Page 138 of Merciless

My arm lands on the bed and I glare at her.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I mutter.

“I’m a realist. You know this, boy. You went in there all emotional and hurting. You weren’t in the right headspace to take him on. Even if you were in top form and ready. You were always going to lose.”

“Ouch,” I hiss.

“Truth hurts. Now, shall we see what we can do about this ugly face?” she asks, before spinning around and letting herself into my bathroom, hunting for my first aid kit.

“You don’t need to do this,” I call after her, pushing myself up and scooting back against the headboard.

“Someone has to,” she shouts back. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but I didn’t see a queue of women around the block offering up their services.”

“Thank fuck for that,” I mutter. I can’t think of anything worse than some random wannabe gangster wives turning up to tend to my wounds.

I have the only wife I want; I just need to find her.

Sheila returns with an armful of medical supplies and silently begins to clean me up. It’s not because she doesn’t have plenty to say. She does. I can sense the comments and questions that she’s fighting to keep in. She’ll only be able to contain them for so long though. Before she leaves, I’ll have been forced to listen to all her opinions and worldly advice.

Sheila has been in my life for as long as I can remember. She knows me better than I know myself most days.

Growing up, she was the only real mother figure I had. My mom fucked off before I was old enough to remember her. To be fair, I can’t even really blame her. I just wish she was sensible enough to take me with her.

Dad bounced from one woman to the next, knocking up more than a few to ensure this town is littered with my half-siblings, ranging from a couple of years younger than me to toddlers.

But Sheila, from as early as I can remember, she was there taking care of us any way she could.

She’s Ivy’s grandmother. Hell, she’s anyone’s grandmother who needs a bit of love and care in this hellhole. But seeing as Ivy and I became inseparable from our first day of kindergarten, Sheila took me under her wing and gave me as much love as she gave Ivy.

She’s been a better parent to me than my own. And even after gaining Daisy and losing Ivy, she’s still here. Still trying to keep me together and patch me up as if I’m her own.

“You should have called me last night,” she chastises as she tries to clean up the dried blood coating my face.

I want to tell her not to bother, but it won’t get me anywhere.

Once she’s done with my face, muttering her disapproval the entire time, she then makes a start on my knuckles.

“I know you hate this,” she finally says. “I know how much you miss her.”

“Sheila,” I breathe.

It goes without saying that she was the first person Alana and I told about our marriage. She was skeptical at first, rightly so. Everyone in this town thought she’d gone to stay with her mom and Kristie, and then suddenly, there she was holding my hand and wearing my ring.

We knew everyone was going to talk. Plus, the fact I was five years older and she was barely eighteen. Not that that kind of thing was wholly unusual in a place like Harrow Creek. But Sheila saw through us. She knew there was more to it.

We never confessed though.Well, not in so many words. The thing about Sheila is that she knows. She sees deeper than all the others.

Alana’s past was too painful for her to talk about more than she had to. She fought against it every single day. There was no way I was going to start telling others her secrets, or my reasons for keeping her safe and then making her mine.

That was our story, our truth.

It isn’t for anyone else to understand or even agree with.

The five years I had with her were the best of my life. Yes, I have regrets. Ivy being the most painful of them all. But ultimately, I wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

All I can do is hope that we get a chance to have more time.

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