Undeserving (Undeniable #5)(116)

With a shaking finger, he touched the tiny silver butterfly-spotted and tarnished.

A strangled noise slipped past his lips. "Wheels," he rasped.

Preacher hopped out of bed and dropped down on one knee. Then he gestured for Debbie's hand. Looking adorably bewildered, she gave it. Twisting her butterfly ring off her index finger, he pushed it onto her ring finger.

"I promise I'll get you somethin' better," he told her. "A big, fat rock or somethin'. Whatever the fuck you want."

She only continued to stare down at him, wide-eyed and gaping. Several seconds passed, long enough that Preacher was starting to wonder if he'd made a mistake by springing this on her. Hell, he hadn't even known he was going to ask her. It had been a spur of the moment decision brought about solely by the way she made him feel-like she was it for him. Like there couldn't possibly be another her out there, and so he needed to get his fucking shit together and do right by her.

His brow rose. "Wheels, you gonna say somethin' or you gonna leave me hangin' ‘round down here like a goddamn fool?"

Debbie slid quickly off the bed, dropping onto his lap. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him. "Yes," she whispered against his mouth.

"What's that?" he asked. He pulled back to look at her-into the eyes that never failed to bring him peace. And at those sexy-as-hell lips that he couldn't get enough of.

Laughing happily, she shoved at his chest. "Yes, I'll marry you! Yes, yes, yes!"

Feeling wetness on his cheek, Preacher blinked. Then he blinked again, and more tears fell.

Unsteady and trembling, he turned to look at Frank. The sight of his friend-disfigured and lying broken in a bed-didn't have quite the same effect on him as it had before.



       
         
       
        

He looked at Frank as if he'd never seen him before.

Why? The one-word question pounded through him, as unrelenting and demanding as Preacher's thrashing heartbeat.

Why-

How-

He didn't-

He couldn't-

Breath purged from Preacher's lungs. His eyes squeezed shut and tears rained down his cheeks. He didn't know where to begin. How to process. What to think. How to feel. He knew nothing-absolutely fucking nothing.

He wanted to rationalize this, wanted to slap some sort of reasonable explanation onto this discovery, but the truth wouldn't relent. It pushed against each barrier Preacher tried to erect, battering wildly, shouting loudly, refusing to be ignored.

The key ring felt suddenly too heavy in his hand, this key ring full of …  fucking trophies. Heavy and pulsating, pulsing like a beating heart. The beat echoed in his ears, in his veins.

Those rings weren't just rings. They were people. Dozens of people.

The smear of blood on the trailer door flashed in his mind over and over and over again, until he felt drunk and dizzy.

Preacher choked on his thoughts. Choked on the memory of a sweet, young face. Full lips split into a wide smile. A pair of big, beautiful brown eyes.

He'd thought she'd left him. All these years he'd thought she'd run from him.

Rage-pure, unadulterated rage flowed through him. Every muscle in his body tensed until his skin felt ten times too tight, and his breath was coming in short, angry bursts.

Preacher didn't recall crossing the room. One second he was flush against the wall and the next he was bent over the hospital bed, tearing the oxygen mask away, and gripping the swollen face of a man he'd considered his brother.

His fingers squeezed Frank's nose while his palm covered his mouth. Frank's body hiccupped even as Preacher felt slithers of air escape the confines of his hand. He clamped down harder. His rage swirled higher. His tears fell faster.

Another machine began to beep, faster and louder. Then an alarm went off, ringing loudly through the room.

Preacher blinked and snapped to attention. He slapped the mask back over Frank's face and was quickly backing away from the bed when two nurses burst inside the room.

• • •

Mouth agape, barely breathing, I could do no more than stare at my father.

Much like Preacher had, I was having an equally hard time processing the truth. I didn't even know where to begin. My grandparents, my mother, fucking Frank …

"I just lost my fuckin' mind," Preacher croaked. "She'd already been gone so long, and I'd already guessed somethin' wasn't right. And then I saw those rings, and I knew what he'd done, and I just …  lost my fuckin' mind." 

He turned to me, his red-rimmed eyes wet with tears. "It was all my fault, Eva. I didn't see it …  I didn't see it …  I didn't know …  and it was too late. Lookin' back now, I can see it all. Things were wrong. Frank was …  wrong. I see it clearly now. Don't know why I could never see it back then."