Chapter 48
It’s the second year in a row I don’t get to be with my twin on her birthday. Irish twin, but still, this day is important to me too. Reid whisked her away to god knows where. He’s taken to spoiling her rotten and though she protests, she secretly loves it.
Harper was sick, so Greyson insisted we ignore his birthday. He’s crazy intimidating, so no one dared argue with him. Connor left a six-pack on his doorstep, knocked and ran like his ass was on fire. I laughed so hard that my big tough husband’s afraid of growly Greyson.
Connor’s been gone a lot. I’d be concerned if I had a speck of doubt about his loyalty, but I trust him implicitly, I always have. So I busy myself registering for the equine assisted learning program I chose.
I bounce out of the bedroom, giddy to have some girl time—and stop dead.
My mother’s standing by the kitchen counter, digging through my purse. A large man stands menacingly blocking the doorway.
“Mom, what are you doing here? You can’t be here. I have a restraining order. You could get arrested,” I plead. Even if she’s a terrible mom, I can’t help noticing she’s gaunt and her skin isn’t a human color.
She’s strung out on something I don’t recognize, which scares the shit out of me. I know how she behaves drunk, or high on weed, coke, or heroine. But this is something different.
“Yea, I know, you stupid cunt. What kind of stuck-up bitch gets a restraining order against their own mother? I fed you, clothed you, kept a roof over your head for twenty-three fucking years and all the thanks I get is two useless daughters who opened their legs for men with money instead of taking care of their sick mother.”
My stomach clenches with everything wrong that she said. I can’t process it before she spouts off again.
“So, you’re gonna give me whatever I want. And if you don’t, I’m gonna take it,” she says, thumbing over her shoulder at the man whose lecherous stare makes my skin crawl.
“Told you she was pretty.” The implication makes my stomach roil. The creep eyes me like I’m a steak and he’s starving.
“What do you want?” I ask, like a weak little girl.
“You can start by giving me your PIN numbers because I’m taking your cards. Keep money in the accounts for me to spend and we won’t have any problems.”
Easy enough, I’ll cancel the cards as soon as she leaves and call the police.
“As a matter of fact, give me that fucking rock off your finger.” She rushes over to me, gripping my left hand between her shaking ones so tightly it hurts.
“The Hayes boy finally make an honest woman out of you? You’ve been following him around like a bitch in heat for years.”
I flinch at her words, hating that she or anyone thinks of me, or Connor, that way.
“Get off me! Get out and I won’t call the cops,” I plead, wrenching out of her grasp.
She snaps her fingers and the goblin from the front door rushes me, backing me into a corner in the living room. He cages me in while my mom destroys my apartment, searching for anything she can sell.
He’s too close. I try to get away, but he grips my jaw, his thick fingers digging into the flesh of my cheeks. Stale booze wafts off him, making me gag.
“Go ahead,” Mom says to the man, whose mouth lilts into a predatory grin that has me trembling. “You’ve got until I’m done searching the place.”
Without warning, the front door blasts open, wood splintering as it slams against the wall.
“GET OFF MY WIFE!” Connor booms.
The creep’s ripped away from me by the hair, Connor throwing him to the ground like a piece of trash. The clunk of his skull cracking against the hard wood floor vibrates in my bones.
Connor’s cowboy boots obliterate the guy’s ribs and back despite the fact he’s already unconscious.
He whips around to catch me as I fall into his arms, shaking.
“Are you okay?” he asks, checking me for injuries. I think I nod. I’m not sure.
I’m not here, because this can’t be happening.
The unmistakable click of the hammer of a gun halts all movement.
Connor blocks my body with his own like a human shield.
“Come on, boy. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. I was just explaining to your bitch of a wife how you’re gonna support me from here on out as a thank you for letting her live this long,” Mom snarls.
When the man groans from the floor, Connor delivers another kick to his side. He steps away from the heap of human garbage on the floor and holds me behind him.
“Sit down, Ivy.” His voice is firm but calm. “Put the gun down.”
Either she’s extremely confident in herself, or too high to make a different choice, but she collapses onto our couch.
She slams the gun onto the coffee table, and I flinch, terrified it’ll go off.
Unconcerned, she fishes a bag of poison and a cloudy glass pipe from her jacket pocket—blackened at the end from use.
I can’t look away as she loads the pipe and holds a plastic lighter under the bulb until she’s ready to smoke it.
She inhales deeply and twitches like electricity is coursing through her veins. She quickly pales and sweat beads on her pallid skin. Her eyes dart around, rapidly losing control to the high.
Connor instinctively takes a step back, protecting me between his body and the wall.
Her breathing is shallow and rapid, like she can’t get enough air. The electricity in her veins is pulsing—her hands going rigid and twitching at unnatural intervals.
Her hand flies to her chest and I know.
She falls forward off the couch, contorting on the floor. Her choked gasp reaches into my chest and tugs on my heart as my mother dies on the floor of my apartment.
“Call 911,” Connor says quietly, but he doesn’t move to help her. I’m frozen to the spot, too fixated on a chip in the coffee table to locate my phone.
“Delilah, baby, I need you to call 911.” He hands me his phone and I dial.
The voice on the other end says something, but I can’t make out the words. Connor gently takes the phone from my hand and speaks to the dispatcher in low, clipped sentences. He gives them our address, explains the situation, and tells them there’s a gun present.
Long moments pass. Connor walks over to her body and kneels to check her pulse. He meets my dead eyes and shakes his head.
You’d think I’d be crying, or screaming, or begging him to save her. Instead, I can’t move. A warm peace flows through me, sickly grateful she’s gone.
A scraping noise draws our attention. Mom’s accomplice is trying to drag himself to the door. Connor crosses the room in three long strides and holds the guy down beneath his boot.
“Don’t move,” he spits at the guy. “I’m dying for a reason to bash your face in for touching my wife.”
“Police! Show your hands!” Officers flood into the small living space, and still, I don’t move. Connor slowly raises his hands in surrender, but walks towards me, nonetheless. He wraps me in his arms, and we stand like a statue as chaos ensues around us.
It happens in slow motion, and super speed at the same time. Their voices come from deep underwater.
One officer gets on the radio. “Dispatch, we need EMS to our location, female, unresponsive, possible overdose. No pulse, not breathing, CPR in progress.”
There’s no use for them to keep doing CPR, she’s dead. The cracking of her ribs beneath the compressions is a sound I’ll never forget. Or perhaps, I’ll forget it all. I’m not mentally here.
Another officer detains the creep and drags him out of the apartment to the squad car.
An officer tries to talk to me, and I blink back. Connor answers for me. He stays close, one hand never leaving my body.
“Time of death…” I hear the words, but they don’t make any sense.
Someone drapes a blanket over her body. A paramedic checks me over for what feels like forever. It could’ve been five minutes, or fifty. Time passes slowly underwater.
Eventually, the room clears. Mom is gone. The man who grabbed me is gone. The cops and paramedics are gone. I blink to focus my vision and find the apartment in shambles—all of our things strewn around like garbage.
Connor locks the door and walks slowly towards me.
“Come here,” he says softly.
I step into his arms and press my cheek to his chest. His heartbeat grounds me. Steady, strong, safe.
Connor leads me to the bathroom. While the water for the shower heats up, he undresses me carefully. We haven’t spoken a word.
He guides me beneath the warm spray and tips my head back to wet my hair. His gentle touch breaks me. I heave ugly sobs, and cry into his chest.
Furious at her for dying, for not getting help for her addictions, for choosing any and everything over her kids, for bullying me and shaming me, for never taking care of me.
I rage and Connor holds me together, so I don’t fall apart.
He washes and rinses our tired bodies and wraps me in a towel before drying himself. He leads me to our bed and pulls back the covers, helping me crawl in before I curl into myself.
The room goes black, and he wraps around me. He peels the damp towel from my skin and holds me close against his naked body.
“How did you know?” I ask into the dark.
“Livy came over for your movie marathon and the door was wide open. She called 911 and me. She waited downstairs until I got here.”
I have no reply, deeply grateful Livy called for help, and that Connor came so quickly.
But there are no words. There’s no fixing this, making it better, or taking it away.
Instead, I cling to the arms holding me together, so I don’t sink to the bottom of this ocean of despair. The pressure underwater cocoons my senses, and I drift into a dreamless sleep.
“Fuck, we don’t need to be talking about this, Quincy. Not today.” Connor’s sister left her cottage for the first time in what I’m guessing is all week.
“No. It’s okay. I need to try to get some normalcy back in my life. I’ve done nothing but grieve these past two years. I’m tired of people tiptoeing around me like I’m made of glass. It’s bad enough they dance around Mom and Dad.” She shakes her head, a profound sadness overtaking her posture.
“We don’t mean to, I think we’re all trying to give you space while we all try to navigate life without…” I trail off.
“Without Sam. It’s okay to say his name. In fact, I’d prefer if everyone would. I hate how people act like he never existed at all. HIS NAME WAS SAM ANDERSEN!” She shouts into the starlit sky.
It’s New Year’s Eve—what would’ve been Sam’s thirty-first birthday, had he not died from an aortic aneurysm, leaving Connor’s sister a widow.
Even the thought of losing Connor breaks my heart. She’s so brave. I couldn’t live without Connor. Surely my soul would follow his. They’ve been woven together since fate drew his bike to the end of the paved road all those years ago.
Mom’s been gone for two weeks. We didn’t tell Izzy until she and Reid came back from their getaway. I didn’t think she’d much care, and when we told her, she proved me right. Maybe she cried in private or will grieve our mother in her own way.
I’m not mourning in any way I ever imagined. I’m empty and free at the same time.
We refused to go through the trailer post-mortem, and relinquished disposition of her body to the coroner’s office. The new sheriff dropped off some original documents, like our birth certificates, that they found in the trailer. We were shocked she held onto them.
Christmas was a somber affair. As a combined family, Andersen-Hayes-Clark-Dalton, we decided to postpone any holiday celebration until spring. I’m continuously blown away by the support from this family we’ve found.
“Just tell me,” Quincy says, growing frustrated. “How did she pass?” she says, softer, apology in her eyes.
“She overdosed on meth and had a heart attack,” I say frankly. “Years of addiction caught up to her, and instead of robbing us—or god forbid shooting us—she died.”
Both Connor and Quincy gape at me wide eyed, surprised by my cold response.
“I’m sorry, Quincy. I don’t mean to be so insensitive. I know Sam...” I trail off, ashamed of my behavior.
“No sweetheart, you’re fine. Like I said, we can talk about these things, and nothing you said was untrue. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you won’t get to have the relationship with your mom you wanted,” Quincy says.
Sadness shimmers in Connor’s chocolate eyes, because neither he nor Quincy will ever have the relationship they want with their dad ever again—except instead of death, he’s disappearing before their eyes.
The screen door clacks open, startling us all.
“Ball’s about to drop,” James’s floating head says before disappearing back into the main house.
Our blended family has joined to ring in the new year, and to celebrate Sam. We shared memories and stories about Sam throughout the dark hours leading to midnight.
There’s no cheering or fanfare when the clock strikes midnight. Mr. Andersen gently kisses his wife, says goodnight to the rest of us, and leads her to their bedroom as she dissolves into tears.
Reid kisses my sister, and they branch off to admire Sam’s funny little armadillo collection in the family room.
James gives Harper—asleep on the sofa—a peck on the cheek for his midnight kiss.
Greyson kisses the top of Olivia’s head, and they lean on each other for support.
“Happy New Year, Delilah doll,” Connor says sweetly.
“Happy New Year, stud.”
He kisses me softly, cradling my head in his hands, supporting me as he always does.
“Any resolutions, baby?” Connor asks.
“Just one,” I say, gazing at my husband.
“To leave the past in the past. It’s a new year. We’re married, our past brought us here, but unless it’s a happy memory, it has no bearing on our future. We’ve graduated and despite any hurdles, are embarking on new careers.
“We can’t bring anyone back from the dead, but we can cherish the good memories and let the rest fade with time. I want to move forward, not linger on things from the past we can’t change.”
“I couldn’t agree more, doll. We’ll go into the new year with our heads held high, side by side. I love you so much,” he says, dipping down to kiss my lips gently.
“I love you too. More than you’ll ever know.”