Broken Dreams(139)

As Claire pulled the truck into the driveway, she saw Nick standing on the porch, smoking.

“Smoking?” She jumped out of the truck, hoisting the shirt full of supplies over her shoulder. She felt like Santa Claus. “Nick? I didn’t know you smoked. Where did you get those?”

“I’ve smoked before. Mostly weed, but whatever. Although that does sound good right about now. I found them hidden in the garage. My father was a closet smoker. Mom knew, but never said anything to him about it. I figured, why the fuck not? What does it matter? I’m half-dead now, anyway.” He looked sullen. His eyes were watery, and his cheeks were red.

“How’s…”

He held up his hand. He took a long hard drag, and dropped the cigarette on the porch, putting it out with the toe of his boot. He exhaled fully, releasing the toxic chemicals that had filled his lungs. He thought about how ironic it was. He chuckled a little, and then cleared his throat. He looked at Claire. “She’s gone.” The words almost didn’t come out. Claire dropped the shirt, and it opened, spilling the contents when it hit the ground. Thomas scrambled to pick up their treasure.

“No.” Claire shook all over. “No. No. No!” She ran up the porch steps. Nick tried to grab her before she blew through the front door. He ran in behind her.

“Claire! Stop!” Yelling for her did nothing. She stormed through the house. Kellan was alone and awake, but still tied up. He moaned something as Claire fled past him to go up the stairs, Nick right behind her.



***



I heard Nick yelling, then people running. I didn’t know who it was. It could have been Kellan for all I cared. There was no way I was leaving my mother’s side. I had laid next to her on the bed so I could hold her while she was passing.

“Elaina, can I come in?” I looked toward the door and saw Claire standing there, Nick behind her. I nodded, granting her the permission that she felt she needed. She walked into the room, trying to stifle her cries, and sat down on the bed beside us. Nick walked in and stood at the foot of the bed.

“I want him dead,” I growled.

“Henry wants him alive…for now,” Nick said.

“Fine. I’ll kill him myself.” I got up from the bed. My face was red, and my eyes were swollen from all the crying. “Give me my gun.” I held out my hand, waiting impatiently for that cold, heavy piece of steel that was going to be my way of avenging my mother’s death.

Nick thought about it for a moment, and then said, “I don’t have it.”

“Where is it?” I wasn’t asking; I was demanding.

“It’s downstairs somewhere.” He knew he wouldn’t be able to stop me.

I turned for the door, and Henry was standing in my way. I tried to duck around him, and he moved, blocking me again. “Elaina, I won’t allow it.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” I tried to push around him, and he moved in my way. He moaned in pain. I was surprised at his swift movements, considering the injuries he sustained from Kellan. Oh, let’s not forget that he was on the verge of being true dead himself.

“Please, listen to me. I’m begging you. I need to get as much info from him as possible. Then I’ll let you do what you want to him.” He braced himself in the doorway with one arm, and reached for me with the other. “Come. Let’s go to your room, and we can decide how to bury your mother.” I looked between Henry and my mom.

“We’ll stay here with Mom. Henry needs to lie back down. Go with him.” I looked over at the bed. Claire was sitting with my mom, fussing with her hair. I was hesitant to leave, but I could see that she was in good hands.

I reached back to Henry, and he took my hand. I put my arm around his waist, careful not to cause him any more pain, and we walked one careful step at a time back to my room. He groaned with every movement. I finally got him settled onto the bed. Sophie was sitting on the stool at my old vanity. She looked sullen and lost. “You guys have everything covered here. I’m going to go back down and keep an eye on the asshole.” Sophie headed out of my room and went back downstairs.

The silence between Henry and I was thick and heavy. I was afraid to talk. If I opened my mouth, I knew nothing but sobs would escape. He stroked my hand, while I leaned back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. Several minutes went by before he said anything. “Love?” I mumbled an acknowledgment. “How do you want to do this?” I clenched my teeth together, my throat burning with sorrow.

“I want to stand in front of him and pull the damn trigger. Simple.”

“I know that. Your mum, love.” He was trying to be tender and gentle with his words. I tried to take a few deep breaths to put out that fire in the back of my throat before I opened my mouth again. I could feel it coming on at a rapid rate, and had to let it go. I covered my face, while still facing the ceiling, and I wept.