Chapter 35
CHAPTER 35
O ne week later.
Emery
I can’t move. There’s no feeling in my body. The pain has swallowed me up whole. Nothing but darkness passes through my mind as I stare at the wall in Chance’s bedroom.
I haven’t moved from this position since he brought me back here. When my mind isn’t in a black void, all I can think about is how I failed Ashley.
Even as I close my eyes, I recall every single moment I chided Ashley for not listening to our parents. Every time I told her that our adopted mother just wanted the best for us, and she was only acting in our favor.
The times when I rolled my eyes at my sister’s seeming eccentric behavior. One memory in particular comes to mind. When Ashley turned thirteen and that bitch Angela Clarke insisted on throwing a party for her. She didn’t care that Ashley didn’t have many friends at our preppy all-girls’ school.
Nor did she care that Ashley preferred low-key events because our birthday always reminded my sister of the day our birth parents died.
Her birthday was the one day of the year, in which my sister’s almost endless energy waned, and she preferred to stay inside and watch movies, curled up on the couch rather than have an extravagant party.
But Angela Clarke demanded that Ashley have a party with a bunch of students from her class because their parents were well connected. The party wasn’t about Ashley at all, but about them showing off to others.
Which is why when Ashley came down the stairs in the white fluffy, lace dress Angela picked out for her and a pair of white tennis shoes that she’d drawn on in marker in different colors, proudly displaying her wolf pendant around her neck, Angela freaked out.
Ashley, being her headstrong self, though refused to change.
It was me who went up to Ashley’s room and told her she was being silly and asked her to just listen to Mom for once.
I can’t take off my pendant. You know I can’t take it off, Em. I wear it all the time.
With a sigh, I convinced her to change into the heels Angela had picked out and she could wear the pendant. Ashley smiled wide and threw her arms around my neck.
I knew you would understand, sissy.
The memory causes me to squeeze my eyes and the palm holding Ashley’s burned and charred pendant, tightly. The tears still manage to come out though. I can’t stop them.
I don’t want to, though. I know I deserve this pain. For all of the times I made Ashley believe, as my mother made me believe, that I was wrong or imperfect. That’s how I made my sister feel.
It had to be because I often did Angela’s bidding.
Even as Chance’s scent fills the air around me, I don’t open my eyes. He’s never far away. And as much as I want to go to him, I can’t. If he hadn’t forced me to come back here, to stay with him, I might’ve run away.
I can feel him trying to speak with me through our mate bond, but I’ve closed off our private method of communication.
I don’t deserve to have a mate as good as he is.
Chance remains undeterred, though, as he lowers himself to the side of the bed. I peel my eyes open to watch him place the tray of food on the floor in front of him.
“You need to eat,” he says out loud since he can’t speak to me through our bond.
The chicken soup and bread he’s brought for lunch fills my nose. My stomach even growls. Yet the thought of eating fills me with nausea.
I shake my head and roll over, giving him my back. More tears come to my eyes as I realize how awful of a mate I’m being.
Chance deserves better than me.
Ashley deserved more than I gave her.
The only family I had, and I treated her like she was a project to be fixed and not a full person who deserved all of the love her heart could hold.
Now she’s gone and I’ll never be able to tell her how sorry I am.
“Emery,” Chance calls again. This only makes me cry harder. I want to let him in, but I can’t. I’m alone, as I deserve to be.
One day he’ll see me for who and what I truly am.
A curse.
And on that day, he’ll finally let me go.
My body racks with the sobs that spill from me uncontrollably. In between my cries, I don’t notice when Chance gets up and leaves. I feel his absence, though.
That makes me cry harder.
Until I hear a warm voice.
“It’s okay.”
A hand on my back slowly rubs up and down. The move is so comforting that it reminds me of when my mother—my real mother, would hold and sing to me until I fell asleep.
I couldn’t have been more than four years old.
“How about some lunch?” Ms. Elsie’s voice cracks through my memory. When I don’t reply, she tells me, “It was hard work convincing your mate to give me some alone time with you. Don’t make me look like I failed.”
There’s such a comforting, grandmotherly tone in her voice that my heart aches.
Slowly, I wipe away the tears and turn to face her.
“That’s it.” She moves to the side of the bed, lowering herself to where Chance once sat.
“No,” I say, some part of my right mind still functioning because I know it’s rude to have an elder sitting on the floor while I lie in the bed.
“Please,” I say, patting the bed and moving over to give her space to sit. It takes all of my energy to just sit upright. The movement is so draining that I plop my back against the headboard and push out a long sigh, once I’m in the seated position.
“That’s better,” Ms. Elsie says as she brings the tray that Chance left behind over my lap.
I take one look and then turn my head away from both Ms. Elsie and the food.
“You’re going to waste away if you don’t eat. You’ve already lost weight.”
“Good,” I say. “My sister can’t eat. I shouldn’t either.”
“Emery,” she chides. “Your sister wouldn’t want you behaving this way.”
I swallow down the nasty reply that comes to mind.
Instead, I turn and tell her, “She should want me to behave this way.”
I don’t bother hiding the tears that start to fall again.
“She should want me to starve until I waste away into nothing. Maybe if I’d done this sooner, she’d still be alive. Maybe if I wasn’t her sister, she would’ve found her way, away from the people who killed her. The same people I told her over and over were just looking out for us.”
I cover my face to hide the shame that courses through me.
Ms. Elsie doesn’t cower away from my anger or my pain, though. She moves the tray of food and then pulls me into her arms. I should pull away. I don’t deserve the sympathy, but her hold is strong.
Besides her strength, it’s comforting. To be wrapped up in her warmth. It’s as if she’s touching the deep, black, cold hole that opened up inside of me the moment I found Ashley’s pendant among those ashes.
But then I remember that I shouldn’t allow myself this relief from the pain. I pull away and wipe away the tears. I try to harden my face against the sympathy in Ms. Elsie’s expression, but it’s no use. I’m certain she can read the disgust, self-loathing, and pain.
She doesn’t say anything for a long time. In lieu of words, she takes my hand into hers and begins stroking it with her free hand.
“Neither of you deserved what happened to you.” Her voice is soft and consoling and filled with warmth. “Ashley didn’t deserve to be treated the way she was.” She pauses and looks me in the eye. “And neither did you.”
I want to tell her she’s wrong, but the words don’t make it past my lips.
“Your sister,” she says as she readjusts the tray and brings a spoonful of soup to my lips. “…would want you to eat.”
Another tear slips free, but I slowly open my mouth. I take slow tentative bites of the piece of chicken and carrot in my mouth before swallowing.
Because I know Ms. Elsie won’t leave until I finish at least half of the bowl, I allow her to serve me another spoonful. And then another.
While probably soothing, and I’m sure it’s delicious, I don’t taste the soup as it goes down. It’s as if everything inside of me has lost its color and flavor. I know now that it’ll never return.
Nothing will ever be the same.
Not without Ashley. She brought color to everything she touched.
“There you go,” Ms. Elsie says as she dabs at the tears that continue to slide down my face.
I start to tell her that I can’t take another bite of soup, but she puts the spoon down and takes my hand.
“You know the worst part about grief?”
This draws my attention. I turn to look her in the eye. For the first time I stare hard into her hazel eyes and see the years, if not, centuries’ worth of wisdom within them. Though there’s a smile on her face, it’s filled with empathy.
“The regret,” she answers her own question. “When we lose someone, it feels natural to spin our wheels thinking about all of the what-ifs. What if I had said this instead of that? What if I had answered the phone when they called that one time? What if instead of chastising them I would’ve hugged her and told her I loved her? Why was I so mean to her?”
Her smile grows but fills with sadness.
Looking at Ms. Elsie this way I now see a woman who’s lived through lifetimes. I can only imagine the countless people, loved ones, she’s lost and had to grieve.
“Then our grief reminds us we’ll never get that chance again. We can’t go back in time and give them one more hug, tell them how much we love them. Thank them for the love they gave us while they were here, and how we’re sorry for not returning that love.”
She squeezes my hand.
“Right?”
I nod at the same time a sob escapes me.
“A-ashley had the biggest heart of anyone I knew,” I admit. “She cared about people and animals. She always insisted that our parents donate to homeless shelters and spend our holidays volunteering there. One time she gave her coat to another little girl who was there with her parents, just because the girl complimented it.”
I shake my head.
“Our parents were furious with her, but she just reminded them that we could afford to buy another and that little girl couldn’t. She was brave and strong in a way that I admired.”
I’ve never said those words out loud. It’s true, though. I admired my little sister. She never saw a need to hide her eccentricities.
“I should’ve protected her more. It was my responsibility as her big sister to look out for her.”
“And who was looking out for you?”
I frown and peer over at Ms. Elsie. She meets my stare.
“You both were children when you lost your birth parents.”
“I was ten. Ashley was only four.”
“Children,” she says with a nod. “Grief is like a cloud. The same way clouds block us from seeing the sun and the blue skies overhead, grief can stop us from recognizing the ways we loved them while they were alive.
“I bet there was a reason your sister called you almost daily. She knew she could trust you with her secrets, her ramblings and her thoughts.”
I turn away from Ms. Elsie but my mind beckons back to holding Ashley for hours the night of our parents’ death. I was the one who explained to her that death means they weren’t ever coming back.
The times on Ashley’s birthday night, after the people who adopted us would go to bed, she and I would have our own sleepover in my bedroom and I’d give her the vanilla-flavored rainbow cake with sprinkles I secretly bought for her because it was her favorite.
You’re the best sister ever.
She would say every year.
“Grief likes to hide those moments from us. It can fool us into believing we were the worst of the worst, and the reality is, we did the best we could at the time.
“The only reason you made it here to New Mexico and your mate is because you flew across the country to find your sister.
“I think you were a damn good sister. So much better than you think you were.” She takes my other hand in hers, making me turn so that I’m looking her in the face. “Don’t let your grief lie to you and convince you of your horribleness. Let the grief remind you that the pain you’re feeling over losing Ashley is because of how deeply you love her.
“Remember her smile, her hugs, her laughter. Yes, it will be painful for a long time when you think about her, but always keep in mind that beneath that pain is love. Love both of you deserve to remember. And maybe, one day, if Mother Moon has a say, you’ll get to tell Ashley in person how much you love her.”
At first, it’s just a whimper that breaks free. A beat later, I’m full-on sobbing in Ms. Elsie’s arms.
I would’ve thought after seven days of non-stop tearshedding, I didn’t have any more tears to cry.
I was wrong.
Eventually, Ms. Elsie’s soft hold is replaced by a much stronger, larger embrace. I don’t bother opening my eyes as I wrap my arms around Chance, holding him to me as I dampen his shirt with my tears.
His arms, his scent, and most important, his love, wrap around me being the shield I need. Just as he’s been since the moment I found my sister’s pendant in that awful fire pit.