Sliding off the bed, I crawled over to him on weak knees and lay by my beautiful Turk, stroking his thick hair. “I’m sorry,” left me quietly as I leant in and pressed my lips to his. Another sob left me. I spoke through the tears, pressing another gentle kiss to his lips, whispering, “Wake up, baby.”
But he wasn’t listening.
My body shook from my place on the floor as my tone became desperate. “Everything’s going to be okay.” I sniffled, and explained, “I just need you to wake up.” I paused at his stillness. “Okay?”
Nothing. “Okay?”
Not a word.
My lips trembled, and I stroked his hair harshly as my voice cracked, “Okay?”
I took a moment to look at him. His open eyes were void and hollow, and his gaping mouth seemed to be frozen on a cry he never got the chance to set free.
Closing my eyes, I let out a low whine before body-wracking sobs took me by force. Tears blurred my vision as I wept openly, pulling him to me and holding him in death as I should have in life.
It was okay. Everything would be okay.
My arms shook around his dead weight. I took in what little warmth he had.
We’d just lie here a while, and tomorrow, everything would be fine.
I cradled his head to my bosom and rocked him gently, putting my lips to his temple as I whispered all the things I wish I’d said yesterday.
Everything would be fine.
Unfortunately, everything was not fine.
My eyes swollen from the crying, I looked up as my brother entered the bedroom, his eyes looking from Aslan’s cold, lifeless body to me then back again. He swallowed hard, running a hand down his face, as he uttered a quiet, “Ling....”
I know.
It was bad.
As I crouched in the corner of the room, wearing nothing but my bloodstained skin, I said the only thing I could.
“It was an accident.”
Regretfully, the gunshot wound to his back said differently.
My brother blinked at me a moment before his feet moved and he crossed the room. Van knelt in front of me, taking a soft hand and cupping my cheek before attempting to pick at the bloodstained hair that had dried to my face from when I put my head to Az’s chest in an effort to see if his heart was beating. “It’s okay, Ting-a-Ling.” He lifted me to stand and pulled me into his arms. He held me tightly, rubbing my bare back. “We’ll fix this.”
No.
Didn’t he understand?
This wasn’t something we could fix.
We couldn’t bring him back. Couldn’t make him breathe again, or smile again, or argue with me, or love me with a full heart and an empty mind, damn all the consequences.
My brother snatched the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around my shivering body, pulling me to his side before guiding me out of the bedroom and towards the sofa.
This could not be fixed.
Aslan was dead.
Van sat me down and began to make the necessary phone calls. My gaze turned harsh at the understanding that I would never again hold the man I loved.
And I blamed Twitch.
Chapter
Thirty-One
Lexi
The commotion started as soon as the front door opened, and I listened to it trail the hallway, settling into the family room. From inside the bathroom in my Pikachu slippers, I stopped applying mascara when I heard my little man.
“And Squidward is a butthead, but SpongeBob doesn’t care. He likes him anyway,” explained A.J. enthusiastically.
“Why is he a butthead?” asked Twitch.
“I don’t know. He gets mad and doesn’t like people. He likes his clarinet,” A.J. went on, “The boss, Mr. Krabbs, is a butthead too. He likes money and he’s a crab, but his daughter is a whale and she cries a lot.”
Twitch sounded maddened. “The fuck kind of show is this?” I heard a huge thud, then squeaking, and Twitch muttered, “Off the couch, little dude. Your mom’s not gonna dig that.”
More squeaking. More bouncing. Then A.J.’s voice rose excitedly as he jumped on the cushions. “I like it. It’s funny. Patrick is silly. Daddy,” he panted as he kept jumping, “can we watch SpongeBob?”
Twitch didn’t speak for a moment, but when he did, I heard trouble brewing in his tone. “A.J.” he began, “I said off the couch.”
Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like our son was in the mood for listening, and the loud, grinding squeaks continued, followed by the little monster’s puffing and panting, and I listened as A.J. ignored his father. “Mum lets me watch it in the mornings before school. Can we?”
“Off the couch,” he tried again, his tone deceptively calm.
The creaking and squeaking continued as A.J. burst out with, “Oh!” He screamed at the top of his lungs, “Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?”
The entire house shook as Twitch hollered, “Get off the couch!”
It was so loud that the silence that followed almost echoed off the walls.
When I heard the squeaking stop, my heart began to race.
My first instinct was to fly out of the bathroom with guns blazing and tear the handsome man a new asshole. But the social worker in me told me to wait and see how this played out.
With a heavy heart, I waited.
At the sound of A.J.’s breath hitching, my insides coiled tight, and when Twitch let out a groan, followed by an apologetic sounding, “Oh, buddy. I’m so sorry. C’mere,” little footsteps rushed over, and when I peeked out of the bathroom, I found Twitch on his knees, cradling our son to him, rocking him from side-to-side as A.J. cried quietly.
And my chest ached painfully.
The parenting gig wasn’t easy. There were plenty of manuals, yes, and everyone had an opinion on how to parent, but it was basically all about experience, and Twitch hadn’t yet had that pleasure.
I needed to understand that he was learning as he went, and some of the lessons would be learned the hard way.
When the man in question kissed our son’s head and sighed before pulling back to catch the little monster’s tears with the backs of his fingers, he explained, “What happened then wasn’t your fault, okay?” A.J. nodded, holding back tears as Twitch went on. “When I was a little boy, some bad things happened to me, and sometimes loud noises do something to my head.” He pointed at his temple and tried to speak delicately. “Sometimes loud noises make Daddy angry, okay? But that’s not your problem, bud.” He touched a gentle hand to A.J.’s jaw, wiping away more tears. “I’m tryin’ to be better.” Twitch pulled our son to him again, hugging him tight. “I’m gonna do better.”
I heard the words he didn’t say.
I’m gonna do better... for you.
A.J. wrapped his little arms around his father’s neck, and croaked, “I’m sorry.”
I watched Twitch’s heart break. He closed his eyes, pained. “You did nothing wrong. You don’t have to apologize for anything, okay? I’m sorry,” Twitch uttered, placing his lips to the top of his apple-scented head. “I messed up and I’m sorry.” After a long moment, Twitch pulled back and peered down at the sad-looking gremlin. “Are we good, little dude? Forgive me?”
A.J. was an observer. He didn’t always take things for face value, and when he looked into his father’s eyes, he must have seen the sincere apology in them because he nodded slowly, contemplatively, as though he truly believed Twitch was sorry.
As did I.
So when Twitch sighed in relief and stood up to put his hand to A.J.’s head, and muttered, “Go put your bag away. I need to talk to your mom,” I was ready for him.
He appeared in the doorway of the bathroom looking pale and upset, and when I clicked my tongue, stepping towar
d him, he met me halfway, wrapping his arms around me tightly as I snaked my own around his waist, pressing myself into him.
My poor baby.
My poor, haunted baby.
Twitch lowered his face into the crook of my neck, and the move had my chest panging so hard I could barely contain it. Reaching up, I stroked the back of his head lovingly and kissed the space above his ear, providing the comfort he needed at that moment.
I held him for a solid minute before he pulled back, straightening and taking a deep breath to steady himself. And I smiled softly. “Hey.”
But he didn’t speak. He simply lowered his face to mine, seeking more comfort from my lips. And I gave it to him.
The kiss was slow, and deep, and full of apology, and when we separated, his eyes seemed less turbulent and more focused. More like himself. And when he covered my mouth a second time, taking my lips in another hard kiss before turning and moving to exit the bathroom, I called out to stop him.
He stilled in the doorway, twisting back to look at me expectantly.
Don’t say it.
Don’t say it.
Don’t say it, Alexa.
“You ever talk to him like that again,” I kept my voice mild, “I’ll have your balls.”
Ah, nuts. You said it.
Twitch looked at me a long moment, his eyes flashing, and when he pounced at me, I squeaked in shock, my heart jolting.
One strong arm came around me tightly, the other sliding down my back, gripping my ass in his firm grasp, biting as he squeezed hard. He growled low in his throat and gently nipped my earlobe before he let out a rough sounding “I love it when you go all mama bear.” He pulled back, biting his bottom lip, his gaze hooded, and when his hand lifted and landed on my ass cheek with a hard slap, I yelped. His eyes flashed a second time, when he rumbled, “Fuckin’ sexy.”
And my vagina swooned dead away.
He left me in the bathroom, alone and horny, and when he came back a short while later, finding me in the exact spot he left me, his eyes crinkled in the corners. “Molly’s gonna watch the monster. I’m takin’ you out to lunch. So—” He checked the solid silver watch. “—be ready in an hour.” He took a step back. “Oh, and baby?”