Page 72 of In the Grey of Dawn

The sound of heavy banging wakes me, pulling me from the blissful emptiness of sleep, but it's the voice of the person talking that causes me to freeze.

What is he doing here?

He broke my heart at the exact same time his brother did.

“Let me in you stupid giant! You're onlynotdead right now because it would hurt her even more,” Dimi yells.

It's so loud that it sounds like he's standing right next to me despite him being on the other side of the apartment. I can hear Dante growling, almost tempting me to peek out from the duvet to see what's happening.

“What a fucking joke!” Nova yells back at him. “You think you can come in here guns blazing and get whatever you want,well not today fuck face. You broke her when you didn't tell her what happened. He wasn't there when she opened the door DIMI. YOU DIDN'T FUCKING TELL HER!” Nova screams, the soft murmur of Ace's voice trying to placate her anger.

Anger she's feeling on my behalf.

I told her what happened at the hospital when I realised there was a babysitting schedule in place between the four of them. Someone was always with me. Watching over me while I wallowed in misery and I was so grateful to not be alone, even though I didn't want anyone around me. Dante would take Henry for the day or they all squeezed into the small living area. Nova and Ace would magically appear in the afternoon, always acting like it was some big coincidence they had arrived at the perfect time for a handover. Ace would then set up a bed for them in the corner andjustnot leave again until the morning.

My friends were saving me from slipping under and being consumed by the grief of losing Porter,of losing my Pasha. All the while, the one friend I thought would never break my heart was standing at the door trying to see me. Throwing the blanket pile off me, I hobble to the door like I've aged eighty years in the few days it's been. My movements slow and jerky as I gather my thoughts ready to face this one hurdle.

“How could you?” I barely whisper.

The notion that if I say too much out loud means it's real, that he's really not here with me any more. Falling to his knees in the doorway, Dimi holds his hands up and for a moment I think he’s going to beg, the big bad mafia man grovelling for forgiveness, but he brings them to his hair and pulls at it. Anguish flooding his face as I try to remember that he lost his brother too. I'm not alone in my grief but I'm frozen by the hurt he gave me. I feel like I lost both of them back in that hospital room and I don't know how to forgive him. “Why, Dimi? Why didn't you tell me?”

“I'm so sorry,” he cries out. “He made me promise not to tell. He made me promise. You were never meant to come to the hospital. You weren't meant to find out that way.”

The pain in his voice is so clear it shatters right through me, shattering the last pieces of my broken heart to nothing. All I can think of is what I've lost in the world and nothing about what I have.

Because without him, I have nothing.

Stumbling away from the door I can't take on his pain when I'm already drowning with my own. So I leave him, alone on his knees in the doorway, I turn away from him and revert back to my blanket cocoon. The one place where if I snuggle down far enough I can still smell the faint scent of butterscotch surrounding me.

Chapter 45 - Charlie

Shelter - Dermot Kennedy ?

Slinging my bag over my shoulder I head to the back entrance of the bar. Putting it just inside the office door as I venture out to check on the night's shenanigans. Mila literally dragged me from my bed shouting it was tough love time and I needed some fresh air, forcing me to spend the day with her and Henry at their house. I felt a little lighter from all of the cuddles I got, even managing a few laughs when Henry somehow projectile vomited his milk all over Dante. I need to remember to keep moving forward like this. It's been a week since everything happened at the hospital, a week since I found out … it's okay for me to grieve as long as I'm still moving forward.

Ride 'em Cowgirlnight is in full swing and even though my eyes well up, I know Porter would be pissed at me for making this stupidCoyote Uglynight an actual thing. I mean he would forgive me but he would still be pissed. Gods, I wish I could see his face right now and how much he would hate it. I can't help the small chuckle that escapes as I think of it. More women turn up every month to dance the night away and now that summer'shere I've never seen so many people happy to dress up in next to nothing for a theme night.

Pushing open thestaff onlydoor I'm assaulted with loud music and cheering. A man sits alone in my old seat, his head down, covered by a beat up cowboy hat and a pain rips through my heart at the sight of him. Knowing I will never sit there and be caged in by the man I love. Never have him eat dinner with me as we chat about our day. Never get to hear him say,I love you.

Keeping my head down I move toward Mel, the tears I willed to not fall running down my cheeks.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she says, pulling me into a hug and squeezing me tightly. I'm so lost right now but I can't think of what to say so I just shake my head. Rubbing my face and forcing a smile.

“I’ll be okay.”

I think I'll be okay.

I serve a few drinks until the ache in my heart gets too big and I move back to my corner, the man still sitting there. His drink is now empty and I grab the bottle of bourbon nearby and give him a double, pouring myself a matching one. Not bothering to say anything as we’re both lost to our own worlds. The simple gesture of a shared drink between two wandering souls.

It's weird this feeling of being numb inside while all around you is joy and happiness. The smiles and laughter of people having a great night out consume the room, but if you look closely you can see the fracture. The guy at the other end of the bar, talking to a girl where the smile only reaches half up her face. The group of friends who tolerate each other, but find no real joy in each other's company any more. And the guy sitting alone in a quiet corner of the bar, a single drink of bourbon inhis hand and not a soul around him. It's like he has a force field surrounding him sayingfuck off, I don't like people. The worn hat he wears covers his face and he has on a long sleeve black henley despite the warmth in the room. Tattoos cover his hands, a word I can't quite make out on his knuckles. They are slightly mangled, worn and faded where the ink looks almost blotchy in parts, scars spread across them in the most unusual places.

What does it say?

L

L I

L I L

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