d be the death of her somehow, and I was right. Something inside me repeatedly warned me away because demons always find me in one way or another. They taunt and take from me—the people that mean the most. The only family I have left.
My voice thunders again, but it doesn’t fall on ears that I want to have hear it.
No matter how long and loud I yell or scream, she’ll never know how sorry I am. How I’m here, and she’s not alone.
&nbs
p; How I love her, and it doesn’t matter.
I watch her arm limp over the table, her lifeless body now fallen, and it’s over.
Emmy’s dead.
And I killed her.
“Kace! Kace!” My body jolts, and I haul myself upward, knocking into a hard body that isn’t supposed to be here.
In the darkness, I see the figure of a man and it sets off the rage simmering in my body.
I lunge forward, connecting with the second person in the room, and we fall to the floor together with a heavy thud. My fist swings and connects with a stiff jaw as I grip the t-shirt of the stranger to pull them up.
“Motherfuck—Kace!” It’s a yell-whisper. One that doesn’t register as quickly as it should, but when it does, I crawl off my fucking brother.
The light to my bedroom flicks on, and I hear Kyson’s muttered shit as I plop my ass to the floor with a thud, watching my best friend help Hardy up.
My brother doesn’t leave, nor does he bother to hide the worry along his face with what just happened.
It’s not safe for me to be here anymore; I know that. I’ve done nothing but cause destruction to my whole home, and this isn’t the first time that I’ve clocked my brother in my sleep.
Apparently, I’m having nightmares that reach outside the realm of my head. They’re all different scenarios, but the outcome is always the same—me not rescuing Emmy in time, and in result, she still dies.
My breathing is haggard at best like I just ran ten miles, and I don’t bother to contain it. Everyone knows about my episodes and the change in my demeanor. They all know the reason, and I can’t stop myself from feeling empty through and through because there’s no way to get rid of it.
I never got to see her face again.
Our last moments together replay over and fucking over in my head until I can’t take it anymore.
If I would’ve acted differently and not have been such a bitch about being scared to express myself, she’d be safe.
She’d be mine.
Those kids of hers would fucking be mine as well. I don’t give a shit if he spermed them.
Emmy was mine.
Emmy will always be mine.
She has to be. Because the idea of throwing her away to date someone else like she didn’t mean jack shit to me hurts more than the nightmares do.
“We’re good here,” I hear Kyson tell Hardy. “I’m sorry, man.”
“What can I do?” Hardy’s voice is but a whisper, and I don’t bother telling him to not worry about it.
He should be concerned about me. His fucking daughter lives under the same roof as a man who can’t pull his shit together.
Maddy is almost terrified of me now because I can’t and haven’t kept myself from snapping at her. I can’t hold in the violent need to break, burn, or smash something and I need help.
I need Emmy.
I was aware that she was the glue that kept me whole, and with her being gone, I’m falling at the wayside. I’m disintegrating and crumbling into nothing.
I can’t get over her.
I can’t get her out of my head and how soft her lips felt against mine.
How holding her was heaven and I never wanted to come out from the clouds. It was the most peace I have ever felt in my life, and I tossed her right into hell.
With me, she was safe. She may not have been given what she needed, but, as I’ve said, in time, I would have. I just needed that.
Time.
Now, it doesn’t matter. I can’t change it. I can’t harp on the fact that my girl will never know how much I loved her.
She’ll never know.
And if she does, she’s in the ground. She can’t talk back to me.
At Emmy’s funeral, Alexander was not his usual and pleasant self. I realize that we all handle grief differently, but that man wore a scowl that almost matched mine.
Marty clued me in that Mills, and he had an argument outside, but he didn’t know what for. I didn’t ask and seek the reason. Mills is probably losing his entire shit, too, because that was his best friend.
Meanwhile, I’m failing and murdering every relationship I’ve ever had.
I’m pushing everyone away.
Scarlett doesn’t try reasoning or consoling me anymore. It’s a lost cause. Nothing that leaves her lips will ever make this okay.
“Nothing right now,” Kyson conveys to my brother, giving him a pat on the back of his shoulder. “Just time.”
I scoff inwardly.
Time will do nothing but make it worse. I’ll recall how many years have passed and how each day fucking blows. That it’s just another increased measurement of not being with her.
That I neglected and should’ve fought harder to keep her where she belonged.
Hardy finally leaves the room, probably feeling the same sort of hopelessness of setting shit right. The door softly clicks behind him while I remain on the cold hardwoods with defeat tightly wrapped around me.
“You’re getting louder.” My best friend sits in front of me, crossing his legs Indian style, and pulls out a pack of Marlboros.
He’d know because he’s been babysitting me for the last two weeks. He won’t leave. I can’t convince him that I’m just grieving, and it’s temporary because it’s not.
I’ll live with this for the rest of my life.
I’ve had a funny feeling that his existence in my space is because my sister called him. Not only ratting me out but also worried about my not wanting to consume anything but another fifth of whiskey.
I don’t come home sometimes.
I’ve dropped every red flag there is to drop right in her lap, and it has gotten me the redhead in front of me now.
Kyson hands me over a cigarette then flicks his Zippo to light the end for me. “You wanna come with me tomorrow?”
“No.” I don’t even know what tomorrow is, but the answer is still no.
“Her kids are getting out of the hospital.” My eyes slice up to him while my stomach immediately drops into the depths of some hollowed-out place with no sustenances. “It’s time to say goodbye, Bish.”
Red fury courses through my veins as I glare at the motherfucker who won’t let me be. Who’s watched me go from hell and back while at my side.
“There never was one,” I sneer before drawing a long hit off my smoke. “And no…I don’t want to.”
“You sure?” Kyson flicks his Zippo again and lights his own end of his fag. “There’s no takebacks after this.”
I bow my head over my bent legs and strive to listen to what he’s saying, except I’ve made up my mind. The more I harp on Emmy, the worse I’m going to get. She’s the only thing I liked about me, and now that’s gone.
“Positive.”
Kyson doesn’t press any further, taking another hit of his own smoke, and just sits with me on the floor.
Just like when we were kids.
This isn’t easy for him either. Shit, nothing really has been and you’d think we’d be used to it by now.
And while I struggle, he handles it like a damn king and I envy him.
Not for his light red hair that women seem to dig or the patience of a saint mixed with the hard truth he speaks but because he’s powerful. He can deal and move. He is able to live on and press through trials and tribulations.
I stab the shit to death, and it’s not even the main problem.
It’s that I’ll never get over this.
Her.
Us.
What we had and what I’ve imagined for our future.
It’s dead.
And so am I.
We finish our cigarettes, and I try to go back to bed afterward but fail. I imagine both of Emmy’s kids being brought up without the love and affection she would’ve given them. How they would be deprived of who she is and never truly know her.
Everyone should know someone like Emmy. Someone who glows in the dark during the bleakest of times. A person who demands to make you aware that they care.
That you’re not alone.
Maybe one day, when they’re old enough, I can tell them that I knew her. I can describe the kind of person she was and that they care that inside them.
From afar, I can always look out for them and be somewhat of a guardian angel if they ever get into trouble.
I can’t protect Emmy anymore, but I can safeguard the pieces of her that are left behind.
The remnants of my heart.
“Dude, Mills…do not tell me you kidnapped those babies?”
Kyson and I stand grounded near Mills’s door, staring at him with a blue towel over one shoulder and a baby laid upon it while he pats its back.
Gazing around his bachelor pad, I find two car seats, two bags, two high chairs near the dining room table, and various little jungle gym-looking things on the floor.
Kyson slowly steps forward, and I latch my focus back to Mills, his eyes wide in surprise that we just waltzed into his place.
And for good reason.
When Ky and I went to the hospital to see the babies, one of the nurses said that they had been discharged. Kyson was livid, my heart and stomach dropped out of my ass, and we ended up here to tell our fellow brother.
I couldn’t not say goodbye or see those kids. I’m already living with enough contrition to last me ten lifetimes.
However, if Mills did kidnap those kids, I’ll help him hide the evidence. I’d do anything that involves Emmy and the well-being of her offspring.
“Uh…no,” he replies, bouncing the baby gently in his arms like he’s done it a million times before.
He looks slightly uncomfortable, and I can’t say that I blame him. He just ripped two infants off.
Stepping to—I don’t fucking know—help Mills, he eyes me suspiciously as I approach. Two bassinets are set up next to each other in his living room, and he’s going to need all the aid he can get.
Peering down at the second little bundle in a white blanket, it’s sleeping and sucking on one of those pacifiers. Remnants of dark curls softly lay on its forehead as it peacefully rests.
“Which one is this?” I ask through the significant blockade lodged in my throat, backing away because I’m full of germs and shit. I don’t know crap about kids, but I have a feeling I’m about to quickly here.