“You are a good person.”
“But how do you know? Truly know?” Her gaze searched mine, desperate for an answer. “I’m so afraid I have no control. That I am what they made—not what you guided. That I have no choice.”
“You do have a choice. We all have a choice.”
“But genetics—”
“Have nothing to do with it.” I stared deep into her, needing her to believe me. “I know you are good and sweet and kind because I know you. I’ve known you your entire life.”
She squirmed beneath me. “That’s not an answer.”
“It is. It’s the best one. I’ve seen you grow, Della. I’ve seen you uncensored and undisciplined and uncivilized. I’ve seen you in every mood there is, and not once did you hurt anyone or anything. You weren’t malicious. You weren’t cruel. You were—”
“I was, though, don’t you see? I was cruel to you.”
I chuckled, hiding yet another cough. “You were never cruel to me.”
“But—”
“No buts.” Running a thumb over her pink lips, I whispered, “They had you for a year, Della. I’ve had you for almost twenty. Whatever they taught you or said to you is drowned out by the endless conversations and love we’ve shared.”
She frowned, running her tongue over my thumb. “Did you ever look at me like she did? Did you ever think I could be like them?”
“Never.”
“Not even when you didn’t want me?”
“Not even then.” Kissing her softly, I added, “And not wanting you lasted for a heartbeat before I became yours.”
“I’m sorry, Ren.”
“Nothing to apologise for.”
“I know…but I need to. Seeing that place. Seeing those bodies. Seeing how real it all was.”
I pushed those memories aside, just as I always shoved memories of that farmhouse away. “I accept your apology if it makes you feel better, but only if you accept mine.”
She frowned. “Why are you apologising?”
“Because I always blamed you for making my running all that much harder. I cursed you for being in my bag when all along, I should’ve been thanking you.” Pressing my forehead to hers, I hardened inside her, comforted by her body heat and already desperate for more. “Without you, I would’ve been shot before I ever crept back into the house to collect my supplies. My escape was all down to you being in that bag. You are the reason I’m alive, Della. Not the other way around.”
Her eyes softened, and the shadows that had lurked inside her dissolved. “Kiss me, Ren Shaw. I’m sick of apologies.”
I raised an eyebrow, my lips thinning in reproof. “Ask me again with the correct name.”
She smiled. “Kiss me, Ren Wild. Make love to me. Promise me you’ll never let me go.”
So I did.
And I promised.
And I never let go.
*
Another week passed, slipping us back into routine.
Della spent more time with Cassie discussing horses and Cassie’s future dream of one day opening an equine business, and I returned to my odd jobs around the farm.
The air was cooler now, making the frustrating ache in my chest three times worse.
Some days, I barely noticed it.
But then some days, like today, I felt as if lunch lodged in my throat and wouldn’t swallow. I willingly coughed, trying to eradicate the obstruction, forcing deeper coughs and longer barks, begging for a reprieve from the pressure.
It was there, while I hung onto a stable door, bent over trying to clear the weight in my lungs, that John found me.
I thought I was on my own.
I refused to cough so badly in people’s presence because I knew how annoying the noise could be.
But as John stomped toward me in his dirty overalls and a rusty tool kit to lend a hand, I’d destroyed any hope of stopping, thanks to willingly encouraging a coughing fit.
His eyes tightened as I held up my hand, swallowing back wracking heaves, clamping my other hand over my mouth and doing my best to stop.
“Ren?” John placed his tool kit on the cobblestones, coming to put a hand on my back as I rode out the final waves of affliction. “Take it easy.” His gaze travelled to the hose in the corner, his body swaying in its direction. “Want some water? Choking on something?”
I shook my head, smothering yet another cough and standing up with a gasp. “I’m—” A couple more coughs caught me unaware, lashing my chest with pain. Finally, when I could breathe again, I said, “I’m fine.” Smiling with watery eyes, I inhaled deep, fighting the tickle to cough again. “Just hay dust.”
Turning, I reached for the nails that I’d been using to fix a loose hinge only for John to fist my wrist.
“What is that?” His fingers latched tight, cutting off my arteries.
“Don’t touch me.” I tugged, feeling a residual thread of panic from being held against my will. No matter how many years passed, I doubted I’d fully have control over my attacks.
“Goddammit, Ren. What the hell is this?” He held up my palm, shoving it under my nose.
Red.
Liquid.
Blood.
My blood.
Fuck.
I froze, running my tongue over my lip and tasting the nasty flavour of copper. My eyes met his, and I broke beneath the love there. The love he had for me. And the worry. Shit, the worry.
“It’s okay, John.” I yanked my hand free, wiping the blood on my jeans. “Don’t—”
Fisting his keys from his overalls pocket, he grabbed my bicep, once again layering me with a fissure of fear. “We’re leaving. Right now.”
“Leaving? To go where?” He pulled me from the stable.
So many parts of me wanted to shove him to the ground for manhandling me, but I understood his violence came from panic just like my panic came from violence.
“Doctor.” His eyes welled with fury and impatience. “You’ve been coughing ever since you got back home. I’m not putting up with it anymore.”
“But what about Della?” I twisted my arm free, raising my eyebrow when he tried to hold on to me. “Let go, John. I won’t ask again.” My gritted teeth and feral tone hinted I wasn’t coping.
He dropped his hand but didn’t stop his fast pace to the barn doors. “She’s with Cassie. They popped into town to see Chip at work. We have time.”
“I-I can’t make her worry.”
He stopped, turning to face me. “And you can’t make me worry, Ren. I’m not losing you like I lost Patricia. I love you like a son, but if you don’t see a doctor, I will kick you out of my house, so help me God.”
I smirked. “Winter is close. You wouldn’t dare.”
He didn’t smile back. “Try me. Now get your ass in the truck.”
*
It was as if my lungs knew they had an audience because I hadn’t been able to ignore the tickle and wheeze since John drove me above normal speed limits to his local practitioner.
There was no discussion over identifications or money.
No discussions period as his regular doctor called his name ten minutes after we arrived, and we were ushered into a small white office with posters of body parts and skeletons on the wall.
To start with, I resented John for dragging me down here.
I worried if Della was safe and what time she’d be home.
What would she do if she found scattered tools and no workmen to use them?
What the hell would I tell her about John’s kidnapping and the blood stain on my jeans?
But then those questions switched to others that made my heart pound a little bit harder.
What if I’m in trouble?
What if…it’s serious?
“How long have you been coughing, Ren?” The elderly doctor with jowls from losing weight clicked his pen, waiting for me to reply.
“Two and a bit years, give or take.”
“And this is the first time you’ve coughed up blood?”
“Yes.” I rubbed at the red stain on my clothes, then placed my hand over it as if I could stop it from being real. I didn’t want to reveal my ever-growing fear, but I couldn’t stop my question. “Is that bad?”
“Well…” The doctor stroked his jaw. “Sometimes, yes. Sometimes, no. If you were coughing a lot, you could’ve just irritated the lining of your throat and burst a few blood vessels. However, if the blood came from your lungs, it’s a different matter.”