Page 120 of Sinful Skulls
Seconds later, my brother is falling at my feet. “She’s gone. She’s fucking gone!” Jackson wails. “I can’t do this fucking world without her. I can’t do it. I don’t want to be here without her!”
It takes me a minute to process what’s happening. Rachel’s gone? I slide to the floor and pull him into my arms, crying with him. Normally, I would stand strong, but some things are worth falling apart over.
Jackson and I have a pity party on the floor of my bedroom for what’s left of the night.
“I smell bacon. Mom’s bacon was the best,” he finally says.
“Fuck yeah, it was. She always cooked it in the oven.”
“With tons of brown sugar,” he adds.
We both stare at the ceiling, exhausted from our big emotions of the last few hours.
“Is Daisy a good cook?” Jackson asks.
I chuckle. “Oh yeah.”
“Then I’ll stay for breakfast,” he teases.
“Okay, but I hope you know how big of a sacrifice I’m making here, because she usually serves it to me bare ass naked.”
He laughs, thinking I’m joking.
“Dad’s probably a mess …” He runs his hand through his hair. “I’m afraid this is going to destroy him.”
“We’ll get him through.”
“Yeah,” he says on a sigh, but I can tell he doesn’t believe it.
When we get out to the kitchen, we find Daisy flipping pancakes. She immediately sets her spatula down and walks over and hugs us. “Sit down. I’m sure today’s going to be a long day. I’ll feel better knowing you have a good meal in you to face it.”
As we’re eating, Jackson begins to tell us how his mom passed. “Dad was the only one with her,” he begins quietly.
Raffe
“What are you doing?”
“The window is stuck.”
“It’s cold out, baby,” I say, throwing the covers off and going to her.
“I need some air.”
“Okay, okay,” I say, getting her back to bed before opening the window. When I crawl under the covers, I notice she’s staring at the ceiling.
“What’s wrong, hun?” I ask, propping myself up on my elbow by her face.
Her tear-filled eyes meet mine in the dark. “I don’t feel very good,” she whispers.
The fear on her face instantly makes me panic inside, but I don’t let her see it. “Do you remember our first kiss?” I ask her, running my hand over the top of her head. My other drops to her chest.
She takes my hand in both of hers, gripping it tight. They’re cold and clammy. I’m freaking out, but I take a deep breath and force myself to remain calm.
“You had just helped me up from my wheelchair,” I continue my story when she doesn’t speak. “I’d come up with the idea the day before, but it took that long for me to find my balls and actually do it.”
She offers me a small smile. “It was a bit of a surprise,” she rasps quietly.
“Best decision I ever made.” I kiss her forehead. “I’m going to go get you some more medicine to help your breathing.”
