Chapter 8
Ashia
The knives clatter as I drop them into the box, and I have to blink every time they glint off the overhead lights.
We’ve already cleared the garage and that side room of all of the weapons, and those numbers were certainly eye-opening.
It didn’t look like that much while it was up on the wall, but having to make sure all of them were packed up was hell.
Now we’ve moved to the main floor, and we’re following the list the doctor gave us.
Knives, scissors, medications—even the over-the-counter ones—and cleaning supplies all need to be put away.
I knew drinking bleach was dangerous, but it’s crazy to think that someone would actually drink it purposely to end their life.
There are a million ways one can kill themselves, some by accident and some intentional, but I never realized all of the dangers just laying around before today.
I put the lid on the box and pull the list back up to keep going.
The letters all start to merge together, and I can feel the weight of the situation barreling down upon me.
We were going to start childproofing the house soon anyway, but not like this.
All of this preparation is supposed to be for the baby, not my suicidal brother, and the thoughts of that alone create an emptiness in my chest.
There really was a chance that he wouldn’t be alive right now.
If I hadn’t gotten there when I did, my brother never would’ve met my baby.
We never would’ve had the chance to move past all of this awkwardness, and on top of that, Damien would have lost another best friend.
Our lives, and so many others, would’ve forever had a missing piece.
Zeke doesn’t know what he means to us all, and that’s partially my fault.
Tears well up in my eyes, and I can’t help but get angry—mad at myself, the situation, the world, and how unfair it all is.
Taylor didn’t deserve to die, and Zeke certainly doesn’t deserve this pain.
I may not have known Tay for very long, but I could see how much Zeke loved her, and what a caring person she was.
The blanket she knitted for our baby is upstairs in what we’re turning into the nursery, and that thought just makes it all hurt even more.
She did that for us, people she really didn’t know all that well, and that was likely only a small testament to how caring she truly was.
The paper in my hand crinkles loudly as I ball up this infuriating list, and just as I go to tear it apart, Damien’s hands snake around my waist. One of his large palms flattens against my chest, and the other wraps around my stomach as he pulls me close.
His touch calms me instantly, and as much as I hate it, I know that I can’t rip this list to shreds.
I have to toughen up and get through it to make this place safe enough for Zeke.
His face finds my neck, and he peppers soft kisses along my skin. The tip of his nose just barely traces my jawline, and his warm breath fans over me with a comforting caress.
“Take a break if you need too, Ashia,” he says softly, but I just shake my head. I can’t allow his embrace to distract me like it normally does. We just don’t have the time.
“I’m fine. We need to get this done so we can pick him up tonight.
” I take a deep breath and uncrumple the page, but I can feel more agitation bubble under my skin as I stare at the now-creased paper.
It’s my own damn fault, and I know that logically it’s not a big deal, but the indentations make some of the small words difficult to read at first glance now—which means it’ll only slow us down more.
My eyes trail the list until I find the spot I was at, and the aggravation grows tenfold.
“Pencil sharpeners? Do we even have one of those? What the fuck is he going to do with that?! Sharpen his fingers into points and stab himself?!” I chuck the paper across the island counter.
Damien’s grip on me tightens just a little, and I don’t miss the opportunity to lean back against him.
“It has a blade inside the plastic, baby. That’s all,” he points out timidly, and I sigh aggressively.
I know there’s a point to everything on that piece of paper, but it just feels unreal.
It feels like we’re just creating a prison made especially for Zeke.
You can and can’t have this, and you have to stick to this schedule, or do this or they’ll place you on a seventy-two hour hold. I feel like a fucking jail warden.
“I hate this,” I choke out, and I can’t help but cringe at the squeakiness of my voice.
My bottom lips quivers as the tears threaten to fall, while both of his hands work in unison to provide some comfort.
The one on my stomach rotates in gentle circles, and the thumb on my chest swipes back and forth in the same slow motion.
While this would normally help me fairly quickly, it’s not having the same effect now.
There are layers upon layers of pain from the past few months, and those soft movements would have to glide a million times just to scratch the surface.
“Can I show you something?” he whispers in my ear, and after a moment of hesitation, I nod.
It immediately feels cooler the moment he steps away, and I can’t help but listen as his steps recede towards his office.
Only a few moments pass before I feel him behind me again, and he instantly soothes the chills.
His warmth presses against me, and as his arms circle me once again, I notice the manila folder in his hand.
The letters ‘HWRC’ are written on the tab, and my heart melts as he flips it open.
“This officially begins operations next week, and I wanted to surprise you, but I think now is a good time.”
He starts pulling out the papers one by one, laying them across the countertop for me to see.
The pages include images of a garden, a pool, a gym, an infirmary, and what looks like a recreation room—much like the one at the Attic.
As I skim the words, I see supply lists that include craft materials, snacks, warm drinks, and of course, blankets. Lots of blankets.
Reading that makes me chuckle, and I can feel his sweet grin sprout against my hair as he lays a photo on top. The picture is of the new ‘Henry Woods Revitalization Community’ sign that rests just inside the security gates of the new neighborhood.
“I know it’s hard to be happy about anything right now, but this reminds me that there's always hope. The women we help, and the people we save, all go through horrific tragedies—which is something you know all too well, my love.” He rests his chin on my shoulder, and I don't miss the chance to lean my head against his.
“But they make it through, just like you did. There will be scars and nightmares that we can't heal, but we can help them heal themselves. Just like we can help Zeke. He will get through this, baby. We have the resources, and most importantly, the endearment to guide him. No matter what it takes. Okay? We’re not going to let anything happen to him.”
I nod, a little more confidently this time, and sink into his hold.
“Are you saying he should be patient zero?” I giggle softly, and the warm chuckle he lets out only soothes the sting further.
“No. The only men we’ll have here is security.
I mean we’ll help him, silly girl.” He kisses my cheek and uses one of his hands to pull my hair back and away from my neck.
“Let's take a little break, alright? Let me give you a shower and help you relax. You’re getting too warm again. We have our own little happiness to worry about, too, and as important as this is, my girls are my priority.” His hand gently rubs my belly again, and I don’t miss the inclusion of girls.
A small laugh bubbles up unwillingly, and I can sense his cheeky grin.
He always has a way of making everything better, and I suppose taking some time to clear my head will help.
Apart from what will be Zeke’s room, Carter’s room, and our room, there’s nothing upstairs that can hurt him.
Well, except for the little bit in the bathrooms, but we can knock that out in about twenty minutes.
“Okay. That sounds nice,” I reply a little more confidently, and he plants a tender kiss to the side of my nose before pulling away.
He walks around the island counter to pick up the piece of paper, and dramatically lays it on the granite top, but not in a harsh way—more like in a soft, ‘it’s okay, she didn’t mean it’ way.
Especially after he pats it like he’s going to tell a piece of paper it was a ‘good boy.’ I can’t help but both be annoyed and amused by it.
He chuckles again and smiles so wide that his eyes crinkle in the corners, all while I’m just shaking my head and trying to appear irritated.
It doesn’t quite catch like I want it to, though.
A genuine giggle slips out, and his grin softens into a gentle curve as he reaches out for my hand.
Within a few minutes, the bathroom is filled with thick steam and I'm stepping under the warm water.
I move right into his waiting arms, in what I think is a sweet gesture like always.
Damien dips his head under the waterfall as he runs his fingers through my hair, and just when I think he's going to pull back, his grip tightens.
He holds me in place as he shakes his head wildly, forcing his hair to whip back and forth like a wet dog.
My playful squeal echoes off the shower walls as I try to pull away, but the most I can do is shut my eyes and turn my head.
Of course, water splashing in my face is not going to kill me, but I'll blame it on a reflex.