It was a promise I kept all night.
I didn’t undress, and I didn’t sleep, but as I held the girl who was my everything, and she slipped into slumber and her body went lax against mine, I whispered into her moonbeam painted hair, “I hope to be the man you deserve, Della Ribbon. I hope I can give you everything your heart desires. And then, when we’ve lived a life rich in so many things, I hope I die before you. Because if I don’t, I know I won’t survive a day without you. I can’t.”
My voice hovered like smoke as I sucked in a gasp with how true that was. It wasn’t an empty sentence. It was every truth imaginable, and, in some inexplicable way, I hoped whatever rules of fate governed our lives heard me and understood how deadly serious I was.
It was my prayer.
My penance for taking Della all those years ago.
She gave me a life and taught me how to be happy. And if she left me, I would no longer want that life without her.
It was selfish and cruel to wish such a thing, but I knew who was stronger out of the two of us, and it wasn’t me.
Cradling her in the moonlight, I looked out the window at the stars.
I was her watcher and protector.
And I never let her go…all night.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
DELLA
2031
THAT WAS THE turning point for us.
The moment where life got in the way of our fantasy, bringing us both back to earth with a crash.
Still, to this day, I get mad at myself for ruining such an idyllic existence.
I wish I could rewind time and remember to use alternate protection. I should’ve told Ren that we might not be safe.
An honest mistake was the biggest catalyst of our lives.
But really…it turned out for the best.
Things were about to happen that meant our past and future blended in a way we never expected.
Surprises that we never wanted inched closer to being known.
Wishes would come true and promises would be kept.
And one of those life-changing five incidents crept ever nearer.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
REN
2019
THE NEXT DAY, I was better equipped after my meltdown the night before.
I kissed Della good morning, showered away my sleeplessness and worry, and focused on being the strong one and not some nutcase who wished upon a star, asking for something as morbid as death before another.
That was my secret, and she would never know just how fundamental she was to me.
That sort of pressure wasn’t fair to anyone, and it was my fault I felt that way. My fault that she’d turned from my charge to my friend to my lover.
She didn’t have the luxury of entering my life when I was fully developed with other significant relationships to lean on. She was my significant relationship in every way, and that sort of connection wasn’t exactly easy.
Once I was dressed and Della comfortable with the TV on and painkillers in her system, I popped out like any normal city dweller, and bought her a chocolate croissant and coffee from the bakery two stores over, rather than eat with other guests.
At least, my body was back to being mine again with no breathlessness or palpitations. Stress had almost killed me last night and I refused to let it happen again. I would remain calm and reasonable, so I could provide the best possible care for Della.
When I returned, we ate breakfast in bed, laughed at some kid’s cartoon, and reminisced about the bad reception and street-salvaged TV at Polcart Farm.
It was simple and lovely and filled me with false belief that she was on the mend.
I’d hoped she’d be able to keep her breakfast down, but ten minutes after finishing, she rushed to the bathroom and retched it all back up.
My temper built, cursing myself all over again, begging for a way to fix this.
Once she’d purged her system and her skin was once again the colour of a corpse, she protested weakly as I stripped her and myself, and for the second time that morning, turned on the shower and dragged her into it with me.
Running hot water was a novelty, and I didn’t care how much we used if it granted Della some comfort.
I took my time washing her gently, massaging her scalp until she moaned, feathering my hands over her curves until her lethargy showed a spark of sexual interest.
When she plastered her naked, water-drenched body to mine and kissed me, I turned off the shower, bundled her in a towel, and helped her dress.
Sex was not something either of us should be indulging in right now.
By the time we sat back in the doctor’s office and he checked her temperature, took a blood sample, and asked how she was feeling, his face went from kind to guarded, and my worry went from simmering to roaring.
My lungs imitated tiny sickles again. My breath catching with pain.
So much for staying calm.
With professional silence, he scanned the readings of her blood test, smiled a little too brightly, then said he’d like to give her another injection as her hCG levels hadn’t changed and he’d expected at least a small drop.
It took everything I had to stay sitting and permit him to jab her with that needle. In a way, I wanted him to jab her with a thousand needles if it would make her better, but I also wanted to murder him for the bead of blood as he pulled the injection free and patted a Band-Aid over the puncture while Della kept her eyes tightly closed.
After another hour of monitoring, Della was cleared to return to bed.
Walking slowly, hand in hand, to the Bed and Breakfast, total strangers smiled at us seeing a couple in love, not a man distraught by his lover’s pain.
At least we had a room and a bed, and after I’d ensured she was safe and warm, lying down with a glass of water close by, a bucket just in case she vomited again, a hot water bottle courtesy of the landlady, and the TV remote, I left her for the afternoon, taking my phone and hooking into the free Wi-Fi of a coffee shop, searching the same site where Della had found our previous winter accommodation.
I’d reached my limit staying with other guests.
But I couldn’t go back to the forest.
Not now…maybe not ever.
Not after my epiphany last night.
I owed Della so much more, and I didn’t want to return to her until I had a solution to our unknown future.
It took longer than I wanted. I wasn’t nearly as adept with using a small screen with big thumbs and reading the descriptions as quickly, but just before dusk, I managed to narrow my search down to two suitable places that I wouldn’t be tempted to bulldoze or bolt from.
An old manor house that offered cheap rent in return for physical labour to do repairs and a one bedroom container house planted on a hilltop where a local farmer grazed his sheep.
The idea of being close to livestock appealed to me. But the fact that the owner would pop around often to check on them turned me off. Besides, if snow was heavy this year, getting up and down a hill might be tricky.
Leaving the coffee shop as the sun painted the sky in a swirl of reds and coppers, I called the manor house number and spoke to a gruff older woman who said her husband had died five years ago, and the house was falling apart.
I told her I was happy to renovate, that I had experience with tools and was a diligent worker, but only if she agreed not to pop by and check on us.
She’d grudgingly agreed, mentioned something about writing a long list so we wouldn’t have to be in constant contact, and gave me a time to meet the following day.
I spent yet another sleepless night in the Bed and Breakfast holding Della close, wincing when she winced and holding back her hair when she vomited. The sooner whatever drug the doctor had given her worked, the better, because I didn’t know how much longer I could stand seeing her like this.
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