Chapter 21
Chapter
Twenty-One
A GALAXY OF HIS OWN
Ella
“I daydreamed of his love.” – E
I quietly walk through the dim kitchen, my cold, sock-covered feet on the tile. I can’t sleep; my time with Shaw earlier still swirls in my mind while butterflies make a home in my stomach and won’t let me rest. I thought a glass of milk might soothe my restless thoughts and help me find sleep.
Every word he whispered so gently and his kiss linger in my thoughts whenever I close my eyes. I can still taste it, and it still feels like a dream. Then the image of him choking the man who disrespected me flashes through my mind, reminding me of the lengths he will go to keep me safe. His eyes—I have never seen them so dark and distant—are completely elsewhere as he prevents the rude man from breathing.
After taking a long gulp of milk, I lean back against the kitchen island, my mind filled with more images of Shaw tonight. Our lovely time together at the space cowboy-themed diner is more than I ever imagined. It is the simple things that bring me joy, and him keeping in mind my love for astronomy when picking a place to spend time together shows me how much he cares.
It is all so perfect that not even the jerk who slapped my ass could ruin it.
As I finish my glass of milk, a faint noise catches my attention—a soft, pained whimper, barely audible over the distant hum of the refrigerator. Frowning, I set the empty glass down and listen intently, trying to locate the source.
A shout echoes, “No.”
My heart pounds hard, and a sinking feeling settles in my stomach as the sound grows clearer and louder from upstairs. Without thinking twice, I exit the kitchen and bolt up the stairs two at a time, my heart in my throat, looking like a madwoman.
Could it be him? There’s no one else here but us.
I’m coming, beautiful man.
The pained noise leads me to the end of the hallway, where Shaw’s bedroom door stands slightly ajar. I hesitate for a moment, unsure if I should enter his personal space. But the distress in the whimper tugs at my heartstrings, compelling me to push the door open gently.
Oh, no…
Crack.
I feel something inside my chest shatter—my heart.
What I see as soon as I step inside his room stops my heart and takes my breath away, and not in a good way.
My big, strong, and fearless bodyguard is sprawled in his black sheets, wearing nothing but a pair of gray boxers, his handsome face twisted in pain. His blond brow furrows, and his lips move as if he is trying to speak through the torment of whatever is haunting him in his sleep. He looks so broken, so unlike the strong, fearless man I have always known.
He looks like a lost little boy—a little boy in pain.
Instinctively, I cross the room and kneel beside his bed, reaching out to touch his shoulder lightly. “Shaw,” I murmur softly, not wanting to startle him but desperate to wake him from whatever haunted dream holds him captive—from whatever is causing him so much pain and sadness.
I try again, but he doesn’t wake up. Gently, I touch his bearded cheek and plead, “Please wake up,” my heart breaking more with each passing second.
At the sound of my voice, Shaw’s eyelids flutter and he gasps, like someone surfacing after drowning in deep and cold waters. His beautiful brown eyes, still heavy with sleep and agony, slowly open and try to focus on my face. For a moment, he seems disoriented, caught between the nightmare and this moment.
“Shhh… It’s okay,” I whisper, my voice barely more than a breath. “You’re safe now. It was just a dream. Nothing can hurt you here.” I soothe him.
He blinks again, and the tension in his face eases slightly. Recognition dawns in his eyes as he registers who is in the room with him. “Moonshine. You’re here,” he mumbles, confused, his voice still rough with sleep.
I nod gently, offering a reassuring smile. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere,” I vow.
He lets out a shaky breath and rubs his hand over his face. “What happened?” he murmurs, his voice heavy with emotion.
My heart aches for him.
“You were having a nightmare,” I said softly, my hand still resting on his shoulder. “I heard you from all the way downstairs.”
He swallows hard, visibly trying to compose himself. “Fuck. They won’t leave me alone,” he confesses quietly, his gaze dropping to the tangled sheets. “She won’t stay in the past.”
She.
My heart squeezes tightly in my chest.
“Sometimes the past finds a way back,” I say gently, my voice tinged with empathy.
I met his eyes again. “Go to bed, princess. I’m okay now,” he whispers.
No. He’s not okay. Not at all.
It’s no wonder he doesn’t smile like he used to. The nightmares and the ghost that haunts him won’t let him.
I squeeze his shoulder lightly, offering support. “I’m not going anywhere. Not until you stop shaking, at least.”
His whiskey-colored eyes stay on me as we sit in the quiet of the room, the remnants of his nightmare fading with each steadying breath he takes.
I sit quietly by his bedside and wait patiently.
A long moment of silence passes as I look at him with concern. When I finally speak, my voice is soft but steady, breaking the silence that hangs between us. “W–what is it? What keeps you up at night?” I ask gently, my eyes searching his troubled face.
Shaw hesitates, his gaze flickering away briefly before meeting mine. “It’s nothing,” he assures, his voice strained.
I shake my head slightly, a sad smile tugging at my lips. “It’s not nothing. It was a nightmare, and you looked like you were in pain. You know, sometimes nightmares lose their power over you when you share them with someone else,” I offer softly. “Let me carry it for you, beautiful man.”
“Don’t,” he says, closing his eyes in pain.
Feeling bold, I trace the freckles on his nose and the ones on his right cheek. “Shaw…”
He opens his eyes, looks up at me with pain etched in his features, and reaches out hesitant to touch my cheek lovingly. “I don’t want the ugliness in my head touching you,” he confesses, his voice heavy with sadness.
My smile softens into a sad expression. “Please let me in,” I plead quietly, my own hand covering his where it rests against my face.
He stays silent, as if wrestling with himself, before he sighs heavily.
With a deep breath, he begins to speak, his voice raw with emotion. “I dream of the morning my mother died,” he confesses roughly. “She died here, in this very ranch.”
No.
The tightness in my chest grows painfully.
I listen intently, my heart aching for the pain he carries within him. I don’t interrupt, allowing him the space to share his burden at his own pace.
“She struggles with depression long before I am born, and that morning her illness wins,” he continues, his voice distant as he recounts the awful memory. “I am the one who finds her. I remember feeling so angry, and so fucking helpless as I find her lifeless body inside the tub.” His voice cracks slightly, and he pauses to collect himself.
“My Ma was different and she had a fucking hard time— a really fucking hard time,” he finally whisper, his eyes filling with unshed tears. “She was deaf and she wouldn’t speak because she was made fun of for the sound of her voice. This world is cruel to the ones who aren’t born perfect. She was ridiculed and abused for being different. But she was… she was perfect just the way she was. She held on for as long as she could until she let the ones who hurt her win.” He breathes out, his body shaking with force. “I relive that moment in my dreams, over and over again. It haunts me and I can’t seem to break its hold on me. I’m not sure I want to.”
His poor mother. I couldn’t fathom the agony his mother must have endured daily to reach the sad point where she felt she had no choice but to end her life and leave her son behind.
My thoughts immediately turn to my beautiful Low, and my heart pounds painfully. Does she hurt the same way Shaw’s mother did? The fear of losing my kind and gentle ray of sunshine to this cruel society grips me tightly.
Shaw witnessed every child’s worst nightmare.
Feeling my heart break for him, I reach out, my hand gently squeezing his. “I’m so sorry,” I murmur softly. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Shaw.” My voice breaks at the end.
He nods slightly. “I’ve tried to bury it like I buried her, to move on,” he admits quietly. “But it always finds its way back. I can’t escape it and what’s worse is that I’m always late. I can’t save her.”
“You don’t have to face it alone anymore,” I reassured him gently. “I’m here now.”
He looks at me as if he doesn’t believe me, his brown eyes reflecting pain. God, I’ve never seen him this way. Not my fearless and brave bodyguard. I never want to see him in this much pain again. “But for how long?” he whispers hoarsely, his voice thick with emotion.
I lean closer, my nose touching his. “For as long as you have me,” I whisper fiercely, meaning it with all my heart. If only this man, this beautiful man, would ask me to stay, I would without hesitation. I know how I feel. I just need him to see it too.
Shaw stares at me in silence, his eyes sad, angry, and lost.
“You don’t have to carry this burden by yourself,” I repeat softly. “Let me be here for you.”
He just looks at me without saying anything.
We sit in silence in his room for a long moment, the weight of his confession hanging between us. I keep my face close to his, sharing with my eyes all the secrets my heart holds.
Then he surprises me by closing his eyes and resting his forehead against mine. I hold his hand gently, letting him know he is not alone.
As I hold his strong hand in mine, he faces the ghosts of his past, sharing one whispered confession at a time as the hours pass and the night slowly gives way to dawn.
Shaw opens his heart to me, revealing a tortured past that could turn even the sweetest and warmest hearts to stone.
As my muddy boots crunch on the gravel drive, I take in Sunshine Stables, the ranch that has been my childhood haven and home. The small bag slung over my shoulder feels heavy with the weight of the life I left behind in D.C. just days ago. I never imagined leaving a job I love and a city I grew to think of as home before the dream was ripped from me and reality sank back in.
Ma.
I’ve been calling her for three days straight and haven’t heard anything back. She gets like this sometimes when she hides away; her anxiety and depression often keep her secluded, but it has never lasted more than a day.
That’s why I’m left with no choice but to come back.
As I stand in front of the ranch, my heart races with worry for Ma.
“Ma?” My voice echoes in the crisp Canyon Creek air, but there is no reply. Dread knots in my stomach as I hurry towards the ranch house entrance.
The place is eerily quiet. Usually, Ma leaves the radio playing in the background, but not today. “Ma!” I call out again, louder this time. With each passing second, my concern grows. I move swiftly through the familiar rooms, searching for any sign of her.
But she is nowhere to be found.
Finally, I reach the last room—her room. The wooden door, usually left slightly ajar, is closed.
She never closes her door. Never.
The feeling of dread intensifies. My hand trembles slightly as I push the door open, and my heart lurches at the sight that greets me.
No.
Fuck, no.
Please, God. Let this be a nightmare that I’ll soon wake up from.
My Ma.
Not her.
There she is, my sweet and too-good-for-this-world Ma, lying peacefully in the tub, the water still and cold around her. For a moment, time seems to stop as I struggle to breathe, taking in the scene before me. With a choked sob, I rush forward, kneeling beside her, reaching out to touch her small and frail hand, hoping for a response.
But there is none. My Ma is gone, leaving me alone with wrenching grief in my heart.
“No, Ma, no!” I shout, my voice cracking with anguish. My eyes widen in horror as I notice the water around her turning red, staining her skin and the porcelain tub. The horrific sight is evidence of the tragedy that has unfolded while I was away from her. The blood seeping out of her veins is proof of her pain and her lost battle with depression.
“Fuck, Ma,” I hiss as I lean in to kiss the side of her head. Her blonde hair, the same shade as mine, is matted to her face. Dark circles under her eyes and thin lines around her mouth reveal her anguish.
She was in pain… fuck.
Unimaginable grief overwhelms me, crushing me with its weight. I clutch her lifeless hand tightly, unable to understand what had happened to make her reach this point. Last time we spoke she was laughing and cracking jokes. She asked me about my job at the White House and seemed genuinely happy.
Why, Ma?
Tears stream down my cheeks, my body racked with sobs of despair. I cry unashamedly for the loss of my mother, my only friend and ally.
In that moment, as I hold my Ma’s cold hand in mine, the world blurs around me. I lean closer to her, whispering brokenly, “I’m so sorry, Ma. I should have been here. I shouldn’t have left. Fuck, forgive me, Ma.”
The anguish in my voice echoes through the empty bathroom.
Time stretches into eternity as I kneel there, the weight of sorrow pressing down on me, my mind reeling with the cruel reality that she is gone. I come home to make sure my mother is okay and instead find myself facing a grief I never thought possible.
Now I’m stuck in a nightmare I don’t think I’ll ever wake up from.
As I sit beside her, cradling her cold hand in mine, my eyes fall upon the items lying beside her in the tub. Her favorite book, worn from countless readings with a broken spine, lies open on the floor, pages slightly damp. Next to it gleams her wedding band, a symbol of a love that didn’t last long. Beside the ring, there is a photograph of me as a child, my Ma beaming proudly beside me.
Trembling, I pick up the photograph. Turning it over, I see my Ma’s handwriting—precise yet shaky—that cuts through my grief like a knife.
I’m sorry, my sun.
My breath catches as I read her words over and over. The weight of her apology and the pain in her writing overwhelm me. I know then that she must have left me this message, knowing I would find it.
With shaking hands, I fold the photograph gently, holding it close to my heart.
“I wasn’t enough. My love wasn’t enough to make you stay,” I croak out, my chest aching in agony.
A long moment passes as I let the pain and anger take root in my heart, filling me with misery. Then I let go of my Ma’s hand and forced myself to stand up.
Then as I stand in the bathroom, my mother’s lifeless form behind me, I reach into my back pocket and pull out my phone. With shaky fingers, I dial the emergency number and report my mother’s suicide in a voice that crack with sorrow.
“I found my mother,” I say, my tone hollow and numb. “She’s... she’s dead.”
The words hang heavy in the air, final and heartbreaking. My gaze shifts to the mirror, meeting my own eyes—eyes that were once bright with hope, now clouded with anger, hopelessness, and grief.
The reflection of the man staring back at me feels like a stranger in my own skin.
My heart, once full of love and purpose, now feels like a desolate wasteland, consumed by the emptiness left in my mother’s absence.
I clench my jaw, fists tightening at my sides, as the realization settles in. I know, deep down, that I will never be the same again. The loss of my Ma changes me irreversibly, stripping away the happiness that once defined me. The boy Ma raised is now gone. He leaves with her.
Turning away from the mirror, I face the stark reality of my new existence—a life without her warmth, her guidance, her love. With each breath, the pain gnaws at me, a constant reminder of what I have lost.
My guardian. The only woman who ever loved me for me.
I close my eyes briefly, willing myself to find a fragment of strength amidst the overwhelming pain and despair. But all I feel is the cold grip of sorrow and death, wrapping around me like a suffocating embrace.
At that moment, as I stand in the quiet of the bathroom where my mother chose to end her suffering, I make a silent vow to never let anyone get close again. I vow to never let love in.
Love feels beautiful while it lasts, but it always fades away.
It always comes to an end.
I’ve never known one that stays.