An answering tune came from the distance, faint but close enough not to panic.
“He’s out of hearing distance—for the most part.” Ren cupped my cheek. “Tell me. Hit me if you need.”
For a second, I considered it.
I honestly contemplated hitting the love of my life.
The love who was dying.
But then, my rage vanished as quickly as it had built, and I melted into his embrace. “I’m just so afraid, Ren. So afraid I won’t be able to do this. That nothing will make sense or be worthwhile anymore. How can I look after Jacob when you’re not here to look after me? How am I supposed to care about anything when the only thing I’ve ever cared about is gone?”
Even though tears didn’t fall, sadness vibrated in my voice, cloying as smoke.
“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.” He hugged me tight, the rattle in his lungs a constant song. “All I know is, out of the two of us, you’re the bravest one. You’ll get through it. Somehow.”
Tearing myself out of his arms, I glowered at him. “Don’t call me brave, Ren. You know nothing of bravery.”
He scowled. “Know nothing? Are you sure?”
“Yes, because for decades you’ve been the braver one, but you’ve never seen it. You’ve never once blamed me for what happened to you. You’ve never once cried for what life has given you. You’ve never broken down or—”
“Only because I have you.”
“Yes, and soon, I won’t have you at all.”
Jacob came bounding from the trees, his arms chock-a-block with twigs and kindling. “Found some.” He pranced to the cleared circle to make a blaze, utterly oblivious to the sort-of-fight he’d interrupted.
And I was glad.
Because I honestly didn’t have the strength.
The way I was feeling, I was weak enough to consider a Romeo and Juliet ending and bequeath Jacob to Cassie.
I would be that terrible.
I would be that monstrous to leave my child an orphan because I didn’t have the courage to be a widow.
“Who’s hungry?” I asked brightly. Too brightly. Tearing myself from Ren’s hold, I grabbed the grill plate from the backpack. Ducking to my haunches, I helped Jacob build a fire.
“Me! I’m starving.” Jacob rubbed his tummy. “And then, after dinner, please tell me there’s cake.”
Ren chuckled, sitting back down, forever watching us. “In a diner, a long time ago, a waitress once told me there was always time for cake.” His dark coffee eyes met mine. “Your mom was five and blew spit all over the cupcakes instead of blowing out a single flame.”
Jacob laughed. “Eww. I’ll take care of the blowing. Thanks, Mom.”
I couldn’t move, entranced by Ren’s gaze, enchanted by him.
He whispered, “You made a wish that night, Della Ribbon. A wish I’ve always tried to honour. Please understand, I’ll still be keeping that promise even after I’m—”
“Enough.” Tearing my eyes from his, I snatched a lighter from the backpack and let fire chew its way through the carefully stacked sticks.
Ren stayed quiet as the fire grew and, once the blaze was big enough, I placed the grill plate on top—balanced by a few rocks—and slapped three juicy steaks into the flames. I’d made a potato salad back at home with mayo, along with some spinach wrapped rice rolls.
The birthday cake for Jacob’s tenth celebration was carefully tucked in Tupperware—a vanilla sponge in the shape of the little white pony, Binky, that he’d been learning to ride.
Organising this trip had given my mind something to hook onto, and I’d slipped back into my role as mother.
Once the steaks were cooked, I divided up the potato salad and rice rolls onto the collapsible plates Ren had bought for Jacob’s birthday and did my best to act normal with conversation.
Partway through the meal, I subtly handed Ren a high-strength painkiller as his skin flushed with sweat and his forehead never smoothed.
I’d long since become acquainted with his tolerance levels and pain.
He gave me a look before sighing and holding out his palm.
I dropped the pill into it before Jacob noticed, nodding like a satisfied nurse as he swallowed.
Afterward, I headed to the river, taking a torch to wash up quickly, leaving my two beloved boys to talk about whatever boys do.
And there, in the ether of silence and starlight, I fell to my knees and drove my fists into the leaf-littered dirt.
I let my rage break free.
I punched the earth. I kicked the sky. I ripped time itself apart.
“Why?” I screamed quietly.
“How could you?” I asked painfully.
“Not yet,” I begged brokenly.
But no one answered.
No owl hooted.
No shooting star offered salvation.
And yet, howling at the moon and spreading my fears in the dark was cathartic enough to piece myself back together again, wipe away my tears, pick up the clean plates, and head back to the fire and my boys.
* * * * *
“Wow, Dad. Thanks!” Jacob hurled himself into Ren’s arms.
Star Wars wrapping paper scattered on the forest floor, forgotten as the Swiss Army knife became his prized possession.
“Don’t hurt yourself with that, you hear?” I laughed as he kissed Ren’s cheek.
Ren patted his back. “You’re welcome. I can show you what each thing does if you want?”
“Nah, it’s okay. I’ve played with one of yours before.”
“Oh, you have, have you?” Ren raised an eyebrow in my direction, smirking. “Told you, Della. Our son isn’t a kid anymore.”
I stood, brushing leaves off my ass. A few floated into the fire with a quick whoosh of fuel. I laughed again, forcing happiness. “Fine. What do I know? Ten seems to be the new adult these days.”
Ren chuckled.
“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” Leaving them to discuss blade points and miniature saw skills, I secretly pulled the Tupperware container out of the backpack and went to hide by the tent to stab ten candles into the poor vanilla pony.
With my pocketed lighter, I lit them all then headed back carrying the birthday dessert singing, “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to, Jacob! Happy birthday to you.”
Jacob groaned, burying his head in his hands. “Ugh, no singing, Mom. That’s just embarrassing.”
Ren ruffled his blond head, tugging his son’s small ear. “Never take these moments for granted, Wild One. It’s these that you’ll remember forever.” His dark eyes met mine and once again, the fracturing brokenness inside threatened to overwhelm me.
Tearing my gaze away, I cleared my throat and dropped to my haunches, delivering the cake to Jacob. “Make a wish and blow them out.”
Squeezing his eyes tight, Jacob paused for a moment, then, as serious as if he sat an exam, he blew all ten out in one breath.
Ren grabbed the knife that was forever wedged in his boot, placed the blade in the fire for a few seconds to sterilize it, then cut off the pony’s head and gave it to Jacob. “Birthday boy gets first bite.”
“Thanks.” Jacob shoved it in his face, icing going everywhere.
Ren and I laughed, sharing another heart-warming, heart-breaking look as he passed me a leg and he had the tail.
We ate quietly for a bit, enjoying the sugar, remembering our first birthday together where cupcakes had been our first taste of refined goodness instead of the fructose found in fruit.
So much had happened since then, yet it felt as if nothing had happened at all.
Ren was still a forest dweller, and I was still madly in love with him.
I’d been in love with him for thirty-two years, and it wasn’t enough.
It would never be enough.
Sucking in a shaky breath, I scooted closer to Ren. He smiled sadly, coughing a little before putting his arm around me.
I kissed his throat, inhaling the heady
wild flavour of the man who’d raised me and the man I’d married.
I’d loved him in every way someone could love another—platonically, sisterly, wifely. And now, I loved him in a way that couldn’t be explained. A way that transcended everything. A way that had no name because the way we loved existed past language and law. An astral kind of love that made its home in the stars and vacationed on Jupiter.
“You know…” Jacob looked up, his boyish, beautiful face softening with affection rather than acting annoyed at seeing us cuddle. “I made my wish for you guys.” His dark eyes, so similar to Ren’s, welled up. “I wished that you were better, Dad. I wished you weren’t gonna have to go someplace.”
Instantly, Ren reached across and dragged Jacob into a three-way hug. Jacob on his knees between us, his tiny frame so slight but so strong.
Tears trickled down my face as Ren shuddered with emotion.
When we could talk without sobbing, Ren said softly, “I wish that too, Wild One, but you have to understand. A wish is something that you want to come true, no matter how impossible it is. Some do come true. And some…don’t. But it doesn’t mean I’m not still here. Not still inside you. You’ll hear me if you listen hard enough because I have no intention of missing you grow into a man.”
Jacob grinned, bucking up and proving just how brave he was. Braver than me by far. “Fine. Just don’t yell at me when I screw up, ’kay?”
Ren chuckled. “No promises. Depends how badly you screw up.” Letting us both go, Ren placed a hand over his mouth and coughed. Once he’d gotten his breath again, he said, “Now, I know you’re old, and it’s not cool anymore, but how about a story? I can do a horror, so you won’t sleep. I can do a romance, so you gag. I have a lot of stories these days tucked inside this skull.” He tapped his temple. “What’s it gonna be?”
Jacob pursed his lips, thinking. “Is the horror about why you have that brand on your hip?”
I stiffened, but Ren merely nodded, sagely, calmly. “Yeah, but you’ve already heard that story before.”
“Meh, tell it again. But do the voices of that nasty farmer and everything.”
Ren glanced at me, his head cocked in question.
I smiled and nodded.
We had no secrets from our son. We’d been honest about everything once the kids at school terrified him about Ren’s illness. If he had a question, we did our best to answer it. Better our tale came from us than a township who still sometimes thought our last name Wild was brother and sister and looked at Jacob in disgust.
It wasn’t many.
But enough to ensure Jacob should be forearmed about our unusual love story.
Throwing more sticks onto the fire, I passed Ren a water from the cooler beside me.
“Thanks, Ribbon.” He smiled, sharing a galaxy of things in his stare.
“Always.” Dropping off the log, I settled myself between his legs and rested my head on his thigh. “Always.”
His hand landed in my hair, playing with the strands as his deep, provocative voice filled the forest. “Once upon a time, there was a boy whose mother didn’t want him…”
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
REN
* * * * * *
2032
MAKING LOVE TO Della was still my favourite thing to do.
It didn’t matter that I had to stay sitting upright so I didn’t have a coughing fit.
It didn’t matter that my breath came short and my heart went wild.
Nothing else mattered when I slid into my wife and felt that epic sensation of connection. Her heat, her body, her welcome.
She was better than any painkiller and more potent than any cure.
Sex with Della always reminded me to keep fighting, no matter how bad some days became.
With our lips locked, we stayed as quiet as we could.
The tent was large enough to give us privacy from Jacob—with us zipped behind our partition and Jacob zipped behind his—but we had to be careful.
Had to be secret.
We touched in the dark, hands trailing over naked skin that was as familiar to each other as our own. Her fingers found me, squeezing hard. My fingers found her, sinking deep.
We kissed slow and passionate and hungry.
Our bodies quickened for more, thirsty.
I wanted her, but I also wanted to delay and enjoy every moment because there was no denying now, no pretending that we’d have forever.
I was tired.
Exhausted.
It wasn’t just about the constant pain or struggle to breathe; it was the agony in my wife’s and son’s eyes. The hidden tears and smothered flinches as they saw me skinny and coughing.
I didn’t want them to remember me like that.
I wanted them to remember me as a man who could protect them from everything, including death itself.
Clutching my last few bursts of energy, I dragged Della up my lap until she straddled me.
She gasped into our kiss as I knocked her hand from my erection, and my fingers slid from her. She positioned herself over me, and I groaned as she slid ever so slowly down.
She took me, claimed me, made me hers all over again until her thighs touched mine and my body fully seated within hers.
Once sheathed, we didn’t move.
The darkness was absolute and I couldn’t see her face, but we stared at each other as if we could. Because, really, we could see every glitter and glimmer of emotion. We could read each other’s breaths, feel each other’s souls, understand how bittersweet every day had been.
And when we moved, we did it together. Della arching on my lap before sinking back down. Me rocking upward and filling her.
I held her close with one hand on her hip and one arm around her back.
Her breasts warmed my aching chest as we clutched each other so damn hard.
There was no space between us.
No air.
No crack for sadness to wriggle in.
We were plastered together, concreted, mortared, riding slowly, sensually, ignoring everything but this.
There was no her or me, just us.
An us who rode faster, deeper, stronger.
An us who would never be separated because nothing could ever wedge us apart.
As we moved quicker, chasing pleasure and satisfaction, we didn’t speak a word.
We kissed, we licked, we bit and groaned, but we didn’t speak.
Speaking would ruin this.
Would ruin the rawness between us.
Because in that tent, we forgot we were human. We didn’t communicate in letters and sentences, we communicated in the forgotten tongue amongst soulmates.
We sat in nothingness and made promises webbed from everything.
We re-married in the power of so much more than this world. We pledged and vowed in the eyes of the cosmos that recognised we weren’t whole unless we were together.
It accepted our promise that we would wait.
We would be patient.
We would find each other again and be given the gift of ever after once we’d shed mortal shells and accepted that holding onto physical creation was never the answer.
That letting go was.
That threading yourself together with a cord that transcended time and space was the only way to be happy.
To be free.
Goosebumps scattered down my arms as our kisses and thrusts became tangled with the strings we’d just knotted, growing tighter and tighter, never to break apart.
And when we came together, our bliss was also silent. A mere echo of heartbeats as we shared mirroring, quaking pleasure.
It would forever be a regret that I wasn’t able to have a daughter with Della. That no matter how many times we went to bed together, we never got pregnant again.
I would never know if it was the drugs that made me infertile or if the universe decided I’d had my happily ever after with my son.
Either way, I would be leaving soon, and Della would have to lean on Jacob.
A ten-year-old boy.
A twisted full circle of life.
I hadn’t meant to hold on until Jacob’s tenth birthday.
I’d meant to hold on until his twentieth, thirtieth, but ten?
It was almost too cruel.
I’d been his age when I’d first taken Della.
His age when my life changed, and I’d fought to keep us alive and happy.
And through all odds and obstacles, I’d done it.
A runty kid with an abusive past had somehow created a world anyone would envy.
I needed Della to see that—to trust our son wasn’t just a kid but had a man inside him. He would be there for her, just like I’d been there for her. He would be brave, just like I’d been brave. He would cope, and together, they would survive.
Della’s hands cupped my cheeks tenderly, kissing me in the dark.
I submitted to her, stroking her tongue with mine, tilting my head to deepen.
When my heart was once again skipping and kicking out of sync, she disengaged from me then fell to her side, waiting for me to spoon her.
I knew what would happen if I lay down.
I knew how bad the coughing would get.
My lungs were on borrowed time, and I had no intention of dying tonight.
Reclining just a little, I rolled her over until her head landed on my belly and her arm slung over my hips.
We stayed that way for an eternity. A sleeping bag thrown over us to stay warm, the night crickets and scurrying creatures our symphony.
And then, in the infinite dark, Della started to cry.
Her tears ran over my skin.
Her grief bathed me in salt.
I clutched her close, shuddering against helplessness, my own tears spilling over.
I hadn’t fully let myself grieve.
I’d shared a tear or two but never let the torrent go.
But now, where no one could see me, with the dark blinding us, hiding us, I allowed the silent sobs to break me.
My sorrow only made Della’s worse, and she cried harder.
I didn’t try to comfort her.
I didn’t seek comfort for myself.
This was a purging.
This was necessary.
This was goodbye.
We clung to each other as we spent every tear.