Page 12 of Insta-Family (Forbidden Descendants 3)

“But… But I changed my mind,” he went on, making my heart hurt. “I do want you to miss me. I don’t want you to hate me.”

“Duke, I don’t...” My eyes filled with immediate tears. “I don’t hate you.”

“Well, you should.”

“God.” When a sob grated painfully from my throat, I shoved the book off my lap and slid from the chair, falling to my knees at his bedside to grip his arm.

Grief sluiced through me in a violent wave as I shook my head and gritted my teeth. “You really are one stupid son of a bitch,” I charged, through watery eyes and heaving, uneven breaths. “You know that? Because nothing on this green earth could keep me from missing you after you’re gone. Nothing anyone said, nothing anyone did, nothing. Not even anything you say or do against me. No one will miss you as much as I will. You got that? You’re everything to me. Everything.”

Choked up by my misery, I leaned in and pressed my head to his frail shoulder. And then I broke open, unable to contain it anymore.

All the words I’d been keeping locked in tight, spilled out as I begged him. “Jesus, Duke. Please... Don’t go. I’m not ready. I don’t know how to do this without you. I’ll do anything, please… Just keep fucking breathing. You’re my entire world, and I can’t… I can’t...”

His hand touched my hair. “You can,” he told me simply. “You will.”

“No.” I sat up, wiping my eyes and nose, and making a complete mess of

myself but not caring. “I don’t even want to think about it.” It was too hard. Too overwhelming.

“But you’re the one who takes care of things,” Duke said simply. “Now it’s time to take care of you.”

When I sniffed back more tears and continued to wipe my eyes, he pressed, “Promise me.”

So I immediately answered, “Okay,” willing to promise him anything. “I’ll take care of myself. I promise.”

He breathed out a relieved breath and closed his eyes. “Good. Love you, Vaughn.”

More tears gushed down my cheeks. “I love you too, little brother.”

His lips cracked again as he attempted a smile. Then he murmured, “Tired.”

“Okay. Sleep,” I urged, reaching out to touch his face to acknowledge that his fever was returning. “I’ll stay with you.”

Until the end.

He didn’t answer, already falling unconscious, and he stayed asleep throughout the next day. When he woke up again, he wasn’t cognizant enough to speak true words to me. I asked hospice if he needed to be hospitalized when they came to check in, but I was assured that there was no need. If he wanted to be home, he could stay home, where he was the most comfortable.

Three days later, he died in his sleep, tucked in his own bed.

And I hadn’t been able to go into his room since they’d wheeled his body away.

Thumping my head back on the wall of the hallway next to his door, I choked out a dry sound and tried to persuade myself to get up and walk in there, already. It’d been over two months now. I should be able to do this.

But I couldn’t. I could not for the life of me go and simply sort through his things.

I didn’t want to do any of this, frankly. I didn’t want to be here, sitting alone, cleaning up after everyone who’d left me. I didn’t want to be alive, on this earth, forced to endure their absence.

What was even the point? My entire family was gone. I had no one. Coworkers were nice and tried to understand, asking if I needed anything, but none of them truly got it. My pain was unpleasant and uncomfortable for them, so they mostly avoided me.

It was miserable, and I just... I was done.

Check, please.

I wanted to be gone with them.

Eyes flashing open, I realized something with immediate clarity.

I didn’t have to keep going without them, did I? I could just end it, here and now. No more misery. No more pain. No more oppressive solitude. There’d just be...nothing.

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