33. Marcus #2
“Don’t give a fuck. You want to finish the season strong, no? You need more free time to practice, and you can’t do that with a packed part-time job schedule.”
“While I’m thankful”—I grab him by the nape—“ you don’t have to do this. I was kidding about the sugar daddy thing.”
“I want to,” he murmurs, his eyes staring deep into mine as he presses his gloved hand against my chest further. “Let me try to help, okay? It’s the only thing I can do for you.”
Before I can say “It’s not,” he kisses me, his lips grazing mine softly as if he’s tasting me for the very first time.
Now, I know why he kissed me that time—to shut me up, probably. To stop me from asking questions I should’ve asked so that he wouldn’t be in that room.
The men Kane called pry Jude off me. They grab my arms and try to escort me out, but I said I’m not leaving, and I’m not fucking leaving.
I hit, punch, and slam my head against them for what seems like forever.
Preston needs me.
Preston would want to see me.
I told him I was here for him, and I won’t go anywhere.
The operating room’s door slides open, and I come to a halt, barely feeling the men clutching me by the arms.
A doctor walks out, looking like he came straight from a battleground. And as he removes his cap, revealing damp gray hair, I hold my breath.
Jude and Kane rush toward him, and Lawrence follows close behind.
“How is he?” Jude asks in a thick, low voice.
The doctor stares at Lawrence and bows his head. “We tried our best, but he lost a lot of blood. My condolences, sir.”
No.
No.
Fuck no.
I’m hearing things.
Preston will get up. I’ll take him. We’ll leave.
That’s how it’ll be. That’s how it’ll only ever fucking be.
“What the fuck!” Jude wrenches the doctor by the collar. “What do you mean by ‘condolences’? Go in there and bring him the fuck back!”
“You’re lying.” I sound like an animal as I jerk against the grip of the men. “This is a fucking lie!”
He will get up.
I will take him.
We will leave.
Another two men join the previous ones, and I shout and fight as they drag me out with them.
Taking me away from Preston.
No.
This is only temporary. It can only ever be temporary.
He will get up.
I will take him.
We will leave.
It wasn’t temporary.
Preston didn’t get up.
I watched, completely numb, as his closed casket was buried in the ground, as everyone in his family treated the funeral like a networking event.
An opportunity to show off the Armstrongs’ wealth and prestige while inviting members of their community to mourn with them.
The only one who cried from his family was Miley, hugging his casket and weeping. “Pressie, it’s not true, right? You’ll come back, and we’ll go skating, right? I’ll save you my pastries until you come back, Pressie, okay?”
But even she was removed by her mother before I could get to her. And maybe it’s better that I didn’t.
Because if I talk to her, I’ll see Preston in her wide eyes, and I’ll lie to her and tell her he’s okay.
He has to be.
My Preston is not buried six feet under.
But he is.
And I still refuse to believe it. Even as the attendees filter out one by one from the cemetery. The last to go are the Vipers team, some of whom were shedding tears as Kane spoke about Preston.
Jude didn’t.
He’s also standing in front of his grave, and I need him to go because I’m going to dig my Preston out of that dirt.
I will take him.
And we will leave.
“It’s time to go, son.” Dad’s voice fills the space as he stands beside me, holding a large umbrella over his head.
He’s the reason Mom and I were able to attend the funeral. She came a bit late because Dad needed to arrange her access, but she’s clutching my arm now, holding an umbrella over us.
The three of us stand still, watching the pouring rain wet the ground Preston was buried in, Mom sniffling softly while pressing a tissue to her nose.
Miley isn’t the only one who cried. Mom hasn’t stopped crying since she heard the news. She’s been hugging me all the time, begging me to get some sleep.
But I can’t.
Every place reminds me of him. My bike, my rink, my workplace. My kitchen. My shower.
My bed.
Especially my bed.
And it’s empty now.
All cold and just not full of him.
The moment I close my eyes, I see him unconscious, his mouth bubbling with blood as he was bleeding in my arms.
I hear him mumble something, but I can’t make out the words.
I feel him wrapping his arms around me, but then I open my eyes, and the pressure is gone, substituted with crashing emptiness and the lack of him.
So no, I can’t sleep.
“Do you need a moment alone with him?” Mom asks, her tone soft and brittle.
“No,” I say, my voice as numb as my insides.
“You need to grieve properly, sweetie. You can’t just hold it in.”
I make an affirmative sound but say nothing.
“Let’s go home so you can at least sleep, okay?” She pulls on my jacket.
“You go, Mom. I need to talk to Dad.”
She pauses and casts a suspicious look between us. “Talk to him about what?”
“Something.” I force a smile. “Won’t be long.”
“I don’t like the way you’re bottling your emotions, Marcus.” She faces me. “Preston wouldn’t like it either.”
“Then he shouldn’t have fucking left!” I snap, then purse my lips. “I’m sorry, Mom. I just…need a word with Dad, okay?”
Her brow furrows, but she nods. “We’ll be having dinner together, okay?”
I say nothing.
“Okay?”
“Fine.”
“And you.” She glares at Dad. “Don’t try anything funny, or I will—”
“Snip my balls.” He sighs dramatically.
“Exactly.” Her glare disappears as she smiles at me and kisses my cheek, whispering, “I’m so sorry the world couldn’t handle someone as larger than life as Preston.”
My throat closes, but I stay still as she walks away, her frame disappearing in the growing fog.
Dad holds the umbrella over our heads as we both face where Mom just disappeared, the gravestones of the expensive-looking cemetery resembling ghosts.
Didn’t know cemeteries could be luxurious as well, but I’ve always been proved wrong in this world of Dad and his people.
“Are your sons buried in this cemetery?” I ask, my voice as dead as the people here.
“Yes,” he says without emotion. “A few rows down below, next to your grandfather and the rest of your ancestors.”
“Will I be buried there, too?”
“Not anytime soon, but yes, one day. You’re family.”
“How about X? Was he buried here?”
His grip tightens on the umbrella, but his tone doesn’t change. “I see Serena has been running her mouth.”
“Certainly, you knew she’d use anything in her arsenal to keep me away. It’s natural she’d try to placate me, threaten me, and make me scared of you.”
“Are you? Scared of me?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“If you wanted me dead, I would be by now. I know you threatened her somehow to get off my and Mom’s backs.” I tilt my head in his direction. “What did you do?”
“Everyone has a weakness, I just used hers. It’s not her time yet, and she needs to understand that. Rest assured, she will not hurt your mother. I promise you that.”
“Growing soft?”
A small smile tugs the corner of his lips. “I’ve always had a soft spot for your mother. It’s why I let her go.”
“Will you still let her go if I refuse to cooperate?”
“Yes, but it’s not in your best interest. Without what I’m offering, Serena will kill you. Just like she killed her other brothers.”
My hand flexes. “What?”
“She told you about X, no?”
“The one you used to keep your sons alive?”
“Yes. But did she tell you she blew him and the entire lab up, and with that, she indirectly killed her other brothers? To answer your question, no. X isn’t buried here because there was nothing left of him.”
“She would do that?”
“She would.” A small smile curls his lips. “She’s just like me, my daughter—she’d do anything for power. I killed my father; she killed her brothers.”
“Why don’t you give her that power?”
“No, she’ll have to fight me for it. This war will go on until my last breath or hers.”
I chuckle humorlessly. “So I’m just a chess piece in your father-daughter fight?”
“In a sense, yes. I don’t want you to get hurt, but I also won’t allow her to use you against me.”
“Then I’ll let you use me, Dad.”
He raises a brow. “What do you want in return?”
“The identity and location of the person who shot Preston.” My throat closes around his name, but I force the lump down.