Page 118 of Seizing Control: Part One

Hit the ignition.

Kick up the stand.

And do my best to outride my biggest failure of all…

20

LILY

Four days later

“Good morning.” I greet everyone assembled in the kitchen with a tight smile. My semi-jovial state is feigned, the sleeping tablets that I’ve been using to help me remain in dreamland with Zeke for eighteen hours a day make me sluggish. When no one responds, I head for the coffee maker. Caffeine isn’t my friend, but I need some if I’m going to face the day with my eyes open. “Anyone need a refill?”

As I brandish the three-quarters full glass pot in her direction, Crystal clears her throat. “Mo ulaidh bheag, bring yer mug over ‘ere... have a seat.” She pats the dining seat next to her. “Let’s chat.”

My stomach does a flip-flop.

Shaking my head, I wrap both hands around my cup, and back track toward the stairs. I’m almost free when an unmistakable body crowds me from behind. My cousin gently extricates the mug of coffee out of my grip. His wide frame shepherds me toward the dining room just off from the kitchen, and that’s when I see that this isn’t just a chat with Crystal and the people I’m closest to in the Shamrocks.

It’s an intervention.

From the most geriatric old timer to the newest prospect, they’re ready to pounce.

“Nope. Nope.” When I turn around, Toker hands off my mug to Cub, then he wraps his arms around me and lifts me off my feet. “Nope. No. No. No.”

“Stop it.” The tone my cousin uses is stern. It’s not something that I’ve ever heard from him, and I don’t like it. “You’re gonna sit here, listen, then you can talk.”

“No.” He plonks down on the chair next to Crystal. “Please, Benny... I don’t want to do this.”

“Lil cuz,” Toker pleads. Holding me on his lap, he engulfs me in a tight hug. I squirm in his embrace, but he simply tightens his arms and pins me in place. “Just hear everyone out. You don’t even have to agree with us. We just want you to understand what needs to be done... whether you want it to be or not. He deserves a burial.”

“No funeral.”

When my stupid chin starts to wobble, I bite the inside of my cheek.

Skin crawling, tears trying to mount a sneak attack, the need to cut is whipped into hyper-drive. I haven’t picked up a razor since they told me that Zeke is dead, because I don’t believe that he is. There is certainty lodged in the centre of my chest An overriding instinct that automatically rejects everyone’s commiseration.

If Zeke was dead, I would feel it.

I don’t.

“Benny.” My use of his nickname drains the colour from Toker’s face. “Please...”

“Cherub. I know this hurts like hell.” Palming the back of my head, my cousin lets me hide my face in his shoulder. “But there’s gotta be a funeral—you don’t have to organise it though.”

“He’s still alive.”

“Then we’re all gonna look like fuckin’ fools,” Toker tells me. I feel the shudder that runs through his body as his grief smacks into him like a Category Five Cyclone. “It’s been twelve days. Venom needs to be laid to rest.”

“Slash can help me, then.”

I mention the only person who still agrees with me. When I raise my head to find my husband and beseech him to rescue me from this nightmare, I come up empty. It’s been days since we’ve spoken to each other, three or four nights at this point. My reliance on sleeping aids has kept me in an unnatural slumber. I’ve checked every morning, and his side of the bed has been slept in, so I figured we haven’t spent any time together because I’ve been sleeping too much.

The people crammed into the kitchen, dining room, and attached living area freeze.

Sympathy flickers in Crystal’s eyes, then she averts her gaze.

I lock gazes with person after person.

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