Elude

  The song was finished anyway.

  I imagine she was going to get punished — in the best way imaginable. Homeboy seemed to have a lot of anger — but the good kind — like the kind that you knew if timed right could be… exciting.

  I giggled when Chase and Mil took the stage.

  I’d never seen a better pair in my entire life. She was feisty; he was hilarious but had this underlying intensity that I think he tried to hide in order not to terrify small children. It worked.

  They sang “A Whole New World.”

  Chase was the magic carpet.

  You can imagine how that went.

  Mil got on top of him and… well, it was Chase; he immediately flipped her around and started kissing her.

  The song never even finished before Mil stopped singing and flushed a bright red.

  “Get a room!” Tex yelled.

  “We have one!” Mil gripped Chase’s hand and led him to the door just as Phoenix and Sergio made their way in.

  “What’s going on in here?” Phoenix shoved his hands into his pockets and grinned.

  “Singing!” I announced.

  Sergio tried to leave.

  Chase barricaded the door with help from Mil.

  “Yay!” I yelled. “Our turn!”

  I jumped to my feet and quickly fell back to my chair.

  Sergio was at my side immediately. “Are you okay? Do you need to go to bed?”

  “No,” I lied. The room was spinning, but I was having so much fun, and I just wanted to pretend the night could last a little bit longer. “Let’s sing!”

  “Huzzah!” Tex yelled.

  “Historical romance nod.” Chase held up his fist to Tex. “That’s my man.”

  Sergio rolled his eyes and gripped my hands. “Alright, Russia, what do you want to sing? I swear to all that is holy if you say the Russian national anthem, I’m going to Taser your ass and hide your gun.”

  I pouted. “But my gun is special.”

  He smirked. “So’s mine.”

  “Fine. You win.”

  “Ha.” He kissed the corner of my mouth. “Okay, so what will it be?”

  The only song I could think of wasn’t fun. But it had meaning, so I pressed my finger to his lips and went over to the little machine and picked my song then grabbed the microphone.

  “‘If I die young, bury me in satin, lay me down on a bed of roses…’” I kept singing and twirled around on the stage, but I got dizzy super-fast and had to stop.

  Sergio was there instantly. He sat on the makeshift stage and put me on his lap as I kept singing.

  I was on his lap…

  Singing about getting buried.

  And he was rocking back and forth like it was okay.

  Tex and Mo sobered.

  Phoenix turned off the lights, and soon cell phones lit up the small dark room.

  “The sharp knife of a short life… oh well, I’ve had just enough time,” I crooned. “‘And I’ll be wearing white…’”

  Sergio grabbed the microphone when I couldn’t finish and started singing with me. I was breathless, maybe from my cancer, maybe from the fact that it was so true, so close to home — being buried in white, leaving the boy from town.

  “‘So put on your best, boys, and I’ll wear my pearls,’” I sang

  “‘A penny for my thoughts…’” Sergio countered in a low voice that was smooth, effortlessly beautiful.

  Nixon and Trace came back and immediately held up their cell phones.

  It was like a tribute concert.

  The end of something great.

  A ballad of beauty.

  I closed my eyes and cherished the moment — where I had family, where I had love, where I had in that night everything I could have ever hoped or dreamed for.

  It was short.

  But it was beautiful.

  And it was enough.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Sergio

  ”ANDI?” I’D NEVER TIRE OF KISSING her mouth, of pressing my lips against hers, of tasting her, of exploring. My tongue met hers. She was tired. I wouldn’t pressure her or anything. I just wanted — needed — to be close.

  “Hmm?” It was early morning; the sun had just started to rise over the horizon. “Everything okay?”

  “Yup.” My hands found her hips as I pulled her against me. “It is now.”

  Her eyes were still closed as she nestled her head under my chin. “You smell sexy.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yup.” She sighed happily. “I’ve always thought so, like expensive cologne.”

  I laughed.

  Andi was quiet. I’d assumed she’d fallen back asleep when suddenly she let out a tiny whimper.

  “Hey…” I tilted her chin toward me. “…you okay?”

  Her eyes blinked and then rolled up in the back of her head.

  “Andi!” I gripped her by the arms and set her on her back. “Come on, sweetheart. Talk to me. Stay awake.”

  She jolted and then blinked. “Sorry, sorry… I just… sorry.”

  My eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?”

  She licked her lips. “My face just felt… funny and…” Her eyes kept blinking wildly at me.

  “Andi?” I hated to ask. “Double vision?”

  “Yeah…” She frowned. “…and a bit of a headache.”

  Shit. I’d read every brochure, researched until I felt like I was going to go blind from the glare of the computer.

  I knew it was possible.

  I just hadn’t thought it would happen.

  She’d had a stroke. I looked closer as part of the right side of her face sagged just a bit; only noticeable to someone who was obsessed with every angle of her.

  “Maybe…” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “…we should call the hospice nurse, just in case.”

  Typically, our nurse only checked in once a day.

  I dreaded the time I’d have to call her to stay more than an hour.

  The time was upon us.

  Andi shook her head and reached for my hand. She gripped it tight, which wasn’t tight; it was weak, again making me feel sick to my stomach.

  “Please, wait, just… just until the sunrise.”

  I licked my lips, not sure if I should wait. I mean, what if?

  “Please,” she begged. “Things always look better in the morning, right? And it’s not morning yet. Technically, it’s still night. So wait until morning, wait until the sun shines on a new day, and we’ll call.”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  She sighed and pressed a kiss to my lips. “Good, now let’s put a chair in front of the window and watch. Let’s watch life together.”

  It was the last good day we had.

  That was cancer for you. It had no schedule, no timetable — it just was. One day she was laughing and joking with me.

  The next…

  She was a shell of her former self.

  A week had gone by since her stroke.

  A week where I watched my wife, the love of my life, fade before my very eyes. The weight continued to fall off; her appetite was nonexistent; muscle deteriorated. It was almost like I was watching the cancer actually eat her.

  I tried to cheer her up.

  We watched movies in bed. I sang to her even — though I sang like shit.

  And when she was too tired to read…

  I read to her.

  Her stupid historical romance books.

  About dukes and London and far away kingdoms that no longer existed in society.

  She loved it.

  So I loved it.

  “Shergio…” Andi slurred, her speech had started to go, especially at night. “Promise me another sunset.”

  “I promise.” I kissed her forehead. “Sleep.”

  She fell asleep within seconds.

  I set the book down and left the room, not because I wanted to be away from her, but because I hadn’t eaten anything all day. I’d been too consumed by her.

  Too sad.
/>
  It was around eight at night when I made it down to the kitchen.

  Chase was pulling something out of the oven. Frank was pouring wine, and the rest of the group paused.

  It wasn’t awkward, just… depressing.

  “My other bitch made food,” Tex finally blurted.

  And suddenly everything was right again.

  I cracked a smile. “He better have buttered my bread.

  “You slut, butter your own bread!” Chase snapped.

  I laughed.

  Probably for the first time in a week.

  Fighting commenced over dinner.

  Four bottles of wine all but disappeared, and I knew, one day, maybe not soon, I’d be okay. Because I had family — I really had family.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Andi

  I FELT IT.

  Maybe that was normal — maybe not. But it was like an alarm clock had suddenly gone off in my heart, beckoning me, calling to me. And a peace like I’d never experienced in my entire life fell over me. It was warm, like a blanket on a cold winter’s night.

  I woke up from my sleep and smiled a real smile — like the ones I saved for Sergio and only Sergio.

  I looked around the room. Things had been set into motion, the plans for his life set, even though he had no idea.

  I’d done what I could.

  And I’d done well; I knew that in my soul. The peace I felt in that moment was enough to help me get out of bed.

  I wrapped an afghan around me and kissed Sergio on the top of his head. He stirred, then woke up just as I walked out of the room.

  He would follow.

  He would always follow.

  But this was the last time he’d do such a thing. It was the last time he’d follow me, and that was how it should be, how it was supposed to be.

  I ran my fingers along the wood banister as I made my way down the stairs, my naked feet sinking into the warm plush carpet. The house smelled like pasta; I imagined they’d had a really good meal the night before — with wine and laughter.

  Good. He would need that.

  A lot of it.

  Night blanketed the house, its shadows casting a comforting glow as I finally found myself in the main entryway.

  I heard Sergio’s soft steps behind me.

  I opened the front door and walked outside. The moon was starting to set, the sun just beginning to peek from the east.

  The smell of winter was long gone, and spring was starting to seep its way into the atmosphere with its growth, its life.

  It was poetic really, if I thought about it. The timing… more perfect than I’d originally thought.

  One step.

  Two.

  Three… and I was walking out into the field, the same field I’d run into in my wedding dress when my husband had pissed me off.

  Again, so poetic, so romantic that this was where life had brought us.

  Together.

  In that same field.

  I blinked back the tears as I watched the sky swirl with life.

  I would miss him.

  Desperately.

  Our time had been short.

  But it had been good.

  And that’s how life is measured — not by the length, but by the strength of those moments spent together.

  I turned around as Sergio slowly approached, his hair disheveled, his face calm, his body strong. I’d remember him always — his sharp jaw, his defined lips, his gorgeous icy-blue eyes, long shaggy pirate hair… or as I’d remember… historical-romance duke hair that would make any girl with a pulse swoon.

  He was my hero.

  My white knight.

  Granted, he was missing a horse.

  But his heart — damn, it was strong.

  He didn’t have armor… then again, men like Sergio? Rarely needed it.

  His steps were purposeful, his full mouth curving into a sad smile.

  Beautiful… and mine — a gift I’d never deserve but forever cherish. I winked and then sat down, the grass tickling my legs. I pulled the afghan tighter against my body as I waited for his approach.

  For the final moment.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Sergio

  I’D KNOWN IT BEFORE SHE’D EVEN woke me up.

  Something in my soul had stirred… maybe it was because we were connected at such a deep level that her thoughts were my own; her feelings, the same.

  I followed her into the field, grinning when she gave me that coy look I’d been so used to seeing — the same one that had been missing from her face for the past week.

  “Wanted to go for a midnight run, huh?” I teased.

  Andi laughed. “Yeah, well, you know me. I like to keep you on your toes and all that. Italians aren’t known for their spontaneity.”

  “Who uses big words this early in the morning?”

  Her eyebrows arched. “Russians.”

  I held out my hand.

  She stood and gripped it.

  “Twirl.”

  “Huh?”

  I kissed her softly. “This…” I stood back and glanced at her pajama pants and T-shirt. “…is a two-twirl outfit — maybe three.”

  “Oh yeah?” Tears welled in her eyes.

  “Yeah.” I nodded then slowly twirled her, one, two, three times, bringing her into my arms and kissing her again, slowly dancing side to side. “You’re beautiful.”

  “Nope.” She pulled back. “Not doing this. You know we never would have worked, right?”

  I sat on the ground and pulled her into my lap. “Oh yeah?” My hands danced across her arms, rubbing them back and forth, trying to bring warmth into her cold body. “Why’s that?”

  “You hate vodka and never even finished the honeymoon list!”

  I laughed. “We finished the important parts.”

  “True.” She laid her head against my chest and let out a huge sigh. “You know you don’t really love me, right?”

  “Yes, I do. Don’t tell me how to feel.” I pulled her against me and kissed her nose, feeling semi-aggravated she would doubt me.

  “Nope.” She shook her head. “I refuse to believe it. Wanna know why?”

  “Not particularly, no, but saying no to you is like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Should I sit down for this?”

  “No, but you can hold me.”

  “I’m already doing that.”

  “And you are sitting down, silly Italian.”

  “Such a good student.”

  She flicked my nose.

  “I was your teacher first, smart ass.”

  “One day…” She sighed happily. “…you’re going to fall in love, and it’s going to be epic and beautiful and heartbreaking.”

  “I feel that way now.” My words felt thick as I clenched her body tighter.

  “I refuse it!” she said in a stern voice. “Because that makes our story too tragic, and I don’t do tragic. I think we deserve a happy ending… so you and me? We’re best friends. We have a lot of firsts together. But imagine us growing old, Sergio? You’d steal the remote. I’d bang you on the head with a baseball bat.”

  “Don’t forget the pots and pans,” I said, laughing.

  “I mean, who does that?” Andi finished. “Imagine our children!”

  “They’d be beautiful,” I said reverently.

  “They’d be American-born Sicilians with a slice of Russian — they’d be horrible.”

  I burst out laughing. It felt good to laugh. That was Andi; I knew what she was doing, even in her last moments — trying to cheer me up. Maybe she could sense my heart breaking. Maybe she could hear it. I knew I could.

  “And don’t even get me started on the way you steal all the covers, Sergio. Not very classy and, I mean, you do snore.”

  “I purr.”

  “You snore,” she corrected. “And you sing like shit.”

  “Thanks.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “No sugarcoating, hmm, Russia?”

  “N
o, Sicily, no sugarcoating.”

  “So where does that leave us?” I was almost afraid to ask.

  “With goodbye.” She shrugged then kissed me softly across the lips. “But it’s going to be a hell of a goodbye… with kissing, hugging — no tears though. Don’t go all soft on me. Russians don’t cry.”

  “Even when Russians watch Frozen?”

  “You were sworn to secrecy! You know that means I have to kill you.”

  “Do your worst.” I held open my arms, but, instead of hitting me, she just leaned back, her head resting against my chest.

  “Remember this moment, Sergio… when I’m gone… and please, for the love of God, smile don’t go back to that place. Don’t get angry, don’t get resentful, just smile… because we had a chance. It was short, but we still had it. And that, my friend, is a beautiful ending, remember?”

  I closed my eyes, blinking back tears. “Yes, I remember.”

  Andi kissed my cheek and sighed; her breathing sounded more laborious; her body felt cold, frigid.

  “Andi…” My voice broke. “…I broke my promise.”

  She shifted in my lap and faced me. “What?”

  “I cried… I cried over you.”

  Andi’s eyes welled with tears as she cupped my face with her hands. “That’s okay… I cried too.”

  I nodded, not trusting my voice.

  “Will you hold me now?” She sighed. “So we can watch the sunrise together?” Her voice cracked.

  “Yeah, Andi.”

  She relaxed against me. Her body felt so frail, so tiny.

  “I love you, Italy.”

  “I love you too, Russia.”

  “For as long as we both live…” Andi whispered.

  “As long as we both live,” I repeated.

  The sun rose over the horizon; it was bright, breathtaking. Andi gripped my hands tight and sighed happily.

  My whole life I’d watched people die. After all, most of the time I’d been the one to offer death. I’d been on the other end of the gun, the fist, the knife.

  I’d always thought of it as being something so indifferent, mechanical.

  I was wrong.

  So wrong.

  Dying didn’t have to be tragic.

  It didn’t have to be horrific.

  Or dark.