Losing You (Stars On Fire Book 4) (33 page)

Lizzie

The sound of the television woke her up and she rolled over to regard Tom, thinking about how cute he looked while he slept. His blond hair all over the place, his one arm covering his eyes.

The bed was empty next to her. She felt the impact of his absence in two places—her chest where it felt like she’d been stabbed repeatedly. She couldn’t breathe. Then her entire face burned as the tears bombarded her. Her eyes, her nose, her throat.

When she was able to get a breath in, it was released as a sob.

Tom was gone and never coming back. She’d never be able to tell him that she loved him or that she didn’t want to be without him. How would she make it without him in her life? She didn’t want to know—she just wanted him there with her, by her side, holding her, loving her.

Flipping away from his side of the bed, she stared at the picture on her nightstand. It was of the two of them, staring into each other’s eyes. More tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision. She closed them as the tears leaked out. A different kind of wet touched her cheek and her eyes flew open. Foxy was there, her tongue gently lapping away her tears.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

“
Arrooo
. . .” the dog spoke back sadly.

Foxy knew something was up. How did you tell a dog that her man was gone? How do they even begin to comprehend that?

“Come on up,” Lizzie said, patting the bed. The dog did as told then curled up her body against Lizzie, resting her head on her stomach. Lizzie smoothed back the dog’s hair and broke the news. “Your daddy died last night, pretty girl. He’s not coming home. It’s just you and me, girl. But don’t worry. I’ll take good care of you. I promise,” she told the dog, her tears landing on the dog’s head.

She glanced up at the squeak of her door and saw Gwen and Ollie standing there. “Sweetie? Who you talking to?” Gwen began, her voice full of concern.

“Foxy,” she answered.

“Oh . . . do you mind if we come in?”

She shook her head . . . she didn’t mind at all.

Gwen and Ollie hopped on the bed next to Foxy. Ollie rested his head on Gwen’s shoulder as the three of them mindlessly watched the news, all trying to process their grief.

Lizzie registered the quick weekend forecast—rain—her attention fully on the news now.

A DEADLY ACCIDENT LAST NIGHT ON THE TRI-STATE CLOSED DOWN THE NORTHBOUND SIDE OF THE TOLL ROAD FOR A FEW HOURS WHILE POLICE INVESTIGATED THE SCENE.

ONE MAN DIED WHEN HIS MOTORCYCLE WAS HIT BY A SEMI—

Ollie scrambled for the remote and quickly shut off the television.

“That was him, wasn’t it?” Lizzie asked, tears burning her eyes yet again. Would they ever go away?

“Yeah, honey . . .”

Fighting to keep the sobs under control, Lizzie repeatedly nodded her head, her tears clouding her vision. Lizzie’s head fell to Gwen’s lap. Ollie held her hand as Gwen smoothed her hair.

“I loved him.”

“I know you do,” Gwen replied.

“I never told him . . . I mean, I told him when we were just friends, you . . . ‘I love ya,’ but I never said to him, ‘I love
you
.” And I don’t know why. It was like a given—the love we had . . . do you think he knew?” she asked, her eyes focused on Ollie’s fingers moving over her hand.

“Of course he did. How could he not? Anyone could tell by the way you looked at him,” Ollie answered this time and for some reason him saying those words had more weight than if they came from Gwen.

“How am I going to get through this? I don’t know if I’m strong enough. My best friend is gone . . .” she trailed off, letting her mind trail off with it. Later, she asked if Marc knew.

“He was at the party when we all found out, but he took off,” Ollie answered.

“Can you find him for me? I . . . need to know he’s okay,” she asked, worried how Marc would handle his best friend’s death.

Marc

Marc sat by the fire, listening to Amber tell him about a concert she went to earlier in the week. He’d been talking to her a lot lately. They hadn’t gone on a date or anything but Marc had actually thought about it.

It was a step.

He needed to take it. Marc saw how serious Tom and Lizzie were. Them as a couple was not going away. He couldn’t moon over Lizzie forever.

Searching her out, he saw her talking animatedly to Ollie, who had then run inside. Marc was too far away to read her face, but she seemed anxious.

Maybe he should go over to see how she was. As he was about to make his excuses to Amber, Ollie came back with Gwen by his side. Marc didn’t like the look on Gwen’s face. He stood up and walked towards his friends, without a word to Amber.

He heard Lizzie’s voice over the party noise. “
You’re scaring me!
”

Marc quickened his pace but skidded to a stop when Ollie said, “Tom was in an accident . . . he didn’t survive. He’s gone—”

His world muted as he tried to come to grips with what he just heard. His head fell back, the starry sky above, as it hit him.

Tom—dead.

“
No!
” Lizzie screamed. “
No!
”

That scream . . . he’d never forget it.

Marc couldn’t stay for the details. He couldn’t handle them yet. The need to leave the party had him running to his car. He had no idea where he was going. He just needed to get away.

When he found himself at Wrigley Field about an hour later, he parked the car and walked over to the main entrance and stood in front of the famous sign . . . staring up at it, feeling the avalanche of emotion coming out of him and when it got there, he screamed . . . and screamed.

He didn’t care who saw him or what they thought. His best fucking friend in the world just died. One of the best people he’d ever known . . . what the fucking hell?! It was so not fair.

After he’d gotten that out of his system, he’d walked back to his car, tears falling onto the sidewalk along the way. Once inside, he sat there—alone—and sobbed. It wasn’t pretty. He punched his steering wheel as the grief poured out of him.

Eventually his cries stopped. Marc looked in the glove box for some napkins and wiped his face. With a deep breath, he started the car and drove north on Clark Street, cursing the cemeteries on his right. On Montrose, he turned left and headed to his brother’s.

Marc let himself in. The lights were still on at two in the morning. His brother was home . . . somewhere. He went to the first place he’d thought Clark would be—his game room.

He was right. Clark sat in the dark room, focused on the video game on the big ass TV in front of him. His brother . . . the rock star.

“Hey Marc,” he said while he continued to play. Marc just stared at the screen, watching his brother kill alien after alien. When he didn’t answer, Clark paused the game and turned around. He met his brother’s eyes and Clark immediately got off the sofa. “Marky . . . what’s wrong?”

Marc must have looked a mess if only by his appearance Clark knew something was wrong.

“Tom died tonight. Accident. That’s all I know. He’s dead,” he told his brother.

“Fuck,” Clark exclaimed.

“Yeah . . .” Marc agreed, walking to the video game console and grabbing a controller. There was no way he was going to sleep and he didn’t want to talk about it, but he also didn’t want to be alone. Playing this game with his brother would numb his mind because he needed it fucking numb.

“Let’s play,” Marc said.

“You sure? You don’t want—”

“No. I don’t want to talk about it right now. Steps, Clark. That’s what I need to do. Take this in little steps. I can’t handle all of this at once.”

“Okay,” was all that Clark said, then he grabbed his controller and sat back down.

Marc had no idea how long they’d been playing but with a glance to the outside, the sun was trying to come out.

“Break,” Clark said, standing up. “I need something to drink. Want anything?”

“Yeah,” Marc said, getting up. “I need coffee.”

He trudged up the stairs to the kitchen and went about making his coffee. As the coffee brewed and dripped into the pot, Marc’s phone rang.

“Marc?”

“Ollie?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s up?”

“I was calling to see how you’re doing. Lizzie wanted to know . . .”

Marc was unsure of what to do for Lizzie. He wasn’t her boyfriend and wondered if they would even be classified as friends. But her pain was there with him, wrapped up in his own.

“I’m . . . I’m with my brother.”

“You . . . uh . . . you’re okay?”

Marc knew what Ollie was trying to not so eloquently ask. Did he have the urge to take drugs? He hadn’t even thought about it until right now.

“Ollie, I’m okay. Tell Lizzie not to worry about me.”

“She does what she wants,” the other man said.

“Yeah, she does . . . how is she?” he ventured, needing to know how she was.

“Gwen and I brought her and Foxy to her house and put her to bed. She eventually woke up and saw the fucking news report about the accident. It showed the footage of his mangled bike on the road! I don’t know if she saw that part. I hope she didn’t . . .”

Marc hoped so too.

“She’s currently resting with Gwen and Foxy. I think her tears are exhausted for now.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stay—”

“Marc . . . it’s okay. I get it. That’s why I called. To make sure you were all right.”

He didn’t know the answer to that.

Marc

November 18, 2009

With Clark by his side, Marc entered the funeral home. They were early. Marc wanted to see Lizzie before everyone arrived. Up ahead, he spotted Ollie and Gwen standing outside of the viewing room. When he reached them hugs were exchanged.

“Is Lizzie here yet?” he asked.

Gwen smiled sadly and gestured to the room ahead of them. His gaze followed her hand and his eyes closed. Lizzie stood in front of the closed casket, her hand resting on top of the dark wood.

“She’s been in there since we arrived,” Ollie informed him.

Gwen took Marc’s hand and brought him in front of her. “Marc, even if you don’t believe it, she needs you now more than ever. I think you’re the only person who can help her through this,” she said.

He nodded at her and slowly walked to the doorway of the viewing room, staring at her, feeling her pain radiate and hit his heart. He didn’t know what to do or what to say, so he just stood there, waiting for it to come to him.

Her sniffle hit his ears and he watched her head shoot up in determination . . . or maybe it was in thought. Then she spoke but not to him.

“I love you. I can’t believe I never said those three words to you. How did that even happen? I just think it was a given between us. I didn’t need those words—I just knew that you loved me. I mean, how could you not after all these years?” Her soft chuckle turning into a sob. “The words ‘Tom is gone’ made me realize that I’d never said those words. I hope you knew. God, I hope you felt it every single second of every single day. I loved you and I don’t know what I’m going to do without you. I’m completely lost. My best friend isn’t around to help me,” she said, her voice breaking. When she went to her eyes to wipe at her tears, he saw the tremor in her hand. He felt guilty for eavesdropping on her one-sided conversation with Tom, but as he listened to her, Gwen’s words rang true. He could help Lizzie through her pain. As he took a step into the room, she continued, her voice taking on an angrier tone.

“‘I’ll always be there for you, Bits . . . you’re my best friend.’ Do you remember saying that to me? Well, where are you now? Where? You’re in a goddamn casket and I can’t even see you!” she said, slapping her hands on top of it. “Are you even in there? Maybe this is just a motherfuckin’ nightmare that I can’t wake up from. Maybe my body is just waiting for you to kiss me awake like you always did. Maybe I’m just waiting for you to say, ‘Rise and shine, Bits,’ and then I can wake up and leave this horrible dream behind me. Please wake me up, Tom. I’m begging you because I don’t know how I’m going to live without you. How—,” she wailed in pain. With a tortured moan, Lizzie fell to the floor. Marc hurried to her, pulling her into his arms. She lifted her head and when their eyes met, her face crumpled and her cries turned to sobs. She clung to him as she wept.