It was the anniversary of Robert’s death, and I had just jacked off to the thought of one of his students.
I buried my face in my hands, cursing myself for being such a mess. How had I forgotten? Holden and I had even discussed what we would do today.
Oh God.Holden.
He, Beckett, and Ru would be by for breakfast any minute now. We planned to tell Ru stories about his dead grandpa, scatter some of Robert’s ashes in some of his favorite places, and then come home and hang with each other for the rest of the day.
And here I was, covered in ejaculate and shame, still stretched by a butt plug that I’d purchased with Major in mind. Mortified, I quickly yanked the unreasonably large toy from my ass and winced.
Robert would have found this hysterical. In fact, if he were alive, he’d be teasing me mercilessly.
One year ago
“You do know that people looking at our basket will assume all the vegetables are for you and that the donuts are for me,” Robert teased, dragging his oxygen canister behind him.
It was hard to take him seriously with the shit-eating grin on his face, visible even through his oxygen mask. In truth, I was relieved to see his humor return, given how tired he’d been these last few weeks.
More and more, he’d been sleeping in his recliner downstairs, unable to make it up to our bedroom on the second floor. He’d stubbornly insisted on sleeping upstairs last night, even thoughhe had to stop twice to catch his breath. He was feeling better today, though, and we’d been able to go on a walk by the river and then downtown.
As I looked at him now, he seemed a little sweaty, and I wondered if we hadn’t overdone it by coming to a noisy, crowded grocery store before heading home.
Holding my gaze, he reached for the donuts as if to put them back—though where he might put them, given that we were now standing in front of a bin of oranges, I wasn’t sure.
I smacked his hand. “The donuts stay. We are both mature enough not to worry about other people’s assumptions. You can have your quinoa, squash, and nutwhatever. I’m getting donuts.”
I turned to examine the avocados, annoyed that none of them seemed ripe enough for tonight’s tacos.
“Fine. Have your donuts,” he said to the back of my head. “But if you think I’m going to share my nut hash with you, you’ve?—”
I picked up another avocado and waited for the rest of his retort. He was so easily distracted. “I’ve what?” I said, turning around, gesturing with the avocado in my hand.
Where the hell had he gone? He was right?—
“Robert!”
He was laid out on the floor in the middle of the produce department. The squash he’d been holding lay next to his head, and Robert looked like he’d knelt down and then slumped over.
Other shoppers were gathering around, but no one seemed to bedoinganything. I saw a store associate in their apron and flaggedthem down. “I need an ambulance! My husband passed out!” I shouted as I carefully rolled Robert to his back and pressed my fingers to his neck.
No pulse.
Oh God.
“I can’t get a heartbeat! Hurry!”
The kid raced over to a phone on a column and recited a code that went out over the store. I picked up Robert’s wrist and still couldn’t find a pulse. I’d taken a CPR class at some point years ago and racked my brain to remember the basics. The only thing I could pull from my memory was that awful Bee Gees song.
“All right, class. Do your compressions to the beat of ‘Stayin’ Alive.’”
Robert’s color made my stomach drop. It was all wrong, but I wasn’t going to let him go without a fight. I straddled him, crossed my palms atop his chest, and started pressing down as hard as I could to the beat in my head.
Seconds later, the associate came running back with a man dressed in a firehouse uniform. “They sent a fire truck?” I asked, gasping for air as I tried to count the compressions in my head.
“No, just got off shift,” he said, placing his hand on my shoulder. “I’m going to take over now.”
He sounded confident, so I let him. I’d been doing the best I could, but he was much bigger and stronger. He knelt next to Robert, checked his airway, then started compressions.
Within seconds I heard a rib crack. “Oh my God—you’re killing him!” I cried. “Stop it!”
