“Boy, it sounds like you’re saying goodbye,” she says, taking my hand and curling her fingers around mine while her gaze burns into me. “I don’t care how long you stand here. I’m not dying in front of you.” We both laugh and she releases my hand. “Go on so I can die in peace.”
My jaw aches from grinding my teeth so hard, trying to prevent any hint of emotion. I have to be strong for her, at least as strong as she’s being while saying goodbye to me. “Ari—”
“Say it, Hunter,” she says, her voice a little weaker this time.
I pull in a thick, shallow, gulp of air and allow the words to float from my mouth into what seems like oblivion. “Goodbye, Ari.”
I listen to the struggle of her breath as she presses her head firmly into her pillow, gently closing her eyes. I remain standing beside her bed, watching her, intently, waiting for I’m not sure what.
“I’m still not going to die in front of you,” she whispers through slightly parted lips.
I close my eyes, releasing my weighted breath as I let go of her hand. Flashing a quick wave that she doesn’t see, I turn and exit the room. Knowing I’m never going to see her again isn’t easy to comprehend or wrap my head around. A heart-stopping period has been placed at the end of this chapter of my life.
CHAPTER TWENTY
- JANUARY -
I only metAri’s parents a handful of times. At first, they were warm and welcoming but after receiving the news of her failing heart, they both changed. It was as if a dark cloud descended on them. Smiles were nowhere to be seen, their eyes were covered in thin, red veins, and dark bags lined the creases above their cheeks—the evidence of many tears shed. I saw the look before, right after Ellie died. Ellie’s parents never looked the same again. Life as they knew it was stolen from them and there was no way to fix it.
With my heart in my throat, I stand toward the back of the enclosed circle, admiring the strength within everyone. Ari’s parents are holding hands so tightly the blood is pooling in their fingers. Her mother’s eyes are glossed with tears but her chin is held high. Their chests both move in unison—in and out—slowly, suppressing their pain.
Charlotte’s hand sweeps up the side of my back as her fingernails draw small circles to soothe what I’m feeling inside.
As the ceremony comes to an end, soft voices grow into sympathetic apologies and well wishes for Ari’s parents. At the same time, Charlotte’s nails dig a little deeper into my skin when I hear her whisper, “Oh my God.”
I turn to face her, finding a ghostly paleness washing over her cheeks. “What’s the matter?”
“Don.” She points toward Ari’s parents. “That’s him.” We can’t hear the conversation between them but Don has his hand pressed against his chest, and his stature is tall and strong as if he’s holding in more air than his lungs are capable of carrying. I’ve never met the man, nor seen a picture but he’s a good-looking guy—sharp, well put together. What else would I expect from someone who used to be married to Charlotte? His suit looks like it might have cost more than one of my mortgage payments and by the looks of it, someone shaved his face for him this morning. Regardless of the outer layer, there is something to be said for the despondent look in his eyes.
With his hand on Ari’s mom’s shoulder, Don’s focus transfers from them to Charlotte, and his face registers shock. He definitely wasn’t expecting to encounter her here today. When he sees her, he immediately excuses himself from the conversation he was in and makes his way over toward us. I expect Charlotte to remove her hand from my back and separate herself from me, but instead she loops her arm around mine, squeezing it tightly, as if she suddenly needs me to protect her. Charlotte has never been a woman who seems to need protection. She’s dominant, fierce, and knows what she wants. I know she has a soft center but at this moment, her outer shell is just as weak. I’m glad to be the one whose arm she clings to in her moment of weakness.
“Charlotte,” Don addresses her. “What are you doing here? Did you know Ariella?”
Charlotte looks blankly at him as if she doesn’t know how to respond appropriately. “I—ah.”
“Charlotte is with me, and Ari was the recipient of my wife’s heart,” I say sharply.
Don places his hand over his agape mouth, his large, gold ring flashing a plate of diamonds in our face. “My God,” he says. “Eleanor Cole.”
Hearing her name come from his mouth makes my gut hurt. The only people who referred to Ellie as Eleanor were the doctors. Even Ellie’s parents didn’t call her that. It was a name only used in life-threatening matters, during the car accident and then the day she passed. “Yes, that’s my wife.”
He looks between Charlotte and me, apparently trying to understand it all. “Small world, huh?” he asks, obviously flustered by the situation.
“Very,” I say coldly, unwilling to ease his discomfort.
“I take it you have the answers you were desperate for?” he asks Charlotte.
“I knoweverything,” Charlotte tells him. “You’re a piece of shit, but I’m still grateful you gave Ari a few extra years.”
Don looks down, outwardly ashamed. He digs the sole of his freshly shined wing tip shoe into a small pile of dirt. “I’m sorry I caused you to lose the house, Charlotte. I was—”That’s all you’re sorry for?
“There’s no explanation necessary,” she says, cutting him off. For the moments of weakness she portrayed as he was walking over here, I’m impressed and proud of the way she’s handling herself.
“I was in too deep and I was afraid of getting caught. I’m no longer conducting business in that way. I’ve acquired a job with a transplant research firm so you and Lana will be taken care of from here on out.”
“Just worry about Lana,” I bark. “She talks about you daily and misses you more than you clearly deserve. Charlotte, I can take care of.” The words about Lana are lies. I don’t want him anywhere near Lana, but I won’t get between a father and his daughter. I will just fill those holes in Lana’s life. I will be there for her and do whatever I can to make sure she never feels like she’s missing something.
Don places a hand on my shoulder, and the cologne from his skin burns the inside of my nose. “Thank you for looking after Lana, and Charlotte is clearly lucky to have you.” He sounds strangled, as if the truth is wrapped around his lungs, suffocating him. Everything about him—his voice, his words, and his demeanor—suggest he’s realized what he lost and is smart enough to know it’s too late to get it back. Nevertheless, I have no sympathy for him; in fact, he still makes me sick.
