Page 123 of Ugly Truths
“Tell Laur… love her,” he wheezes, eyes squeezing shut as he tries to find the breath to finish his thought. “You too… kid.”
Three heartbeats barely pass before his eyelids relax and his tattooed hand grows slack, slipping from my forearm and off the side of the seat.
I whimper more pleas, pulling it back into mine, but his fingers and wrist limp. My tears run down his temple, mixing with the smear of blood I left on his scalp.
Underneath my wet lashes, I can see the contours of his face. If I say it enough, I could convince myself he’s sleeping. I found him many times on the recliner in his guest room, sitting with me in recovery, taking a nap in the sun that streamed through the windows. All I have to do is throw a pillow on his lap, and he’ll jump up from his spot to tell me he’s been awake the whole time.
It’s only when I pull back enough to look at his frame, already pale, coated in blood, and so still, that the illusion shatters.
And suddenly, the world stops spinning.
Chapter 48
Silas
The bedroom door closes behind me, echoing in the quiet. For a moment, I stand just inside the threshold, allowing my eyes to adjust to the dim light filtering through the drawn curtains.
Elena is facing away from the door, the outline of her body visible under the covers, curled into a tight ball. Her back rises and falls with each shallow breath. It’s hard to tell if she’s asleep or not, especially when she’s been so still.
Steam from the chicken pot pie I holding tickles the edges of my nose, fresh from the oven. I asked Kendall to make it for dinner, but it was ready early, and Elena liked it so much the last time we ate it. It’s another Hail Mary. She’s barely taken anything besides water in the past three days, and even that’s been a struggle.
Just as I'm about to take a step towards her, my phone vibrates in my pocket. A curse forms in my head as Everett's name flashes on the screen before I send him to voicemail.
I’ve been working from the lounge chair next to the fireplace and taking calls in my study, but always returning to her side immediately after. Everyone has been accommodating, especially after the local news identified who was involved in the shooting, but life hasn’t stopped moving.
There’s so much to do, but I just—I can’t leaveher like this.
Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I quietly approach the bed, placing the bowl on the side table before lifting the covers and sliding in as gently as possible. I slip one arm under her pillow and the other across her stomach, pulling her back against me.
She doesn’t tense in sleepy confusion or acknowledge my presence. I hold her anyway, pressing a kiss to her dirty hair. I haven’t been able to convince her to shower since the afternoon we got home from the hospital, when she spent over forty minutes rubbing her skin raw, silent tears streaming down her face as she did it.
Thinking about her in that state makes the ever-present nausea churn in my gut. The moment I saw her slumped in that emergency room chair beside my sister and Cillian, surrounded by police officers, will haunt every nightmare until my last breath.
She was still covered in blood, her expression so tight she barely looked like herself. Her arms were crossed over her chest as she spoke, and though streaks of old tears stained her cheeks, she looked hardened.
When our eyes met over the shoulders of the people questioning her, she blinked, like she didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t. Then the hardness cracked, and every barrier she’d spent years building to protect herself after Drew splintered in an instant. The sob that tore out of her when her chest crashed into mine took a piece of my soul with it.
After more than a decade of pushing forward to survive, Elena Cross finally let herself fall apart, and I’d never felt so goddamn helpless.
I barely even had time to ask what happened when Lauren plowed through the emergency room doors, her eyes frantically searching the room for her husband. When she finally caught sight of us and realized who was missing, she just knew.
Lauren collapsed to the floor in a heap. Though there was nothing but fear in Elena’s eyes, she ran to her, apologies pouring out as she sank to the floor in front of her friend, wrapped her arms around her, and wept.
The hours blurred after that. We stayed with Lauren, and Cillian eventually took Natalie back to my place so she could get clean and restafter Cora and Lloyd arrived. It wasn’t until Lauren’s parents and Jeff’s mother showed up that I started to pull Elena back.
She resisted, of course, but I could see what she couldn’t. Lauren was starting to absorb it all, and Elena’s shock had worn off. Her growing panic wasn’t helping. If anything, it was making it harder for Lauren to breathe.
Still, I didn’t have to push her. Lauren hugged her first. “I’m okay,” she said softly, even as her voice cracked. “Go home, rest. We’ll talk later.”
Elena nodded, but her apology tumbled out anyway, sharp and full of guilt. “I’m so sorry, Lauren. I’m so sorry—”
Lauren hushed her before I could. “It’s not your fault,” she said. And somehow, she meant it. Still comforting Elena even as the weight of what had happened settled into her own bones.
I didn’t give Elena a chance to spiral again. I guided her out through the automatic doors, toward my SUV, and took her home.
I’ve been in contact with Lauren’s parents, who have been staying with her. Lauren has postponed the services for now. She can barely make it through an hour at a time, let alone plan and host a memorial for the person she thought she was going to grow old with.
It took a little convincing, but they agreed for me to have a service drop off several meals a day, along with any other resources they might need. Grief counselors, house cleaners, funeral services when she feels ready—whatever it is, it’s theirs. My offers have no timeline or limit. All the resources in the world can't undo the damage done, but I have to try.
