Chapter Sixteen
It took less time to get to the hospital than it did for his world to fall apart. He would remember that small moment with Seraphina in the woods as the single moment in his shitty life when he was truly happy. And damn, he loved her for bringing him that moment. Because it would give him something better than the beer to numb out what was crashing down on him now. And he’d need a fuck-ton of numbing. Novocaine for his heart.
His Ma was gone.
Gone.
So quickly, he didn’t even get to say goodbye.
And now he stood there in the small waiting room, throat aching, eyes barely focusing, while the doctor tried to explain what happened. There were words hitting him like individual slaps. Words he couldn’t understand. Like pulmonary embolism and deep vein thrombosis. And then words he could, when they broke it down. Like blood clot and blocked artery and there was nothing we could do.
So many words but all he could think of was… what was the last thing he’d said to her. Did he hug her before he left? Did he rush off, hoping to settle things with Seraphina? Did he actually say see you later? Because if those were his last words…
Was this how Adam felt when he lost Karly? Did their last words haunt him? Did he wonder if he gave her enough? Loved her enough?
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to end.
Multiple Sclerosis wasn’t a death sentence. It was a life sentence. Something you battled for years, not something that took you early.
As if the doctor could read his mind, he slapped more words at him. Words like she didn’t die from MS and this could have happened to anyone. And finally, there was no way to know this would happen, no way to prepare, and we’re sorry for your loss, Mr. Turner.
Rod opened his mouth to answer but nothing came out. He couldn’t even feel his tongue.
Seraphina stood beside him, silent tears raking down her cheeks, her eyes wide with disbelief. She held his hand. Held it tight. And he was glad she did because it kept him anchored to the ground.
She shook her head, saying something to the doctor, and more words were spoken. Until everything started to blur into a cloud of despair. His goddamn throat throbbed like he’d swallowed gravel. And he couldn’t find enough air. Why the fuck was there no air?
They gave him five minutes with his Ma’s body, but he couldn’t see it through the haze. He knew Seraphina stroked the hair back from her face. Saw her tears and her lips say goodbye, but he couldn’t hear any of it. He found his mom’s hand somehow, and held it. Like he had so many times before. But it was cold. No life to it. And at peace. Not shaking, not spasming.
It wasn’t the way she was supposed to go, but she was gone. And there was no more fighting. Her battle, the one she’d fought so bravely… it was over. Too early. A sentence for him and the ones she left behind. But for her…
Peace.
It was all right there in her hand. The way it laid there in his, unmoving. Where before it shook and cramped and burned. Like all of her had. Now there was nothing.
Except his fucking heart breaking.
He rested her hand on her belly, letting it go. Letting her go.
And then he was storming from the hospital as fast as his legs would take him. If he could just get to his car. If he could drive. If he could…
Seraphina called his name. He didn’t answer. Didn’t stop until he got to the Mustang.
He jerked the handle to open, but the door didn’t budge. Locked. Keys, where were the keys? He fumbled in his pocket for them but they weren’t there.
Growling in frustration, he slammed his fist down on the top of the car, and it felt so good he did it again. And again. Liking the sharp pain that ripped through the hand he’d already broken on Maxim’s face. Until arms wrapped around his waist from behind.
Seraphina.
He tried to shrug her off, but she held on tight. She wouldn’t let go.
Seraphina. His sweet vixen. The one he should be turning to, should be comforting. The one he was failing right now. The one he would fail for the rest of their days. Because every morsel of happiness came with a feast of despair, and he didn’t know how to break the cycle.
Because that was his destiny.
Fight for happiness? He didn’t know how.
Rod crumpled against the car, letting all his pent-up emotion out in one heaving, guttural mess. He cried. He screamed.
And Seraphina didn’t let go.
***
It hurt. Everything inside hurt.
In the dark parking lot, with only her and his Mustang as witness, Seraphina watched as her mate fell apart before her eyes. Through the bond, she could feel it. All his pain, his regret, his loss, piling on top of her own. She tried to tamp down her feelings about losing Valerie so soon, to temper what he was going through with love. But it was impossible.
Please, her vixen whimpered. It hurts. Mate hurts.
I know.
She was about to become family. About to have a mother of her own that cared. Who understood her. Who laughed with her over cheap tea and taught her how to cook family favorites. Seraphina had finally found home, and Valerie was an important part of that. Losing her was a shock neither she nor her animal had been prepared for.
But Rod. He needed her right now.
So she held on with everything she had. She let him cry. Let him be angry. Let him hurt.
And when he was done, she forced him into the passenger seat of the car. He’d tossed her the keys on their way into the hospital, not knowing what was waiting for them. But she was glad, because he wasn’t okay to drive.
He was quiet the entire way home. And when they stepped inside, he didn’t move past the middle room. He stood in the center, between the couch and chair just staring at the floor.
Seraphina locked the door. Turned on the lamp.
“Rod?”
“Yeah,” he croaked.
“Let me see your hand.”
Absently, he held it out and she cradled his broken fist in her palm. Carefully, she brushed her fingers over his bloody and swollen ones, hoping like hell she did this right. She let her fox come forward just enough to force healing through their bond.
Rod jerked. “Shit,” he hissed.
“Sorry. It will pass in a moment. Be still.”
She watched as the cuts slowly sealed up and the bruises faded to yellow. When she was finished, he flexed his fingers, testing them.
“I’ll do the rest in the shower. Come on.” She didn’t wait for him to answer, and he followed her to the west wing.
In the bathroom, she cranked on the water and jiggled the faucet the way she was supposed to, to make it come through the shower before turning to undress him. He went still as she peeled his ripped t-shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. Maxim’s knuckle prints were starting to show along his ribs and she brushed her fingers over them on her way down to his jeans.
Her gaze flicked up to his and she found him staring hard at her. Eyes rimmed red and spilling so much emotion it took her breath for a beat. Because she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Would he push her away again? And could they survive it if he did?
No, she thought. Not after what he’d done at Red Cap. Not after he’d fought so hard for her and claimed her for good before everyone they knew. If he didn’t choose her now, it would hurt what they’d built. Hurt it bad.
She felt him watching her as she dragged his pants down his legs and waited for him to step out of them. Kicking them aside she nudged at his shoulders until he was standing under the hot spray of the shower.
For a moment, she just stood there watching the water trickle over the rigid planes of his body. He was half hard, and she wanted to reach out and touch it. Get lost in him for a little bit. Forget about what had just happened. Forget about loss and the future.
But not yet.
She needed to take care of her mate.
He blinked as she started to strip. First her tank and bra, then her jeans and panties.
She wanted to cry again as he stared at her so hurt, through the glass door. Could he feel it too in their bond? The urgency to heal. That they needed to wash it all clean before it festered? She was barely holding in her tears while he’d cried all his out, and being strong for him was damn hard when she was so afraid of watching the little precious bond they’d built crumble.
“Come here,” he rasped, standing so still only his mouth moved.
But she didn’t hesitate. She stepped through the door and his arms enveloped her, pressing their bodies close. His face buried in the crook of her neck. And the tears came. Hers and more of his, mixing with the water and washing down the drain.