As quickly as the devastation comes, so does the rage, white-hot and lacerating. I’m so fucking mad. At him. At myself. At the entire goddamn world. Iknewsomething was wrong. I saw the signs—the exhaustion and weight loss, always getting sick. But Ryder would brush it off, saying he was “fine” or “just overworked and needed a vacation.”
I failed the man I love, just like I failed my sister.
Clutching my coffee, the scalding hot mug burns my palms, the singe of pain inconsequential compared to the agony of my soul as it weeps for my husband and the forever that is being stolen from us.
“Liz.”
I blink several times, my surroundings gradually coming into focus, and see Julien standing in front of me. When did he get here?
Confused, I look around the kitchen. Bowls are left out on the counter island, and the kids’ backpacks are not where they left them last night after doing their homework while I cooked dinner.
Did I remember to pack the kids’ lunches this morning before they left?
I glance down at my hands, at the still full cup between them. The coffee is cold.
“I let myself in,” Julien says, watching me with concern as I just stare at him blankly.
Ryder and I told him and Elijah what was going on. They’ve been helping with the kids this week and picking Charlotte up from school since Christopher stays late for football practice.
“What time is it?” I ask.
“It’s half past nine,” he says, slowly approaching me, as if I’ll fracture apart right in front of him.
I glance at the entryway. Ryder still must be asleep. He took the week off and left Knox in charge of the garage. I have so much to do. Call the specialists. Set up appointments. And the kids. We haven’t told them anything. We wanted to wait for the bone marrow biopsy results to come back in case it was a false alarm.
Oh god. How in the hell do we tell them? Charlotte and Christopher are still too young. They won’t understand. And Marcus…he just got his driver’s license. He and Ryder have been working on the car we bought him, fixing it up so he could race it at the Fields, just like Randy did with Ryder when he was that age.
Julien gently touches his forehead to mine. “I’m going to make you some toast, yeah?”
I nod numbly, not hungry but knowing I need to eat something.
His warm arms wrap around me, and I startle at the unexpected touch. Julien’s face is almost unrecognizable through the tears spilling from my eyes.
“He’ll get through this. He’s a fighter. Everything will turn out fine. You’ll see.”
Chapter Three
ELIZABETH
Three Years Later
A Bitch Named Fate
I’m sittingoutside a café in Venice, watching the gondolas float by in the canal, the rhythmic lapping of water against stone providing a tranquil backdrop to the voices of people walking past. It’s one of those summer afternoons where you think the sky couldn’t get any bluer and the sun couldn’t get any brighter. It’s one of those perfect days you cherish because you know tomorrow may bring rain.
The waiter stops in front of me, holding a tray with a glass of red wine on it.
“Complimenti del signore,” he says and nods over to the man sitting a few tables over.
The man tips his head and salutes me with his wineglass.
“Gigli grazie, ma no grazie,” I reply to the waiter.
He graciously acknowledges my refusal and takes the glass of red wine to the man at his table. The man frowns at my rejection of his offered drink. I shrug with a smile and go back to drinking my coffee.
My phone chimes. I read the text message that just came in and smile at the picture Marcus sent me. He, Christopher, and Charlotte are part of a human pyramid with Grant and Nicholas, Julien and Elijah’s boys. They’re spending the week on Topsail Island while I’m in Italy.
I touch my children’s smiling faces, my heart full at the sight.
