Ruckus

Paul and Charlene barged in, yelling at me in decibels human ears weren’t meant to contain. I didn’t listen. I didn’t fucking care. I was going to give Darren a very good reason to stay in the hospital if he didn’t get the hell out.

“She wants me here,” Darren’s white-boy, Connecticut soft voice reported. God, I bet he never said ‘fuck’ and used the word ‘shit’ sporadically.

“Darren.” Rosie leaned forward to pat his hand, her lungs wheezing like a balloon that was losing air. “I’m so sorry my dad asked you to go through all this trouble. There’s a lot going on in my life right now. Please don’t take it the wrong way. I’m very grateful you made it here, but it’s time for you to go.”

Hearing her kicking him out soothed some of my rage away. I gulped thin hospital air and stepped deeper into the room.

Darren looked between Rosie and her dad. Paul shook his head, his lips pursed. Her mom rounded the bed and hugged her. Millie was probably resting somewhere in the hospital. Vicious and Rosie’s parents were about to join her so I could finally have a few fucking moments alone with my girlfriend.

“Fine,” Darren said, finally. “As you wish, Rosie-bug. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

Confrontational silence hovered between us after Darren left the room. All eyes were on me.

“Everybody out,” I said.

“Even me?” Rosie quirked an eyebrow and tried to smile. And failed. Looking pained for even trying.

“No. I’m keeping you. No one else can handle your ass, anyway.”

“Why are we letting this happen?” Charlene LeBlanc threw her hands in the air. “He left her in the pouring rain, for goodness’ sake! He. Did. This.” She pointed at Rosie, her finger dancing. “Paul, do something.”

“Mama—” Rosie said.

“Sweetheart, I know, but—” Paul tried to pacify his wife.

“Jesus Christ, just shut the hell up.” Vicious slammed his palm against a bed stand, and everyone did shut up. Probably shocked that he would tell them to zip it. “I mean, really? Dean stood her up. Once. After chasing her ass for a long time. I’ve never seen a man endure so much bullshit when it comes to a girl before Dean Cole. Charlene, Paul, I love your daughter. A lot. I would die for her if I had to, but even I have to admit—I did terrible things to her. Things I thought I would never be able to overhaul. The fact that she agreed to marry me is a small miracle. The fact that she knows who I am and still chose to have a baby with me is an even bigger one. But Dean…Dean is not Vicious. Dean made a mistake, not a conscious decision to hurt her. And he deserves to be heard.” He twisted his head, pinning Rosie down with his stare. I stopped breathing, waiting for her to say something.

She coughed, wiggled in place to fix the pillows behind her back, then offered a faint nod.

“Mama, Daddy, I need to hear what he has to say.”

Rosie’s parents exchanged worried looks.

Charlene exhaled. “We’ll be outside.”

The door clicked shut. Our eyes met. She was not doing well, I knew. Now was the time to tell her I finally got it. Why she pushed me into her sister’s arms. Why she let us both suffer through this shit. Love makes you do crazy, irrational things. Love and death are connected by an invisible string. Pull too hard, and you’re gone. I couldn’t live without Rosie. It was, perhaps, the only thing that was clear to me at this point.

I plopped on her bed, sitting by her thighs, grabbed her hand, and placed it over my heart.

Sorry didn’t cut it. I had to go big. I had to go all the fucking way this time.

“You turned my life upside down, and I’ll never be the same,” I said, feeling my words were a living thing. I not only said them, I felt them.

She smiled, shrugged. Looking like her old/young self for a second. Other than that yellow hue on her skin.

“It’s not my fault you fell in love with a dying girl.”

“It’s not my fault you made it fucking impossible not to.”

“Where were you?” Her voice died in her throat. Did she mean the day she waited for me in the Hamptons or during her hospital stay?

“I was right here, Baby LeBlanc. The whole time. The minute I found out where you were I all but flew here. They wouldn’t let me see you, so I stayed at the place I rented for us. And drank. And felt sorry for myself. And kept the loser asshole torch burning pretty bright, thanks for asking.”

She snorted. “Friday?”

I let out a sigh, scratching at my stubble.

“Dean? How was your meeting with your father?”

The words poured out of me like a broken floodgate. I told my fading girlfriend exactly what happened, not sparing a detail. She shed a few silent tears, clutching my face in her ice-cold hands, but I’d never felt warmer in my entire life. I kissed her lips and said sorry, again and again and again.

“I’m sorry.” My lips slid to her forehead. “Fuck, Rosie, I am so, so sorry,” Cheek. “I can’t tell you what it does to me, seeing you like this, knowing that it was me who caused it.” Tip of the nose. “It can’t end like this. It can’t.” Lips again.

She pulled me into a hug, and I felt her hot tears streaming down my neck.

“I’m kind of hoping it will end like this. You made me happy. Very happy. But…you deserve everything. Wife, kids, a white picket fence.”

“And I’ll have all of it. With you.”

“You know that can’t happen with me.”

“Then it can’t happen with anyone. There won’t be a next Rosie. And there won’t be another story like ours. This is it, Rose LeBlanc. And this is us. If there is no you, then there is no me.”

“You know, I always hated Romeo and Juliet. The play. The movie. The very idea. It was tragic, all right. Tragically stupid. I mean, they were what? Thirteen? Sixteen? What a waste of life, to kill yourself because your family wouldn’t let you get hitched. But Romeo and Juliet were right. I was the stupid asshole. Look what happened to me. I met my true love at the age of eighteen and spent the next eleven years killing myself slowly while I grieved for you. Then you came back, and I still thought it was just a fascination. But now that I know…” I pulled away so I could look at her face. She was fading. I saw it. Her lungs hadn’t been functioning well. Her doctors said the infection had spread to the rest of her organs. She was burning with fever. Despite her frequent trips to the hospital, this time it was different.

And all of this could have been prevented if I wasn’t an alcoholic bastard.

I pressed my cheek into her palm, kissing her wrist. “Now that I know that it can only ever be you, you’re going to get better for me so Earth won’t explode. Can you do that, Sirius? I promise not to leave this room until you get out. Not even for a shower. Not even to get you your chocolate chip cookies. I’ll get someone to drive all the way to New York and bring them for you.”

“I love you.” Rosie’s tears curtained her vision. Her shaky fingers found my lips when they wanted to touch my cheeks, but once her fingertips swiped across my mouth, I realized that I was shedding a few tears, too. I couldn’t remember the last time I cried. I was definitely not the sobbing type. In fact, it was probably around the time Nina dumped my ass at Walmart when I cried the last time. But I did now, because the woman I loved more than life itself was losing a battle I personally sent her into.

“I love you, Baby LeBlanc,” I said. “So fucking much. You taught me how to love. How well did I do?”

She smiled, a tear rolling down her cheek. “A-plus,” she whispered. “You aced it. Can you promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Live.”

“Not without you.”

“And have kids. Lots of them. They’re fun.”

“Rosie…”

“I’m not afraid. I got what I wanted from this life. You.”

“Rosie.”

“I love you, Earth. You were good to me.”

“Rose!”

Her eyes closed, the door opened, the sound on her monitor went off, and my heart disintegrated.

Piece.

By piece.

By piece.

Three Years Later

“MAN, WHAT THE HELL IS your son doing?”

“It’s not my son.”

“Oh, like hell it’s not.” Trent brings the bottle of beer to his lips, taking a slow sip. “He’s wearing a goddamn multi-colored blazer. It’s Knight, all right.”

I squint my eyes, because it’s bright as fuck in Todos Santos on a September afternoon, and sure enough, it is my son. My four-year-old is…what is he doing, exactly? I’m not entirely sure, but knowing Knight, it can’t be anything remotely constructive, and it will probably earn him an indefinite amount of naughty spot time. This kid has seen more walls than a mural painter.

He is my mini-me on steroids. Swag, attitude, and mischief all wrapped up in an innocent smile.

“I think he just drew a giant dick on Jaime’s daughter’s forehead,” Vicious remarks, staring into his glass of whiskey like it holds the answer to the mystery of life. I sip water. For the last three years, it’s only ever been water for me. I’m not gonna bullshit you about being a born-again Christian like Donald Whittaker. Yes, I’m fucking dying for a drink. Staying sober is a sacrifice, but one I am willing to make for my family.

Vicious elbows Jaime, tilting his chin toward Knight and Daria. “If that’s not pissing all over his property from a young age, I don’t know what is. Your daughter’s in trouble. Keep an eye on that one.”

“They’re just kids, dickface. It’s called playing.”

“Playing.” Vicious tastes the word on his tongue. “You played the same game with Mel, if my memory doesn’t betray me. But with a real dick, and it wasn’t her forehead you put it on.”

That last statement awards Vicious with a punch to the arm. I flip my wedding band around my finger and watch our kids running around us, sunrays glittering between them.