Page 46 of Fractured

“I’ve been making calls to everyone in the orchestra, I felt it was better than a mass text.” She paused, and I instinctively knew this was the worst possible scenario. I started to cry, tears streaming down my cheeks. She didn’t even have to say anything else. She didn’t have to. Her sorrow leaked down the line, twisting uncomfortably around my heart. Saint wrapped an arm around my back as I waited for Kate to drop the inevitable news.

“Randolf passed away in his sleep last night.” She hiccupped. “Another heart attack.”

“A heart attack? But he just had surgery. He’s better now,” I argued, as if I could change the outcome, because this wasn’t happening.

In this one moment, why couldn’t I have gotten just a little more of Lauren in me so I could pretend she didn’t call? And actuallybelieveit?

“The doctors cleared one of the blockages, but they think there was another one that caused last night’s heart attack. Listen, I have to call more people, but I’ll be texting out funeral and viewing information soon.” Her breathing was harsh and unsteady, most likely from hours of crying.

I nodded, but a ball of grief was lodged so tightly in my throat, all I could do was whimper in answer.

“Are you going to be okay?” Her voice thickened with what was probably a fresh round of tears.

“Mm-hm.” Then I completely lost it. Hunching over, I dropped the phone in my lap so I could just process this wall of sadness blocking me in and trapping me. Eventually, I sent her a text letting her know I was okay just so she wouldn’t send anyone to check on me. I didn’t think I could stomach company right now, not from people I’d have to pretend to be normal for.

When I glanced up, Saint still had me in his arms, and Ambrose was crowded on my other side, while Atticus sat at my feet staring up at me with sad, soulful eyes. All three of them were trying to provide comfort while letting me have my mental space, and I loved them for it.

“Are you ready to talk about it?” Saint pressed his lips against my forehead but didn’t kiss me. The constant pressure reassured me and helped when I gathered the pieces of myself together.

“No, I just want to cry and lie here doing my best to think of nothing.” Wiping my cheeks, I stared down at my wet palms. How did I have that many tears inside me?

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Ambrose said succinctly as he helped Saint rearrange me on the couch so one cradled my head and the other my feet. Atticus grabbed the throw that had fallen on the floor and tucked me in. Then Atticus started humming a faintly familiar song while he traced shapes into my palm.

Before I knew it, I fell into a kind and forgiving darkness where sadness didn’t exist.

Twelve

Is it crazy to want to be crazy, for just a moment in time, so I can forget the rest of world? - September 19th

The restof the week was horrible. Fucking horrible.

I played the cello because I needed the routine and familiarity, but all group rehearsals were cancelled. The one time I stopped by the studio to grab my sheet music I’d forgotten there, there were worried whispers of what was going to happen to the orchestra. Kate had been great with Randolf, but she wasn’t into music the way he was. I doubted she’d want to take over for him, especially when the possibility of the doors closing permanently loomed over our heads.

Didn’t they know that wasn’t important? Didn’t these ungrateful people know there was nothing that mattered in this moment except the loss of a fantastic, compassionate, and genius man?

I wanted to rage at them all. I wanted to scream and throw chairs and jump around screaming at the top of my lungs. This bottled up energy inside of me was new. I’d never experienced this kind of grief before, and I hated it. I fucking hated the way it made me feel, and for a brief moment, I wanted to end things with the guys. If this was how I felt at losing Randolf, who was the first person to give me something to value about myself, how would I react if I lost the men who made me see myself as a real, normal human?

It would be less painful if I cut ties now. I’d even ignored Kenzo’s texts all week. A sliver of my conscience nagged at me to at least give him something, just to let him know I was okay or that I wasn’t an ass just blowing him off, but I couldn’t. I was numb and out of control, all at the same time.

Furious pounding came at the front door, and I dropped my eyeliner.

“Shit,” I griped as a messy black line rolled over the inside of the sink. I identified with that line, that had no direction and nowhere to go from there.

“Lilith, I know you’re in there,” Saint called through the door.

I had to be at the viewing in less than an hour. My headspace was fucked up, and I couldn’t see them right now. But I walked to the front door anyway.

When I swung it open, I jumped at seeing all four of the men in my life glaring down at me.

“Okay, I’ve finally cracked.” I backed up a step.

“You didn’t crack, we just found this guy loitering by your mailbox.” Atticus jerked a thumb over at Kenzo. “Don’t worry, we filled him in on your life situation and your preferred love preferences. He’s in.”

I blinked as Kenzo nodded.

“I’ve told you from the beginning, I’m in.” He tried to step past the others, but Saint was reluctant to move, shifting slightly to block his path.

Well, that wasn’t exactly what he’d said.

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