Page 63 of Severed Rivalry
“Oh, love. Have you been worried about that all day?”
She nods, her chin quivering as she fights back the emotions flooding her.
I extend a hand toward her, but she buries both of hers in her lap. “I don’t think so. I won’t lie to you, Née, I don’t know.”
She lets the tears flow and the hiccup that falls from her lips is enough to break my heart.
“The doctors said that the things they would be most worried about aren’t there. She doesn’t have a brain injury or a tumor. Tests ruled out both. She doesn’t have any infection, so it’s not that. The first two would be life-threatening and hard to treat. So, hear me, she’s not dying from those.”
She nods again as her eyes squeeze closed.
“RoRo is strong. Something happened, and her wiring got crossed. It doesn’t mean it will ever happen again. Unfortunately, it doesn’t mean it won’t either.” I take a sip of my water and wait before saying things I hate saying to my daughter. “Love, we’re all going to die at some point.”
Her head jerks up, and the tears freeze for just one moment.
“I hope that’s all three of us at a ripe old age when we’ve scratched everything off of our bucket lists and are ready to go. Itdoesn’t always happen like that, though, so we love out loud while we can. Love RoRo well. Leave it all out there so you know she knows how much you love her. Every single day, I hope you know that I’d give up my own life for yours. I love you that much.”
Her tears fall again, and I can’t take it anymore. Hands cover her face as I slide around the booth to hold her in my arms, turning to press my cheek to the top of her head.
“I’m so sorry you were scared yesterday. I hate that I was late coming from work, and you had to do it on your own.” The thought strikes me that I was her age the first time I ran away from the compound. Too young… Way too damn young. “I’m sorry that I acted poorly and left you to it alone. That’s on me and I apologize. We’ll probably both need therapy over that one.”
I kiss the crown of her head before whispering, “But I’m so damn proud of you. You helped RoRo. You helped me when I needed to know you’d be okay. I hear you tested Liam and Ayla. So damn proud.”
I hold my daughter until the ice in our glasses melts, our food goes cold, she’s shuddered out all her tears, and her nose is red and swollen.
I hate the life my daughter is forced to live. I hate that she had to be alone last night figuring shit out when she should be playing or napping or being a kid.
I silently run through my apologies, not yet ready to give them voice.
I’m sorry.So sorry you didn’t have an easy childhood, a stable one, one with roots and a white picket fence. I’m sorry you lost Randy.
I’m sorry your dad is a monster, and I’m so thankful every day that you don’t know him.
We return to Rosie’s house with the world’s biggest bag of expensive toiletries. This is so not me. I don’t splurge on nail polish and foot scrub and facial masks. But something about the emotional lunch and the last week has put things in perspective.
They gave Rosie Tramadol. It must be a wonder drug because you wouldn’t even know she was down for the count at all yesterday.We barge in, bringing leftover pizza from the house, the cookies, too, because they’ll get crunchy soon enough, and bail onto her sofa with the express purpose of moving in for the night.
I told Sherman everything I knew in the car last night. It’s not like there was more to it, so we didn’t need to meet.
So, I’ve had a day off, an actual day off where I wasn’t moving or running or doing errands. It’s the first in a long time. And I’ll end it with my family, pampering them, and making sure they know how much I love them.
19
collide
Cian
The hike, or rather walk, was good for me. This hot tub, though, is great.
I won’t say it’s not weird being in another man’s jacuzzi. It sort of is. But the heat around sore muscles and the sound of the bubbles are worth getting over it.
Me: I hope your day was great.
Me: You never said how Rosie is. I’m going to assume (since all the bad luck is mine and I don’t plan to share) that she’s fine. Tell me she’s fine.
Angel: She’s fine. Get you some Tramadol. She’s had that in her medicine cabinet forever from some old injury. That stuff apparently doesn’t let you know you hurt at all.
Me: I have Tylenol4. It’s effective. They also mean I can’t feel my brain, so I’ve been whittling down.
