Chapter Forty-One Tyler
Chapter Forty-One
TYLER
Three months later
BLINK.
Keenly aware of my burgeoning presence since I opted out of occupancy, Tobias scours me as we approach the mammoth oak doors of the villa.
The inhabitance alien after having lived seven consecutive months simply going through the motions.
Beneath my blink out, all too aware that whatever fate Larissa decided for our unborn child was out of my hands.
That if she kept what piece of me remains on this earth—and Tobias assures me she did—I’m not here to meet a baby who isn’t ready for this world.
It’s too soon.
It’s the if that keeps me indecisive as I hover between reality and my next welcoming blink out.
I admit, I’m too much of a fucking coward to face whatever truth awaits me.
Already traveling the damned road I paved, with no conceivable path to redemption to rectify the wrongs I’ve done as a man, soldier, Marine, and assassin. All of which deceived her.
Father or not, I lost all shots at redemption when I eradicated the chance Larissa paid dearly for me to have.
Tobias openly scrutinizes me as I come further into myself, his posture shifting as he recognizes the change he’s searched for since I abandoned what was left of me on my knees in that dirt.
Just as he goes to speak, the door swings open and Tula’s most trusted captain, Tommaso, wordlessly motions us through a labyrinth of halls preceding a great room, where we find the donna waiting.
Guards surrounding her, her dark eyes scathe us both before she greets Tobias with her wrath.
“I should put a bullet in your head for being a fucking pest.”
“You gave me no choice,” he clips, just enough to conceal some of his contempt. All his Herculean efforts to get us here refused until she summoned us.
Hope threatens to spark at that knowledge as she ushers us to follow without any more posturing, as I prepare myself for anything.
Rattling in my foreign skin after numbing months of separation, I become more attuned to the sound of my footfalls and the chime of a church bell in the distance.
Even while blacked out, I’ve felt T’s vigil watch, as well as my birds’, as they waited for an implosion that never came due to the blissful detachment.
When Delphine died, I had no choice but to hold tight to my humanity for Zach’s sake.
Without Zach’s need for my presence, I’ve been coasting aimlessly on the dull void as seconds ticked into days, weeks, and now months in hope for any word—or this invitation.
Dreading the invite would come with a verdict, punishment, or most likely both.
In the wake of the destruction I left, all directions and roads feel dead-ended.
All ifs refuted because fate once again delivered. This time, with my fucking help.
As Tula ushers us down a long hall, I don’t bother looking around, knowing this place and its inhabitants will never welcome or warm to me. As that notion strikes, Tula stops abruptly, her dismissal not for me, but for Tobias. “This is as far as you go.”
“Tula,” he protests weakly, honoring his promise to keep a level head. An assurance I didn’t ask for that Tobias gave me on the plane. As they face off now, I steel myself for whatever’s coming. If this access is for me only … maybe there isn’t an ending here.
Hope dares spark as I skim the possibilities. If she kept it, is she in labor now? Was I summoned here to wait for the birth? That spark flares as Tula glares at my idling brother as she speaks. “I called you here in undeserved invitation, so do yourself a favor, King, and don’t shit on it.”
Without giving him a chance to reply, Tula resumes her walk, and I hold up a placating palm to Tobias before quickly falling in stride.
As I follow the echo of her footfalls, I finally allow myself to soak in some of the villa.
Pastel paint, expensive paintings, and furnishings enrich the centuries-old, nearly impenetrable fortress.
I know this from memorizing what blueprints I could uncover seven months ago.
It’s that truth that further ramps up my anxiety.
Too soon.
Following closely on her heels, I cling to the idea that Larissa’s still carrying, and on the verge of birth.
Too terrified to ask, I mute every budding question, grateful for whatever crumbs I get while waiting for Tula’s guidance.
The rattle continually builds as I fully emerge on this side of my blink.
Each condemning step becoming harder to manage than the last.
Swallowing the lump forming in my throat, I damn near stop breathing when she ushers me into a fully decorated nursery.
The dam that’s been building in my chest since the agonizing wait began threatens to rupture as I whip my head toward Tula.
My pulse thrashing, she ignores my inquiry and orders me to sit in a rocking chair.
On the brink of collapse, I fumble toward it, taking the demanded seat, shaking in anticipation as sweat breaks out along my brow.
It’s too soon. Too soon.
Fear breaks through, speaking for me as my eyes plead with the donna.
“Tula, p-please,” I stutter out weakly just as Tula disappears from the doorway.
The minutes that follow mimic the worst of my life.
Feeling every bit like the agonizing seconds it took to exit Russell’s car before lifting my wife from her deathbed.
Only to be outdone by the wait as I carried her to our wildflowers, too terrified to look down to see if I was too late.
Life or death. This wait feels the very same, knowing that my life will irrevocably change by whatever fate has already decided for me beyond the currently ticking clock. In knowing that truth to my core—in having lived it—I pray to my late wife’s God for the second time in my life.
“P-please, please, G-God, if you’re there, p-please.”
What feels like a lifetime later, a nurse appears at the door, the sight of the bundle in her arms my sole reason for surviving these last agonizing months.
Instantly, I’m on my feet, a muddled noise leaving my throat while my mangled, stuttering heart pounds.
The meaning of what remains of my life cradled in the arms of the stranger standing feet away.
“Sit down, Tyler,” Tula relays calmly, reappearing in the doorway, her tone lightly reflective of an empathetic parent. Unable to stifle my reaction or the shake in my heart and hands, my vision blurs as a relieved mewl leaves me at the sight of my baby.
My baby.
Not once did I believe this invitation would come, or that the baby being slowly carried toward me would ever know it was mine.
Just after taking my seat, the sum of all life that remains within me is placed in my arms. At the weight of it, a mix of bliss and utter torment encompasses me as I memorize every inch of the sleeping infant.
It’s the blue beanie firmly tugged down over his ears that lets me know I have a son.
A son.
Upon first glance, he’s perfect, healthy, and whole.
The most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.
My breath stutters with a shallow inhale, as if my lungs can’t trust the air here, while I grapple with believing the sight before me.
Within my next blink, I’m safely within the space of a silver-gray return stare.
Reassuring words uttered from a different time lost on me under the cry of relief that fills my ears—my own.
Vision blurred from the excruciating months I lingered just outside reality, I will it clear just enough to sink into this moment, clutching my son to me.
The emotions I’ve been curbing crashing into me in an unforgiving tidal wave as silent sobs of reprieve rack my body.
Relief covering me in a soothing blanket at the sight beyond the blink out.
A living, breathing balm in the wake of the relentless if.
Within a few of those forced breaths, with the first thorough sweep of my son, I glimpse my first real possibility of feeling whole again beyond the snow flurries that told me otherwise.
Beyond the finality of that drift and the moment it held.
A fullness I haven’t experienced in seven long years.
Within the same seconds, happiness and terror start to war for dominance.
Grappling to keep the fleeting feeling of wholeness, I calm myself enough to speak.
Allowing my gratitude, even if it is short-lived.
“Thank you, Tula,” I croak, unable to rip my gaze away from the baby in my arms.
“No father should be deprived of holding their child.”
“H-he’s—o-o-kay?” I manage as tears blur my vision.
“Absolutely fine, considering what he went through to get here.”
A pained grunt leaves me at that truth. That I was the biggest obstacle he had to overcome to exist.
In knowing that, feeling that to my core, I scan him thoroughly. A tuft of dark hair peeks out of his tiny cap as his lowered lashes cover half the span of his round cheeks. His mild olive skin shaded deep pink.
Soaking in his every feature, I fully absorb one of the most bittersweet moments of my life as an abundance of love I’ve never felt floods me—right along with the fear of the loss of such a love.
“Hi,” I whisper as he continues to sleep soundly.
“I … I—” failed you, wanted you more than anything on earth, and ruined everything.
Forgive me. “—love you. I’ve done nothing but think about you.
” Salt burns my face as I whisper my darkest confession.
“You and your mother saved me … you’re the only reason I’m alive. ”
“Fai spazio, papà.” Make room, Daddy.