Page 122 of Roses Are Dead
“You have to.”
My head shook all on its own. “I can’t. And I won’t. We’re in this together. No take-backsies.”
Her throat worked and triggered a coughing fit. I held her upright so she could sip some water. When she finally recovered enough to talk, she asked, “You’re not going to listen to me, are you?”
“Not on this.”
“But…”
“I’m not. You know you created a monster when you told me to get stubborn. I did. I listened then, and it saved my life. I can’t give that up, and I won’t ever. Now, I’m telling you to get stubborn.”
Her lips turned up. “A monster. That’s funny.”
“Damn straight it is.” The monster and the angel—that was us.
The smile didn’t leave her face like it normally did. “That’s why you like Bear.”
She hit the truth there. It burst over me like a beam of sunlight in my soul, I brightened with joy. “He’s the right kind of monster for me.”
“Then grab onto him. With both hands and don’t let go.”
I wish I could. The silent thought flashed through my head before I could stop it. I smiled so it wouldn’t show on my face. In case it did, I made sure to warn Beth not to get her hopes up for me. “He’s not the kind who would be happy in a cage.”
“Love isn’t a cage.”
No, it was torture. Loss. Pain. Anger. All masked under a polite facade. Unless you stripped away the falsity and embraced the ugliness of it.
Maybe that was my way to reach acceptance?
I’d stripped away at myself, at the raw nature of the beast inside me, and Beth still let me sit at her side. That was love.
And it was beautiful. “You’re going to make me cry.”
“We can’t have that.” Her laugh was weak.
“Nope.” I took a breath. “When you get better this time, and the doctors release you from this place. Where are you going to go on vacation?”
This was something I’d done for her before. Plans, hopes, dreams…
“Disney World.”
Ugh. How about nope? “With the kids?”
“Of course.”
“Woman, you need better dreams.”
“Oh, come on, they’d love it. And you’ll come with us. They have a whole haunted mansion and the Tower of Terror and pirates… I bet Bear would fit right in.”
“Pirates.” I smiled. “Could you imagine a six-foot-something biker with piercings standing next to the park version of Jack Sparrow?” I could. Bear’s beard and piercings would outstrip the fake ones any day.
“John said your man is quite scary.”
“Only on days that end in ‘y’.”
She laughed. “Tell me about him.”
I did. From the latest bobbin of bone wrapped in his beard to the size of his feet.
