Untimely Death
The casket was dark mahogany and I could see my silhouette in the glossy finish as they lowered it into the ground. I was the only mourner left, the others having dispersed after the procession. My grief had seized me—like a hand in a sock puppet, holding me in place, keeping me frozen.
He was gone.
He was really gone.
My eyes burned to cry, but my body was depleted. Now, in wake of tears, they ached.
Everything ached.
How could I go on?
How could I live without him?
Hannah was sprawled out on my loveseat, her glasses that were too big for her face perched on her nose, a book in her hands.
“You killed me?” I questioned.
She turned her head, her smile meeting her eyes. “I killed Alex,” she clarified.
“But Alex was inspired by me.” I pointed to myself. “So technically you killed me.”
She grinned wider. “Emotional angst, babe.”
I stared at her blankly. “You killed me,” I repeated.
She sat up and dropped the book beside her before rushing to me and climbing on my lap. I set the paperback advanced reader copy of her soon-to-be-released novel beside me, freeing my hands. Her fingers laced in my beard as she smiled at me.
“You could look at it like I killed you,” she began.
“You did kill me.” I snorted. “There’s no other way to look at it.”
“Or,” she said loudly, silencing me, “you could look at it like I immortalized you.”
I smirked, waiting for her explanation. This should be good.
“You could see it as the ultimate proclamation of love. You’ll live forever in their hearts. Readers will cry their eyes out for you. They’ll always remember how they felt at that moment. They’ll remember how the heroine was moved and changed by loving you.”
I tilted my head. “Were you moved and changed by me? I thought I was just a muse for your story.” A small indention formed between her brows as if my words bothered her. I was only kidding with her. “I was just joking, babe.”
“I know.” She nodded her head once, the indentation still firmly planted. “But I thought that for a bit of time. I thought I’d never be able to finish the book without you…that you were my muse, and that was all. You turned out to be so much more. And you did inspire me. I hope you know that.”
“And now?”
“Now, I know I didn’t need you for The Comeback Kid. The book was never dependent upon you.”
I frowned slightly. I wasn’t sure how I should take that.
“I needed you for my story, Wren,” she finally clarified. “I wrote this book for everyone else, but I needed you for me, for my own tale. The book is fiction; what I feel for you is very real.”
I pouted out my lower lip. She was being all sweet and sappy.
“Don’t make fun of me,” she scolded, giving my chest a smack.
I winced, feigning pain. “You just told me you needed me for your own real-life love story, and now you’re beating me.”
She huffed. “You see, that’s why I was willing to kill you in the end of the book. Your death was far more poetic and romantic than anything you’d really say in real life. My readers deserved a gorgeous and touching ending.”
I laughed loudly. “I see. Snuff my life for the thrill factor, eh?”
She shrugged. “It was a sacrifice I was willing to make.”
We both chuckled as she leaned in to kiss me. When she pulled away, I told her, “It’s good, Hannah.”
She twisted her mouth with uncertainty. “You’re not partial or anything,” she joked.
“Well I can’t say I’ve ever read a romance novel, nor would I, had I not been involved with the author, but there’s a lot of heart in those pages.” I was proud of her. Taking her hand, I kissed it. “Are you nervous?” Her novel, The Comeback Kid, was scheduled to be released in three weeks, and other than her editor, I was the first person she allowed to read it. Courtney was next.
“Yes,” she admitted.
Her gaze drifted away as she thought about it. A lot rode on this novel for her, and not just monetarily. It was the question of her gift, her art. It worried me what would happen if it didn’t do well—how would she handle it?
It had been three months since she’d shown up at my house the second time and we’d reunited. She was more humbled than ever. She was open now, accepting of the love I was trying to give her. Her best friend Deanna’s loss and experience had snapped something in her. I hated it took something so brutal to bring her to that point, but I was glad she was changing. Not just for me, or us, but for herself. Things had been good; quiet. We’d found a calm between us. She stopped pushing me away, I tried harder to remember she overthought everything. We were both growing—changing. She incorporated me into her life, never hid me from her friends or family. Whenever possible, we all got together. They were good people. She had a pretty great support system. It reminded me to up my own game. Kegs was growing on her. He was a bigger clown than me. We took a while to get here, but it was worth the crazy ride. Fortunate didn’t begin to cover what we had.
“Come back to me, crazy girl,” I murmured to her, drawing her out of her thoughts as I kissed a path up her neck.
She whipped her head to the side to face me. And her dark gaze met mine again.
“Do you really think I’m crazy, Wren?” she asked.
Oh boy. That was a loaded question, and she was feisty. For my protection, I leaned back a tad. I was a kidder, and she liked to hit. Taking both of her hands, I kissed one, then the other. “Yes,” I answered, and her features drooped slightly. “I think you’re crazy beautiful.” I kissed one hand again. “I think you’re crazy smart.” I kissed the other hand. “And I think you’re crazy amazing.”
She grinned. “Nice saves.”
“All true,” I insisted.
“I’m okay with being crazy.” She shrugged both shoulders. “As long as you love me anyway.”
It was sheer chance that a pen and pad of paper sat on the table beside the couch where we were seated. Taking the pen, I took her wrist.
I am crazy loved.
After she read it, she stared at me, a faint smile capturing her features.
“Come here.” Pulling her down to kiss me, I softly mumbled against her mouth, “Never doubt that for one second, crazy girl.” Teasingly, I brushed my mouth against her lips. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”