Misery and Ecstasy (RBMC: Gettysburg, PA #2)
Chapter One
CHAPTER ONE
DRAVEN
I never got to say goodbye to my father.
The motherfucker who took him from us shot him point-blank on the side of the road, killing him instantly. It was senseless and cold-blooded. Whoever pulled the trigger didn’t take anything from him either. Not his wallet. Not the cash box behind the counter of his produce stand. It didn’t even appear as though anything had been rifled through.
Detectives worked for months to find a lead but came up with nothing. The case went cold with very little chance of it being reopened again.
I thought losing him suddenly was the greatest pain I would ever feel. However, watching my mother slowly wither away from Alzheimer’s these past three years has etched a pain in my soul I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
Her doctor put her on some medication when her early-onset symptoms started a few years ago, hoping to try to slow its progression, but the horrible disease advanced at an alarming rate. Too quickly and too powerful to yield to any form of medical intervention.
Not only am I losing her , I also had to sell my family’s farm in order to get her into the memory care facility she’s in now.
I had no choice but to let go of the home I grew up in.
The land I looked forward to taking care of and hoped to keep in the family for years to come was now owned by someone else. A development company that doesn’t know the history of the acreage like I do. One who has every intention of razing the farm in order to build houses. The sizable sum of money I got for the sale of the land does nothing to quell the ache that lives deep inside of me as a result of that loss.
I can’t drive down that stretch of road any longer. It hurts too much, and the pain cuts deep with a poison-coated blade. Instead of remembering the good memories we made there, now it only reminds me of the family I’ve lost. My mother may still be here physically, but she’s been gone in every other sense of the word for the past two years.
It makes me even more grateful for the family I’ve found in the Bastards. We’re a dysfunctional bunch to be sure, but our relationships are no more flawed than the strained one I maintain with my actual brother.
My mother’s nursing staff have become like a third family to me. They’ve taken really good care of Mom—better than I could have. They used to try to assure me she was improving more than she actually was. But they couldn’t hide the sorrow shadowing their expressions or the way their smiles never seemed to reach their eyes as they recited words of encouragement to me. However, over the past few weeks, Mom has deteriorated rapidly, and there was no more pretending the end isn’t near.
Especially once she stopped eating. Valerie, Mom’s nurse, explained that it happens during the early stage of dying. I’ve been camped out in her room ever since, only leaving to shower in the facility’s staff locker room. I’m paying the president of the board a substantial amount of money to do so, considering it’s not allowed. But I refuse to leave the building out of fear that Mom will part from this earth while I’m gone.
“Draven,” Valerie breaks my attention from the trees blowing in the breeze outside the window. “Pastor Dennis is here.”
As I stand, my eyes land on the elderly man entering the room behind Valerie. “Thanks, Val. Pastor, I appreciate you coming on such short notice.”
The man I’ve known all my life offers me his hand before he speaks. “Death waits for no one.” His words make me want to punch a hole in the wall. “I’ve known your mother since before you were born, Mac. It’s my honor to be the one to deliver her last rites.”
He looks at me the way he always does—like he wants to save me from my chosen life of sin. I’m certain he and my mother have logged thousands of hours discussing how I ended up as a Royal Bastard, where she and my father went wrong during my childhood to lead me astray, and praying for my salvation.
“She’s become less and less responsive in the past two days, so I don’t know that she’ll be communicative in any way, but the nurses said she’ll still be able to hear you.”
Pastor Dennis approaches her bedside and places one hand over my mother’s. His other is clutched tightly around his bible.
“I’ll give you some privacy.” I walk to the door, but his voice stops me before I step out of the room.
“You’re welcome to stay, Mac. I know she would appreciate you being here.”
Yeah, the whole guilt thing doesn’t work on me.
“There are some other preparations I need to take care of.” Nodding, I turn away from him before catching the judgment I know is in his stare. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I scroll through my contacts then fixate on the name of the person I dread calling most in this world. But I have to do it. I know I’d feel terrible if I didn’t, regardless of his glaring absence these past few years.
With a deep, resigned breath, I tap on his name and press the phone to my ear. It rings three times before, unsurprisingly, going to voicemail. At the sound of the beep, I leave a clipped message for my brother.
“Mitchell, it’s me. Again. Just wanted to let you know that Mom likely won’t make it through the week. If you’re able to pull your large, obnoxious head out of your ass, you may be able to visit her one last time before she goes.”
Ending the call, I place another one before letting my anger get the best of me and chucking my phone against the wall. Royce answers immediately.
“Hey,” His voice is groggy, like he just woke up, but it’s eleven o’clock in the morning. He never sleeps this late. Delilah’s voice rings in the background followed by a series of muffled voices and sounds.
Ugh.
I close my eyes and inhale through my annoyance . I’m certain they just fucked. Royce and Delilah have made it a habit to disappear randomly over the past three years. I’m happy for them, but I don’t need to be reminded of their love or their bond right now.
Continuing my path through the hallway, I wait impatiently for Royce to finish whatever the fuck it is he’s doing. I should just hang up. If you’re not available to talk, don’t answer the phone. Though he likely answered it as quickly as he did because he saw my name on his screen. He didn’t want to miss my call because he knows it’s now just a waiting game with Mom.
Royce has been nothing but understanding of my situation these past few months. I’ve missed countless days of work, numerous club events and meetings, and he’s granted me endless patience through it all. He deserves a little of my own in return.
“Sorry about that,” Royce speaks into the phone a minute later, and I hear the sound of a door closing on his end of the line. “Delilah needed help with something, but I’m headed back to the showroom now.”
“Dude, I don’t care.” Fuck . So much for patience. Halting my steps, I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose, taking a deep, calming breath. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just wanted to give you an update.”
“Yeah, of course. How is everything?”
“Her pastor just got here. She only has two days left—three at most. I need to get over to the funeral home to finalize plans.”
The eyes of several of the nurses catch mine as I continue my path down the hallway. Some of them are impartial. Others are full of pity. One of them looks at me like she wants to take me home and heal my hurt.
As if sex could ever.
“Well, I’ll meet you there, then.”
“Nah, you don’t have to do that.” I don’t want to accept his offer. I’d prefer to wallow in my grief alone.
“I know I don’t have to, dipshit.” His comment tugs at my lips. It’s the closest I’ve come to cracking a smile in months. “I want to. I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Fine.” Drawing the phone from my ear, I end the call and push through the front doors of the building, out into the parking lot.
Mounting my bike, my engine roars to life before I take off onto the main road. As I ride down the streets of Gettysburg, I can’t help but wonder if I brought the devastating loss of my parents on myself.
If my heartless, unprovoked actions toward Lillian when I was sixteen put my father in the path of his cold-blooded killer. If my idiocy was the true cause of my mother’s suffering.
Like some sort of karmic retribution.
As soon as the thought offers itself to me, I cast it from my mind. I don’t need her thrown at me, reminding me where my downfall as a human being began. Not right now. The reality of my mother’s impending death is hard enough to endure without rehashing the greatest mistake of my life too.
She can regain control of my eternal suffering once Mom has finally joined Dad on the other side.