How bitterly cold it felt, making my teeth chatter.
The rain that splashed in.
The way the seatbelt dug into the crease between my groin and thighs as the sky tried to rip me out of my seat and into oblivion.
I sit up and lean forward, my head in my hands between my knees as I breathe through it. The Xanax has completely worn off now, but I must have gotten at least a solid eight hours of sleep, total.
That is the most sleep I’ve managed in one night in over three months.
Literally.
Once I feel I can stand without puking from the adrenaline dump the nightmare triggered in my body, I stagger my way to the bathroom in the downstairs hall and sit to use it. I don’t even trust my aim right now.
At some point, the TV shut itself off overnight. The house is silent except for me, my noises, the ragged sound of my breathing as I try to force the dream images and sounds—and memories—out of my brain.
I sit there for a few minutes, even after I finish. I can remember a time where it felt like I couldn’t sit down for thirty seconds to take a shit before I had one or two or three kids trying to get into the bathroom with me. Where, between my job and that, I longed for a few minutes to myself.
Ellen used to always smirk when I’d grouse about it.
How I’d kill to have those days back now.
Especially so I could apologize to Ellen for not better appreciating everything she did for our family.
For all the late nights I worked, leaving her alone with the kids to deal with things.
For all the Saturday and Sunday mornings I slept in while she got up to take care of whatever sibling issue arose that had them yelling at each other in the living room.
Silence painfully echoes all around me.
I’d kill to travel back in time to enjoy and better appreciate those days.
I finish, wash my hands, and return into the living room to find my glasses. On the coffee table, next to my glasses and my personal cell phone—which was acquisition target number two of my morning search—is a sticky note in Case’s handwriting.
Text me for morning check-in.
Followed by a little heart.
When I reach the kitchen, I discover she’s already preset the coffee and left a sticky note there, too.
You’re welcome.
With a smiley face.
After punching the coffeemaker’s on button a little harder than I intended, I remove my glasses again and set them on the counter as I struggle to hold back my tears.
Far from the first time I’ve awakened to notes from her. She requires proof of life from me at least once a day if we’re not supposed to be together for work or a work-related event. We don’t ride in together every morning simply because she’s usually leaving for work way earlier than I need to. She’s a workaholic, and any guy she eventually settles down with better accept that from date number one.
She was like this in college, too.
Also, she and Ellen were both morning people. I never was. We used to ride in to work together when we were still practicing law, especially if we had an early morning depo or court case. Then I could nap on the way in and not be nearly as grouchy upon my arrival.
Now, she and Declan are usually in the office by seven and hard at work with the morning staff meeting and preparing for my arrival so she can have my daily briefing ready to go and my day’s schedule firmed up.
It’s not an exaggeration when I say I couldn’t do this without Case, without her dedication, without her knowing me as well as she does. She builds buffers into my day whenever possible to allow me the opportunity to try to nap on my office couch in the afternoon, not that I ever sleep deeply in the office.
Or anywhere else.
Now that Aussie isn’t living at home, I’m usually at work until seven or eight at night most nights. Those are early nights. A late night is ten or eleven, and I manage one or two late nights a week.
Casey and Declan are usually there with me that whole time, too. I felt guilty about that until she assured me they want to be there, and they’re both dedicated to supporting me in my role as governor.
I finally wash my face in the kitchen sink, pat it dry with a dish towel, and seat my glasses on my face. After I fix myself a mug of coffee, I lean against the counter and scan through my email on my phone. This is personal email. I’m always careful never to do official business on this phone.
Then I text Case. If I don’t, she’ll get pissed. She doesn’t care if it’s 2 a.m. or 10—she wants to know as soon as I’m vertical again after having to medicate me.
I’m awake. Heading to shower. Thank you.
Before I even make it to the stairs, I have a reply.
Alone today, or working brunch?
I pause at the bottom of the stairs and consider her question. I don’t need clarification, because this has become a kind of short-hand for us.
I wait until I’m upstairs in my bedroom to reply.
Working brunch, please.
She replies almost immediately with a thumbs-up emoji.
That means the clock is now ticking.
I’ve already shaved and I’m in the shower when I realize that, when I opened the fridge to get the creamer for my coffee, there were groceries in there I did not buy and which were not in my fridge yesterday.
Breakfast fixings.
I chuckle to myself, knowing she must have purchased them last night while on her way back from her date to check on me.
Thank god she knows me so fucking well.
* * * *
At some point today I will fit in a workout. Later, though, when I can use it to drive myself to exhaustion.
Combined with the judicious application of alcohol, it’ll help me manage a couple of hours of sleep without needing another Xanax.
Then the usual weekly cycle will begin again.
No, I’m not an alcoholic.
Yes, I realize alcoholics deny they’re alcoholics. Except I know I’m not an alcoholic. I don’t drink every night, or even most nights. I specifically limit myself so I don’t develop a problem. But the nice side effect of the alcohol is I can put on a funny movie or TV show and stretch out on the couch and my mind will float away from painful subjects for a couple of hours before I drift to sleep without the screaming ringing in my ears.
That’ll return later, once the booze wears off.
Then I’ll head to bed and lie there staring at the ceiling and wondering why I didn’t stay strapped in my seat and let myself drown with Ellen’s body.
Why I sentenced myself to a lifetime of this hell.
I tried sleeping pills, and that was a nightmare.
Literally.
My usual nightmares are bad enough. I don’t need to add dreams of losing Aussie, Ryder, and Logan to the mix. Which are the nightmares that resulted the three days I tried using sleeping pills.
No, thank you. I’ll take sleep-deprivation psychosis over that any day of the week, and three times on Sunday.
For now, I finish my shower and pull on a T-shirt and sweatpants. When I head downstairs, I hear someone moving around in the kitchen. I find Case already pulling out pans to get things ready.
I set my phone and coffee mug on the counter before walk up behind her and hug her. She pauses, letting me do it, letting me bury my face in her hair for a moment before I kiss the top of her head.
“Feeling a little better today, hon?” she asks.
“Yeah. Thank you.”
She pats my hands and I release her, because I know she wants to get the cooking started.
“Declan will be here soon,” she tells me. “I told him to let himself in.”
He also has keys and the alarm codes for both our houses, because there have been times he’s had to run out here to get things for us we’ve needed if we got stuck at an event or in the office.
I realize Case’s laptop is already open on the kitchen table, meaning she was probably up and ready to leave when she receiv
ed my earlier text. Today she’s wearing leggings and a long cardigan over a long-sleeved UTK T-shirt, her hair pulled away from her face with a headband, and no makeup.
One of the few times she’ll allow herself out of the house au naturel.
I refill my coffee. “I feel badly we’re pulling him in on a Sunday.”
“He didn’t have plans,” she says where she’s already starting to mix pancake batter. “I warned him yesterday it would probably be a working Sunday.”
“Sorry.”
She glances over her shoulder. “You don’t need to apologize, George. This is the gig.”
“I told you I wanted a day off, and yet I drag you both in for what amounts to a workday.”
She snorts. “Like you honestly thought I’d think you wouldn’t want to work today? How long have we known each other?”
I sit at the table. “Too long.”
“Too long,” she agrees. “I knew you’d want to go over yesterday, now that you can digest it better with just the three of us.”
“Please don’t let me burn him out,” I tell her. “I know he could be making a fuckton more money working at the firm.”
Working as a civil servant doesn’t pay much in this state. And he’s a good attorney.
“He doesn’t mind, seriously. He enjoys what we’re doing. He doesn’t have a high overhead, anyway. Lives in a little apartment over in East Bank, close to the river. Not far from work. Heck, some days he walks to work.”
Now I really feel guilty. Our development is several miles away, southwest of downtown in an upscale area. “He’s coming all that way over here today?”
“He doesn’t mind, George. He’s a workaholic. One of the reasons I tapped him for the job. He didn’t have plans for today. I won’t burn the boy out, I promise.”
Not the first time she’s referred to him as that—the boy—when it’s just the three of us, but…it fits Declan. Not in a derogatory way, either. For starters, he is younger than both of us. Secondly…
It reminds me of how I used to call Ellen my “girl.”
He arrives only five minutes later. Casey must have assumed I’d want them here and had him head out even before she heard from me. He walks in carrying a travel mug of coffee and his laptop. He’s wearing jeans and a plain black T-shirt under a denim jacket, and also looks like he’s been awake for a while.
“Good morning sir. Ma’am.”
“Good morning, boy,” she teases him, and I catch his little smile in reply. That’s why I don’t chastise her for it—because Declan obviously likes the nickname. And she never uses it in the office. She wouldn’t be calling him that if he didn’t like it, and I’m not privy to whatever private conversation happened between them for her to clarify that.
In other words, it’s not my business, but I don’t call him that.
Although, yeah, okay, I think of him like that.
Guilty.
The three of us are a tight team, and working like this today will help me stitch my frayed edges back together in a healthy way. There’s something very calming about the guy’s demeanor. If he’s with me at an event instead of Casey, he always manages to soothe me and keep me focused and on track, as if he’s channeling Casey’s energy.
Despite me telling him he can call me George in private, he always refers to me as sir, or Governor, or Mr. Forrester. Even when we were practicing law together, he had a difficult time not defaulting to sir with me, although back then I did hear him refer to me by first name when talking about me with others.
I also like that Declan’s always respectful and deferential with Case. He was like that with Ellen, too, always calling her ma’am, or Mrs. Forrester, despite Ellen telling him he didn’t have to be so formal. He does rarely call Casey by her first name when it’s just the three of us outside the office, but at work or in front of others—even before I was Governor—it’s always either ma’am or Ms. Blaine.
A lot of younger guys—and too many older ones—don’t understand Casey can chew them up and spit them out without even mussing her hair or smudging her lipstick. I’ve seen her do it, too. Especially cocky little assholes who’ve obviously never had a woman stand up to them before.
It’s even funnier to watch Declan sit back and smirk as he watches them make the mistake, and the epic carnage Casey creates as a result. The kid’s a quick learner.
He’s already going through notes with me from yesterday as Casey works on our breakfast. She enjoys cooking for me, because she never cooks for just herself. I’ve tried to help her cook before, but she shoos me away, so I opt to sit and talk with her. Or, in this case, with Declan.
I put this uninterrupted time with them to good use. I didn’t bring my A-game yesterday and I know it. That makes me feel guilty.
Once we’re all eating, I take a deep breath. “Thank you, again, for yesterday and today. I really appreciate everything both of you are doing for me.”
I’d swear Declan blushes a little. He ducks his head but I spot his pleased smile. “You’re welcome, sir.”
For a moment, I almost let myself pretend there’s a capital S there. That’s when it hits me that when we’re around others at work, the guy is absolutely an Alpha when it comes to him dealing with staff, or lawmakers, or other issues he normally handles as part of his job. He was like that as an attorney, too.
When we’re alone in one of our sessions like this, though, whether at night or on a weekend, it’s like he has a mask he can take off and set aside and has no problem deferring to me and Casey.
In some ways, he reminds me of Ellen. She was only submissive to me. Anyone else would never think she’d willingly drop to her knees for me.
I get that same vibe from Declan in this moment, and part of me savors it. I don’t understand why it took me until now to recognize it.
Well, actually, I do. Before, I had Ellen. After…
Another part of me wants to curl up and die, because it reminds me so much of everything I’ve lost and will likely never again have with anyone.
I catch Casey eyeing me. “You all right?” she asks.
I nod. “Dec, I’m sorry, please give me those East Tennessee poll numbers again.”
“Yes, sir.” He starts reading them, not a hint of impatience in his tone.
I close my eyes and listen and, this time, try to absorb what he’s telling me.
* * * *
“Dad, are you even listening to me?”
I open my eyes. “Yes, sweetheart, I’m listening.”
I was, sort of. I was listening more to the sound of Aussie’s voice than her actual words. She sounds so much like Ellen it nearly breaks my heart.
“Then what’d I just say?”
“Blah blah, blah blah-blah, blah.”
I smile as she gives me an irritated snort that sounds just like Ellen’s. “Dad. Seriously?”
“You were pro-conning me about your sorority’s fundraiser, honey. Yes, I was listening.”
“You didn’t sound like it.”
“I was letting you talk.” That much is the truth.
It’s early Sunday evening now, and I’m alone and only on my first drink, a vodka and Coke. After Case and Dec left, I talked to Ryder and Logan on the phone when they each called me to check in. Then I spent two hours working out, exhausting myself with machine reps for my arms and chest, followed by running ten miles on the treadmill. I jerked off in the shower, downed the leftover pancakes from this morning for dinner, and now I’m sitting here, naked on a towel on my couch, and watching a Sharknado marathon.
And talking with my daughter on the phone.
“Is it worth pairing up with an existing charity bingo group and giving them a cut for running it, or should we do the mix of direct-email fundraising, combined with activities like car washes?”
They’re involved in a competition with four other sororities, to see who can fundraise the most for their chosen charities. Aussie’s sorority’s beneficiary is a children’s hospital in Nashville.
“Have any of you talked to the hospital’s CFO, or whoever is in charge of their usual fundraising? They can probably give you some insight from their past fundraising activities. campaign ROI, all of that. They might even be able to give you access to their mailing list, instead of trying to rely just on your sorority’s alumni mailing list.”
She gasps. “Oh, shi-oot. Dad, that’s brilliant!”
“I have my moments.” I take a sip of my drink. “Not bad for an old fart of fifty-five or sixty, huh?”
It gets the hoped-for laugh from her. “Want me to stock up on the adult diapers for you now, or give them to you for Christmas?”
She’s one of the few people who can make me smile now. “How about for Father’s Day?”
“Deal. Although I think Ryder was going to give them to you then. I’ll have to coordinate with him.”
By the time I get off the phone with her twenty minutes later, Sharknado is no longer holding my interest. I down the rest of my drink and pull up the channel guide, stopping when I see Grey’s Anatomy.
There we go.
I change the channel to that and get up to make myself another drink. With this one, I’ll triple the booze when I mix it.
Because I know I’m going to need it.
Chapter Ten
Then
Now that Ellen’s memorial is two weeks past us, life unsettlingly settles into a slower rhythm that jars me with how…mundane it feels. It’s such a sudden shift it nearly gives me emotional whiplash.
With Logan and Ryder both away attending college in Knoxville, Chase and Tyson resuming their normal lives, and my schedule transforming into what passes for its daily rhythms in this grim new world, it’s painfully quiet in our house now. I guess I never realized how much spirit Ellen breathed into our home, or how much she was there for our kids. Or me.
I realize only now how much I took her for granted in many ways, even though that was never my intention.
Dirge (Devastation Trilogy 1) Page 8