Page 79 of The Jester and His Outlaw: Part 2

“I need some fucking fresh air, man. I’m losing my mind.” He springs upright, bracing his hands on the rails of the chair. I press against his chest, shaking my head faintly. “All good. I want to be alone. Just gonna step outside for a few minutes. Will you tell me if they call?”

His brows scrunch in subtle confusion and concern for me. I couldn’t force a smile to my face even if I wanted to, but I give him a stronger nod as if to say I’m good, so that he can relax. In reality, I’m far from okay, but I can handle a trip outside without self destructing better than I can sitting another minute in here, this painful silence screaming louder than any of my thoughts can.

“Of course. Call me if you need me,” he says, ending his sentence with a yawn that thins his lips and seems to last forever. Appreciation for J eases the ache in my heart a little as I finally find a hint of a smile for my brother.

“Yeah. Thanks, J.” I turn, pointedly keeping my head from straying to see Outlaw’s parents. I’ve done well to avoid them most of this time.

The nights are cooling off a little faster, drawing the coldest air into Bleudale this early in the morning. I barely keep myself contained as I slip from the hospital doors, not registering the cold at all, emotion so powerful, so overwhelming, all fucking consuming, barreling into me like a battering ram.

Emotion for my Outlaw, grief for Gramma that I’ve kept hidden in an attempt to right myself and do better, to drag myself from the deepest depths I’ve ever fallen into. How I ever survived, I will never know, but now this? Fuck, someone is taking liquid nitrogen to my soul and chipping away at what tiny bit I have left, what small fraction Outlaw has helped me to rebuild.

The small fraction she has claimed.

I flatten myself to the wall, pressing my back into the cinder blocks, letting the sharp, ragged edges gouge into my skin as I make my way to a sitting position. It hurts like a motherfucker, but it is exactly what I need to feel. Something other than the ache in my chest that has turned into a full body weight, dragging me down, residing in my limbs, in my bones, so attached I’m not sure Outlaw waking from surgery will even help. Warmth seeps from the scratches, blood instantly flooding the area.

I’ve suffered many losses in my life, lived through some moments that bordered on pitch-black, but never have I dealt with this kind of pain. I’m sure it’s a mixture of everything I’ve been through lately. Charleywillbe fine, eventually. But I’m already grieving the time she will lose, the happiness. I’m preparing to watch the struggle she will face. She will endure heartbreak, self loathing, so much pain. The potential loss of a career in hockey… I’m not sure how I’ll make it through watching her struggle and not be able to do anything but support her.

“FUCK!” I toss my head back, my heart breaking for the girl lying on a surgical table to repair what they did to her. What they took from her. Sobs are wrenched from my chest, tearing from my throat as tears sting my eyes and glide down my cheeks.

“I can’t feel my legs,”she’d said.“Kai, why can’t I feel my legs?”I didn’t actually hear her say it, but he recounted the moment, sounding so much like her in their delivery of the words that I could hear her saying it perfectly.

I roughly run my palms up my face, sliding my fingers beneath my hat, flicking it off. My grasp on my hair is so hard I’m sure my scalp will release it. I drop my head to my knees, yanking my hair in brief pulses, enough to keep myself grounded as my grief takes over.

I’ve been doing so well lately. So damn well and it’s all because of Outlaw. I owe her my life because without her annoying persistence and her need to pester me, I wouldn’t be here. That is what she needs from me and I’m glad that she has shown me it’s possible. The task won’t be easy, but I’ll do it for her. I’ll make sure she sees the light in her darkest days. When she needs me, wants me, I will be there.

But I can’t see any of that right now. I can only see loss and pain.

I press my lips together, intent on beating down the latest sob that’s clawing at me to get out. My attempt is weak, like my arms and legs. My head is so heavy and my chest is throbbing from the emotional pain and the force of my sobs.

“Oh dear, sweet, sweet boy,” a soft, motherly voice says. A gentle hand lands on my shoulder, but my blood runs cold.

Mrs. Miller.

I try to shrug away from her, but she doesn’t relent, simply follows me.

“Please, don’t touch me.” My voice is low with warning, thick hatred coiling in my words. It’s unwarranted because I don’t know the woman, not truly, but everything I’ve learned of her has stained my idea of who she actually is. I eye her, not appreciative of her continued touch, and I certainly have no fucking clue why she followed me out here.

“When my little girl told us she was moving out”—she pauses, collecting herself when her chin starts to tremble—“to live with some random boy from the Northside of town that I had never met, I nearly lost my mind. Sure, she was doing it out of spite because Charley just likes to remind us she’s not like us from time to time. But you… you’re crying for my daughter. Your pain is quite overwhelming.”

When my eyes flee from hers, she drops her head, reaching out to place a finger under my chin. I jerk my chin away from her touch. This time she lets me. There are so many things I want to say to her, to tear her to shreds for what she has done to Outlaw, but a part of me also wants to listen to her.

A part of me craves the loving words of a mother that I haven’t heard in years. I don’t for a second believe this woman is truly capable of that, but I also am aware that Outlaw loves her and broke down last night with grief for the mother that wasn’t showing up for her.

A caring person lives in this crafted shell of a woman somewhere. She has to be in there, even if deep down. Outlaw wouldn’t give her love if there wasn’t.

I try to remind myself of what Mr. Tucker told us. There is more to this story that we aren’t aware of. I just hope it is something they can dig themselves out of so they can get back to their family.

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

“That’s none of your concern. If you don’t mind, I’d like to be left alone.”

She clears her throat, squaring her shoulders. A soft sigh slips from her lips, then she drops on the concrete before me, sitting with her legs closed, knees bent to the side like a proper lady. I pull my knees impossibly close to my chest to make sure we don’t touch at all and try to rein in my seething breaths.

At least she kept me from completely losing myself to the crippling darkness.

“Now, I can’t see someone breaking and not help, even if they are from the ‘wrong side of town.’” She does air quotes around thewrong side of town. “I’m not sure what my daughter has told you about—”

“Nothing I haven’t seen for myself,” I growl, wishing she would get the fuck away from me and leave me to my agony.

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