Chapter 4
CHAPTER
FOUR
ARI
The pop of the gunshot still rings in my ears even as the sound of car tires screech against the pavement. The high-pitched squeal is swallowed up by the night air. Silence descends. The chill in the air is overwhelming, making my entire body shiver.
He is still.
Unmoving.
Unblinking.
“Come on, we need to get up and get Ashton. He can stop the bleeding so that you can go bludgeon whoever took the shot later. Or whatever other awful thing you now have planned for your revenge,” I joke, trying not to lean into the panic I feel.
If it were me, I would just use a gun. Less messy that way.
Easier to clean up. But Brodie is all about making statements and sending messages.
Real mafia coded this one. If he could hang his enemies outside the house as a warning, he would.
But he would have to answer too many questions for that.
“Brodie?”
“Come on, this isn’t funny.”
But he doesn’t respond as the silence threatens to choke me.
I am beginning to crack. This has to be some sort of dream, a nightmare come to life. The panic inside me crescendos the longer he takes to respond. I slam my fist against his chest. “Get up! We need to get out of here.”
He begins to cough, a little blood dripping down the side of his mouth. “Ari,” he wheezes, struggling to get my name out.
“Baby, I’m here. I’m here. We need to get you up and find cover.” He grunts, his blonde curls drenched in sweat, as he lies on the ground, unmoving. “I’m calling Gage.”
The phone rings, but no one picks up and my call goes to voicemail. I try three more times without success.
“Sweetheart, it’s no use.” He says wearily as he opens his eyes to look at me. Brodie’s skin is pale, and his hand visibly shakes as he reaches for me.
My vision becomes blurry as I realize what he is about to do.
“No, I know what you’re thinking right now.
We are not doing this. There is no goodbye for us, Brodie Araneae, do you hear me?
” A deep tugging feeling in the bottom of my stomach has me struggling to breathe.
He doesn’t respond and looks almost sad at my response.
Like he is giving up. But I’m not. I won’t let this be the last of us.
If Gage won’t answer, I know who will. It’s the thick, dark liquid beginning to cool and congeal around his waist that makes the decision for me. The phone is ringing again before I can second-guess myself.
“You will not leave me. Promise me.” My voice breaks as I beg him to stay with me.
A world without him is unimaginable. Incomprehensible, something I cannot even begin to face. Taking his hands, I press them both down hard on his wound. Trying to slow the bleeding and buy some time. Anything to keep him here longer.
“Ari, I am not sure that…is a promise…I can keep.” His breathing becomes harsher as the blood continues to leave his body and covers our hands in the dark red liquid.
“No. No. No. You promised me a lifetime!”
“You can’t leave me in a world where you don’t exist…” I let the statement linger because there are truly no words that explain the pain that is tearing through me.
His eyes harden briefly before softening, and his last whisper tears me apart. “You are my queen, mine ’til death.”
My throat is raw, and I realize I am screaming. Screaming for him. Screaming for anyone. Screaming in pain.
It is said that when a soul leaves a body, it lingers until it reaches its final resting place.
If so, he is watching me fall apart, plead, and struggle to breathe as I begin to face the first seconds of this world, my world, without him.
Screaming for help from the spirits, the gods, the Devil himself.
I would bargain my soul with the Devil if he would fix this.
Eventually, my lungs scream for air. And I take my first breath without him.
The first breath without him is like inhaling smoke. The air fills my lungs and blackens them. Forever staining them, leaving behind a scar that permeates my soul.
I run my fingers through his soft hair for the last time, teasing that curl on the side of his forehead that always drives me crazy. Tears fall from my eyes and land on his cheek, slowly running down the side of his face.
My hand falls to where his dimple used to hide—until he smiled. The few rare smiles that he let slip.
‘Only for you,’ he would tell me, and then wrap me in his arms and kiss my forehead. But now, he will never whisper those words again. No one would smile just for me. Because of me.
A car screeches to a stop, and the doors fly open. Ashton comes running to my side, dropping to his knees as he removes Brodie from my arms. He begins CPR while he calls his other men over to help move the body.
A tall figure stands by the car, hands in his pocket, cigarette in his mouth. His face is unreadable with the way the shadows hit him. But I would know who he is from anywhere. Aiden.
He doesn’t attempt to move or walk over to the scene in front of me.
He just watches it play out. With the final drag of his cig, he flicks it to the ground and grinds his shoe against the butt.
Aiden lifts his head and our eyes meet. No words are exchanged between us, but I know what he is saying anyway.
This is goodbye. And my soul tears at the seams. A chasm of despair splitting open too large to imagine, let alone fix.
With a dip of his chin, Aiden turns and opens the car door, turning his back on me and his stepbrother. On an existence the devil created and is now coming to collect.
Ashton peels my clenched fingers from Brodie’s shirt and I feel like I am dying inside.
They are going to take him away from me, the other half of me.
“No. No. You can’t! Don’t take him away from me!
” Ashton lifts Brodie in his arms and starts rushing toward the car, leaving me kneeling in a pool of his blood. Broken and alone.
Tears stream down my face as I scream until the car is long gone and so is my voice. There is nothing left for me. Not even him.
After vomiting in the toilet, I wipe my mouth on my arm and collapse, resting my cheek on the cool floor.
Blinking several times, I try to come back to the present.
Without moving my head, I reach up to flush the toilet once the heaving seems to dissipate.
The bathroom tile gleams in the moonlight, immaculate except for the few wet spots where my sweat has dripped onto the floor.
Another fucking nightmare.
How long can these go on for?
Brodie’s been gone for two months, and I haven’t slept through the night since.
My throat is raw from my screams. Honestly, a couple of months of screaming through the night has caused a permanent dryness at the back of my mouth that cannot be quenched.
The fire I feel is proof that I have been going at it for far longer than I have been awake.
Not that it matters. No one ever comes to check on me.
The house staff doesn’t ask me about it in the morning or even mention it. They pretend nothing ever happened.
One thing I know for sure? They hear me.
They just don’t care.
It isn’t the screams that wake me up anyway; they’re just a byproduct.
No, it’s when I start to see his eyes so clearly that it almost seems real, like if I reach far enough, I can touch them.
His very dead eyes. Two orbs that stare straight ahead.
Empty. The dull blue-green constantly fading into blackness.
Not searching or blinking. Just absolute stillness.
The pain doesn’t stop him from showing up.
I dream of him every night. Brodie. My dark prince. My knight in shining armor. My best friend.
Breathe.
Deep breaths.
Three count in, three count out.
I mouth the words of three things that are real. The hair tie wrapped around my wrist. The soft cotton of my nightshirt. My silk underwear.
Three truths to break me from my nightmarish prison. I repeat the process until I can find the strength to lift myself off the floor.
Sitting up, I lean against the wall, letting my head fall back, and close my eyes. Rocking back and forth, the slow rhythm keeps me grounded and aware.
I think what makes everything worse is that there is no new information on what actually happened that night.
We don’t actually know who took the hit out or a concrete reason why.
The Order is investigating the hit, but it seems to have stalled, and I can’t find the energy in me to investigate myself. I feel broken beyond repair.
And to all the people who say that time heals all wounds, disrespectfully, go fuck yourself.
I wish I could feel nothing. Embrace shutting down and letting the numbness consume me. Watch as the black fog descends around me and swallows me whole. The pain would be gone, and maybe then I would finally be able to get some rest.
My whole life was ripped away from me in the time it takes for a bullet to hit its mark. Shattering everything around me.
Pressing against the rim of the toilet, I push myself up and make my way to the sink, splashing water onto my face to clear away the layer of sweat beginning to cool and turn sticky.
I don’t look into the mirror. All I ever see are thick red streaks covering my reflection. Painting me in the blood that he lost that night.
Sharp pain radiates from my chest and shoots to my head. I sway a little as I wait for the dizziness to go away.
This cannot go on much longer.
With more effort than it should take, I turn toward the bedroom and walk over to the balcony to open the French doors, hoping the breeze will lift some of the staleness in the room. The sounds of cicadas chirping and the sweet scent of spring flowers fill my room.
I prop the doors open with brick doorstops and walk back to the bed. I do my best not to think of how empty it looks. How empty it feels without him. The white sheets are cool and slightly damp now from the drying sweat. But I don’t dare move to the other side.
Turning my back to the far side of the room, I pull the covers over my shoulders and grab my phone.
Pictures of my friends light up my screen.
Heavily liquored-up bar photos grace my feed as they make their way through the city, living their Saturday night to the fullest. Meeting new people, concerts, dancing.
Reese, another hockey player, appears to be at a poker table, probably somewhere underneath the city that is invite-only.
Everyone seems to be moving on and continuing their lives while mine has come to a standstill. The dichotomy between people who have been impacted by grief and those whom loss has never touched is vast.
Turning off my phone, I place it back on the nightstand, unable to stomach any more joy.
Resting my head against the pillow, I turn my cheek and glance outside. The starless sky is an endless depth of black that feels like it could swallow the whole world. I wonder what it would take for it to consume me.
Shutting my eyes, I wonder if I will ever sleep through the night again.
Murmuring into the empty room, I try one final time.
The dark sky. The empty space next to me in the bed, the sheets long cold.
Brodie dead.
That final truth is very real. And since then, nothing has been the same.
Because the reason I hang on is gone.