“I wish you would have trusted me. We could have had kids, a home, and this,” he said, his voice getting even more distant.
It was distorting, and no matter how hard Graham fought to stay in that moment, to change the outcome, he simply couldn’t.
The dream, or Purgatory, wouldn’t let him.
Instead, it made him feel every ounce of the pain like small, sharp daggers piercing every inch of him—including his heart.
It made him suffer all over again.
That was the story of his life.
Unfortunately.
For.
Him.
“Please give me another chance,” he begged, as the last part of D’Artangnan was visible through the doorway.
Just beyond it, it was dark-black and empty.
Like a void.
Like his heart.
It was beyond endless, and much like the hopelessness he was feeling.
“It’s too late, Graham. I have to let you go now.”
And that was all he had to hear.
It was so finite.
And done.
When the door closed, Graham closed his eyes, and he gave up.
He slipped back into that darkness, unsure of what tortures would come next. If he was dead, he hoped this was as bad as it got.
Because he knew what he deserved.
And it was the pain.
Of his true love lost.
Chapter Four
The Castle
Sunday Night
Nine P.M.
Someone was dead weight. When they got him back to the castle, Graham was still out, and it had been one hell of a hike too. The whole mile back to the place where they could put the man down, Michael carried him, some of the time over his shoulder, and the rest in his arms.
And it was brutal, but not because of the heaviness of the carry, but the heaviness on his heart.
It was the last few feet of the carry that killed a piece of him. Unfortunately for Michael, he could smell Graham’s cologne, and it took him back.
