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No slip-ups in four years.
All because of him and his cancer diagnosis.
“I will get an appointment booked for you. I promise. But I also promise that, in my soul, I know you’re okay.”
“No. You want me to be okay.”
“Well, of course I do. What the fuck would I do without you?”
He smiled again, this one more genuine than the last. “Have a peaceful life?”
“Hey. You’re worth the headache. All three of you. Oh, fuck, and Suzie. I forgot about her.”
I swung again, and he swung too.
He waited for my eyes to land on him and the swings to slow a little before talking again.
“I just worry. Jolie will be alone if I go, and I know she has you guys, but—”
“But it’s not the same.”
“No. And mentally, she’ll be in a bad place again. And I don’t want that. She’s finally starting to smile again. I don’t wanna die, Remi.” He wiped a tear from his eye, and I felt my chest tighten. “But mostly, I don’t want to be the reason she’ll never smile again.”
“You won’t be dying any time soon, and I’ll prove that at the appointment.”
“I hope so.” He wiped at his wet eyes with the back of his hand. “We have a second chance, and I think it’s going well.”
I nodded. It was, and that gave me hope.
Their love wasn’t conventional. His dad purchased Jolie to be his property—a way for him to release his frustrations. She hated at least one-quarter of his being back then. Not now. She accepted him for who he was—the most beautiful soul.
That could be me and Cat.
“Cat seems nice.” I often wondered about the Alerion rumors when it came to Woodrow, if the devil was indeed his biological father, because it was almost like the guy could hear my fucking thoughts.
“Yeah,” was all I responded with as I let that thought settle back into the depths of my skull where it belonged. Ollie had brought it up once, and Woodrow didn’t want to know.
I couldn’t blame him for that.
He had shitty enough parents without having been potentially spawned by the devil.
“You like her.”
“Like isn’t the word I’d use.”
“I wouldn’t want Ollie to hear us talking about any obsessions.” Woodrow’s face lit up, his hiked-up smile matching the light in his eyes from the tears glistening in the moonlight. “Speaking of which, you don’t have a coffee.”
“No. I had a hard-on and intentions until you fucking showed up.”
His face showed glee, his tongue peeping between perfect teeth. I missed his laugh. I was by far the most miserable bastard in the house. My voice could have been taken away after I stopped singing, and it wouldn’t have mattered to me. And if that had happened, I wouldn’t be in this predicament now, having to revive my career with a show I didn’t want to do.
“I’m gonna get the voice thing sorted after your appointment, too. Get rid of that thing, once and for all.”
“There’s no rush. Ollie said he’ll do it in time.”
“Ollie is always fucking busy, Woodrow. You wait for him, and you’ll wait forever.”
“I don’t want you to waste money if you know. . .and it’s expensive.”
