Page 163 of Seizing Control: Part One

“Cherub,” Crystal says my name softly. She throws her arms around me a moment later. “Is he tellin’ the truth? Is that what happened?”

“No.” I pause to catch my bearings when my brain revolts at my denial. My inner voice screams at me as I try again to explain my wedding night properly. “It wasn’t… he?—”

“Just breathe.”

Realising that I’m on the cusp of hyperventilating, I shuck her embrace. I support my upper body on my knees and lower my head. The oxygen I drag in through my nose makes my head spin. As memories of the ritual come at me like a sledgehammer, I laugh.

It’s not a happy sound.

It’s the sound of a woman who’s trying to avoid collapsing under the weight of her life.

Zeke’s death happened that night too.

It stole everyone’s attention.

Made me forget about the horror that came before it.

As I straighten up, I press two fingers to the scar that marks the skin high on the left side of my chest. I’ve gotten used to the sight, caught up as I have been in the subtle changes to my pregnant body and my determination to make myself believe that I’m capable of building a new life with Slash when I might be carrying Zeke’s child.

In the meantime, I’ve made a huge mistake.

I should’ve known that Slash would be traumatised by that night.

He blames himself.

Just like he blames himself for his best friend’s death.

No wonder he ran from me.

I’m the living, breathing embodiment of his failure.

A death knell to his Saviour complex.

“How long has he been like this?”

“Since yer left,” Crystal tells me. A thought darkens her expression. Belatedly I comprehend that it’s a skerrick of judgment that she is trying to hide from me. “It’s been worse for the past few weeks.”

The way she states the final part makes it clear she expects me to understand why.

I rack my brain for a reason.

It hits me a heartbeat later.

My guilt compounds.

I’ve really fucked up.

The anniversary of his son’s death.

An occasion that sends him off the rails annually.

One that I usually support him through.

Something I didn’t do this year since I forgot about it.

I was too busy licking my own wounds, avoiding the anniversary of Chantal’s death, then my mother’s. Every milestone that passed while I was hiding out at Hades’ farm was another coup de grâce to my hopes and dreams, another reminder of everything that died with Zeke. I my denial, I’d overlooked the fact that the horror that stalked the Shamrocks eleven years ago started with Chantal’s death and culminated in Slash’s trauma.

The loss of his son has haunted him every second since it happened. My husband allows himself the anniversary to feel, then he numbs himself for the rest of the year. I know this because I have been by his side throughout every annual commemoration.

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