Page 23 of Beautifully Shattered
Fuck, Jols makes a good coffee.
“Maybe after Bobbi’s funeral, she’ll start to come around.” Jols offers a glimmer of hope, but fuck, I’m just not sure there is any.
“What if she’s gone?” I rasp, dragging my gaze from the still water to where Jols sits in the other rickety deck chair, sipping her own brew.
She takes a long moment to respond, her eyes dropping to her cup as she considers my question.
“It hasn’t even been a week. She just needs time.”
I grunt. “How much time?”
Her brows hitch. “I don’t know. How much time did you need?”
My gaze falls away from hers at the reminder. “There’s no amount of time.”
Sighing, Jols settles back into the chair, ignoring the way it wobbles like it’s ready to give out.
“Exactly. This isn’t something you recover from. She’ll be forever changed because of this.”
My eyes flick back to hers. “I don’t want her to change. I want my sweet wife back.”
Sympathy washes over Jols’ face. “This isn’t about you, though. This is about her. What she lost. Her grief. How she comes out on the other side might be influenced a little by those who rally around her, but ultimately… it’s all on her.”
I stare at my friend for a long moment.
How the fuck is she only twenty-four? She’s too young to have this sort of life knowledge, but then again, you don’t run with an outlaw MC unless you’ve had it rough.
I know she’s had a fucking tough time of it. Her attack and the medical issues that followed. Learning how to trust men again after being torn apart.
Why the fuck is life so hard?
“So you think I should let her go on her so-called killing spree?” I ask, the thought alone making me want to fucking puke.
“Hell no. She’ll get herself killed in the first five minutes.” Jols scoffs, taking another long sip of her steaming drink. “But maybe it’s worth thinking about inviting her to go with you.”
I shake my head, eyes drifting back to the lake.
“I don’t want her to kill anyone else. One day, she might snap out of this rage and drown in her regret.” I glance back at Jols. “She’s got a big heart. Too big. She’ll never be able to forgive herself for taking lives.”
“So don’t let her. Do the killing yourself, or most of it, anyway.” Jols shrugs, voice calm like we’re talking about groceriesinstead of murder. “But let her see it. Let her know it's happening. Give her the closure she thinks she needs.”
I nod at that. It’s a better option than her pulling the trigger again, yet I can’t help but worry.
What if, when her head clears, she looks at me and sees the man who became her weapon?
I guess that’s still a better option though.
Better for her to hate what she sees inmerather than what she sees when she looks in the mirror.
Finishing my coffee, I head back inside, taking a moment to rinse my cup and leave it on the dish drainer before heading upstairs.
There are two bedrooms up here in the attic-style house.
One room Jols is using, and the other is meant to be for me and my wife… But in the three days we’ve been holed up here, there’s been nothing remotely marital about it.
As I always do, I tap lightly on the door before slipping inside. I don’t know why I do it. It’s my room too, but fuck, I don’t feel welcome in it.
My eyes fall to the bed, and the lump under the blankets.
