Ruckus (Sinners of Saint #2)(100)

"Yeah, sure," I said, already on my way to the door with the stupid bell above it. "Thanks, Elle. Bye."





What makes you feel alive?

The feeling that I won't be … soon.



"You sure of that?" Dean asked for the one hundredth time, twirling a piece of lettuce around his fork as we sat at the dinner table. My eyes darkened. If he was going to ask me this question one more time, I was liable to stab an eyeball out of his face with the butter knife I was holding.

"Never been so sure in my entire life," I bit out.

"Because you sure as fuck look ill to me." He ignored my reassurances, his jaw granite-hard.

I shrugged, picking up my half-eaten sandwich.

"Do I? You can fuck me from behind tonight so you don't have to see my face."

Lord, I was bitter. Couldn't help it, though. Today, I finally dragged myself to the hospital to check why I had coughed up so much blood over the last couple of days. My CF team at the hospital said some blood vessels had burst. I told them there were chunks of blood-big, gooey chunks coming out every time I had a fit-but they said it was okay. So, I guess I was okay. I wanted to be okay. I wanted more time with Dean, but as much as it did my head in, I wanted a lot more time with my parents and Millie, too.

Dean didn't answer my snarky comment. I scrubbed my eyes, sighing.

"I apologize for acting like a brat. It's been a long day."

"I got us a place in the Hamptons for next week. Talked to Elle. You have the time off. And your manager at the children's hospital. I'll get there before you," he informed me in a cold tone that cut through my nerves.



       
         
       
        

"That's great," I said, my mind elsewhere. There was a pause, and then.

"I'm meeting my sperm donor Friday at noon."

My pulse was hot against my throat all of a sudden.

"Do you want me to come with you?" I asked. He shook his head.

"Thanks." His voice melted, but not by much. "I'd rather make it as quick and painless as possible. Sue'll send a taxi to pick you up at the end of your shift this Friday."

My head bowed a little at his gesture. The conversation was downright painful. We sounded like two ninety-year-olds trying to make plans for someone else's funeral. We had more fun dishing jabs at each other when we weren't together. Why? Because of me. Because I didn't let him know what was really going on. Because I was scared that I was going to lose him, and more importantly, that he was going to lose me.

"I love you," I said. He looked up from his dinner. Our eyes tangled and met.

"It's mutual, and that's why I need you to be well, Rosie. If there's something I should know about your health … "

"Nothing out of the ordinary. Focus on your family stuff." I smiled, patting his hand from across the table.

That night, he didn't touch me, and I didn't ask him to.

And when Friday came … so did our grand finale.





Eleven Years Ago



"DON'T LET OWL KILL ME, baby."

Nina's tears bled out of her eyes as she clutched the collar of my damp wife-beater, clinging onto me for dear life. I only wore wife-beaters when I came to visit her. It wasn't like anyone there was going to appreciate my collection of flamboyant YSL men's T-shirts or suede shoes. "You gotta do something about him. He's hitting me real hard. See these marks? See 'em? He's going to end me. Are you gonna just sit around and let it happen?"

"You should leave him." I took off the sleeveless undershirt and tossed it over her bed. I was done weeding her huge-ass garden and was getting ready to make the three of us some dinner. "Come with me to California. Mom wouldn't mind."

"Helen is not your mother, Dean. I am."

There was no point arguing, but that didn't mean I agreed with that statement.

She always dragged me into her marital shit, every single summer without failure. I swear she thought of me as a hybrid between a bodyguard and personal assistant. Couldn't blame her, though. I constantly tried to save her. To protect the person who compromised me.

That night, Owl came home drunk. Nothing out of the ordinary. He may not have been a junkie like Nina, but he sure as hell liked his bourbon on a hot summer night. He crawled into their bed, slurring and swearing. I heard everything from my room across the hall as I lay in bed with their neighbors' daughter, Tiffany. She snuck into my room every night through the window. It was a one-story, barn-like house. I had bite marks all over my fists from stifling her moans to prove it, but no one asked what they were or where they came from, because no one gave a shit.