Page 82 of His Pretty Little Duet

Her suicide: number one.

His murder: number two.

My miscarriage: number three.

Fawn

The minutes fade into hours,each and all passing by like seconds. The agony. The miscarriage. His arms. Sirens. An ambulance and this hospital bed, wheeled from one room to another under the strip lighting, a stream of glowing yellow to my unfocused gaze.

Shadows of people lean over me.

Muted conversations.

They give me a sedative; I know that much is true, and I give in to its loving pull, embracing the darkness that swims directly into my bloodstream.

Then there is just him.

With my eyes still shut, my mind balancing on the cusp of consciousness, I feel his fingertips slide across my forehead. The soft scent of his cologne, the earthy musk of his skin, and the subtle aromatics of cigar smoke fill the room with his presence.

His touch trails down my cheek, igniting my skin. After he traces the shell of my ear, he tucks a piece of hair neatly behind it. The sedative is strong as it drags my mind back.

And.

Forth.

From blackness.

To his gentle strokes.

And back again.

His fingers find me in the abyss once more. They caress down the side of my face, replaced quickly by his knuckles continuing to stroke. His thumb flicks out to run the course of my lower lip, and his touch is so... chaste. I love him. It’s not a small, blooming love. It’s explosive. Tremendous. And devastating.

His touch burns with this unrequited love.

With my eyes still closed, I mumble, “You have a family, Sir.” My mouth strains around each word while my mind refuses to settle on a state of consciousness. “You say you weren’t home, that you didn’t grow up with them, and that is your excuse for...”

I don’t know if I’m even talking aloud or if I’m dreaming this verbal heave of insight.

I chuckle. “Straight linesandpressed shirtsandthree meals a day.No cake without dinner.Don’t say sorry unless you mean it.Conventions.And, yes, Sir. No, Sir... but what I think, Sir, is that you don’twanta home because you don’t know who you are outside of business. You don’t want to have a family around because you don't know how to behave unless it’sBig Mafia Boss Butcher.Sir, you're institutionalised. You don’t know how to be... just Clay... just,iddy-biddyClay Butcher.” I hum my amusement again, still talking in a kind of sleep and drug-induced stupor. “Xander wants to impress you, ya know? He is dying to be noticed by you. Do you see him? I see him tryingsohard... I think those bruises, the fights, they are for you. To get you to notice... I see myself in him. I know what it’s like to beg for attention. I have spent my whole life trying to get noticed and no one did until I got pregnant with an important man’s grandson and now... You don’t appreciate what that means, Sir... to a girl like me. I was hoping my dad would notice me... I was hoping he would take me, too, ya know?Take us.”

Only some words reach my tongue, the others lost to the grasp of the sedative.“But now, now I’m your burden, Sir. And you will push me aside, too. For business.”

My head rolls to the silence.

To his reverent touch that hasn’t left my cheek, warming the cool skin with his worshipful caress.

That is all that passes me by.

Then, after seconds or minutes or hours have passed, his words meet me somewhere in my deep world-avoiding slumber. “You want me to bejustClay?" he says softly, as though he isn’t sure if I’m conscious, and perhaps he’d prefer me not to be. “Okay, sweet girl. You asked me once why I couldn’t sleep.” In my mind, I frown at the sound of his strange tone. Detached. Chilling. “I told you I was afraid of failure, sweet girl, and you looked at me like I was out of my goddamn mind. A man like me clearly doesn’t fail.” Within my unconscious state, I hear his desolate chuckle. I don’t like it. “Truth is, I fail a lot, little deer. I fail everyone besides myself. I’m a selfish fucker like that. The woman I have spent most of my life with is a prisoner of theCosa Nostra.My prisoner.She either leaves and loses everything she has a right to, or she stays for the scraps of her legacy. It isn’t my choice.

“My brothers… I was never there for them. I don’t know how to make that up to them. I don’t think there is a way. Xander has pain that I know nothing about, and I’m too stubborn to ask or allow him to dwell on such a thing. The Butcher in me wants to knock it from his skull and tell him to toughen up. I know that’s wrong, but I can’t change the way I am.

"Max. He closed off a long time ago. I barely even know the man he has become.

"Bronson. I left him with the weight of being what I should have been. I left him to look after them even though I promised him once, many years ago, that I would get him out. But I neverdid. He lost part of his sanity to this business because I couldn’t keep my promise. And he nearly died tied to a chair while I drank whiskey and laughed at my own brilliance. I thought I had it all figured out. I didn’t. I failed them all.

“And you, sweet girl. I have failed you now, too. If I wasn’t such a selfish bastard, I would have organised another ultrasound so you could see the heartbeat that I saw. I should have twisted the screen that first time. I should have... Perhaps we would have caught something. And if I didn’t owe my brothers so much for my absence, perhaps I would have taken you and the baby and left the city, little deer. Given you everything that a beautiful, resilient girl like you deserves from a man like me who has it to give. Perhaps I would have left this life for you. Been comfortable, being comfortable. With you. And him. Perhaps... but we’ll never know.”

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