Everlast (Ever Series Book 2), page 11
Before I could scream, there was a hand over my mouth, and the three boys descended on me. I was so scared, even thinking about it right now sends fright through me. They threw me to the ground and said horrible things to me. Things they were going to do to me. Arthur boasted that I wanted it. That I was asking for it because I always had my eyes on him. I pleaded with them to stop, but they wouldn’t listen. Just as Justin yanked up my skirts while Arthur and Henry covered my mouth and held my arms, Justin was suddenly pulled away.
It was dark out, and tears were making my vision blurry, but I saw the silhouette of a man as he punched Justin twice before he fell to the ground and didn’t move again. Henry tried to run, but the man caught him before he could. A moment later, Henry was hunched over from a knee between his legs. Arthur still had a hold of my arms, but I was too captivated and shocked to scream or try to get away. It didn’t take much for the mysterious man to take care of Albert. Arthur let me go as soon as his friends were down on the ground, and then he rushed the man. He didn’t get very far before he was down on the ground too, holding a broken arm.
I never once took my eyes off the man, and I still couldn’t see his face properly. He stood over Arthur a moment later, his shoulders rising fast as he breathed harshly. My hands crunched against some leaves when I sat up. The man whirled around, and I whimpered when he stepped closer. I wasn’t sure if he was going to hurt me next. Or maybe do what Arthur and his friends didn’t get the chance to do. I was about to open my mouth to scream when he squatted down and spoke for the first time. He told me it was okay and that he wouldn’t hurt me. That he was only there to save me. As insane as it was, I believed him. The instant I heard his smooth voice, I felt safe.
He moved closer and a small patch of light filtering from the house illuminated his face. I instantly recognized him. He wasn’t a man. He was no older than I was, and he was the same boy I had seen several times in town. He always wore the same britches and shirt, and they never appeared clean. His face had smidgeons of dirt on it too. Even so, I was always fascinated by him. He was dirty and probably had no manners to speak of, but his looks intrigued me. Dark brown hair, light-gray eyes, a sharp chin, and prominent cheekbones. Although his clothes suggested he was homeless, his good genes said otherwise. I don’t know why, but when he offered his hand to help me up, I accepted it. The tingles started in my palm and worked their way up my arm. His name is Jack, and he is indeed my age. I knew this because we spent an hour outside talking.
I sigh, letting the breath I had been holding out slowly. Remembering my own experience years ago with Jensen and Mark has shivers racing down my spine. I was terrified, despite telling Lincoln I was okay, so I know how frightened Anna must have been. Thank goodness the boy, Jack, was there to save her and not do her even more harm.
After taking a sip of my luke-warm coffee, I decide to read one more entry before starting on lunch for the kids and Lincoln.
I saw Jack again today when my parents and I were in town shopping. He was sitting on the street corner with his hand buried in the scruff of the mangy looking dog lying beside him. He didn’t notice me at first, so as my parents were browsing a street vendor, I took a moment to look over him. His dark hair looked cleaner than I had ever seen it, but it still didn’t look brushed. And his clothes appeared to have been recently washed. His head was leaned back against the brick building, his eyes closed, and one of his legs was bent, his arm resting over his knee.
I was amazed at how muscular his arm appeared, given he was only sixteen, and wondered why. How hard was his life for his body to already be so strong and, where did he learn the skills he used the night he saved me? Was it because he needed them to protect himself on the streets? I blushed when I looked back at his eyes and saw him looking at me. He caught me staring, and I was mortified.
I wanted to go over and talk to him, but before I could, my father appeared beside me. After finding what I was looking at, my father asked if that was the boy who saved me. My mother found my ripped and soiled dressed I apparently hadn’t hidden well enough in my closet. When she saw the fading bruises on my arms from when Arthur held me down, she made me tell her what happened. It terrified me to tell her, but I knew I had no choice. Of course, she told my father, and he was livid. After I explained my rescue and the condition Jack left Arthur and his friends in, he calmed down enough for my mother and me to talk sense into him before he went and killed four boys.
I confirmed Jack was the one who saved me, and my father stalked over to him. His fists were clenched at his sides as he stared down at him. At first, I thought my father was going to hurt him, but then he thanked Jack. Both Jack’s and my eyes were wide when my father then offered him a job as a gardener at our home. I saw the prideful refusal in his eyes, and my heart sunk. I wanted Jack to work for my father because it meant I’d get to see him more. I don’t know why it was so important, but I knew it was. Jack’s eyes slid to me, moving all over my face, before he looked back at my father and said he’d take the job so long as his dog Bruiser could come. My father agreed.
Before we walked off, after giving Jack instructions to be at the house tomorrow morning, my father looked him square in the eye and told him I was off-limits. I’ve got news for my father. Jack is not off-limits for me.
A smile creeps across my face as I read the last two sentences twice. One thing any father should know is, once a girl finds the right boy, there’s nothing he nor anyone else can do to stop her from pursuing him.
With a laugh, I drop the journal on the coffee table and grab my cup to take to the kitchen. As I rinse the dish and put it in the dishwasher, I look out the back window. Lincoln took the kids to his shop earlier today, figuring they’d enjoy helping him work on a few pieces for the Fischer commission. They’re now in the backyard.
A giggle bubbles out of me when Gray sneaks up behind him and jumps on his back. The action stops him from chasing after Gemma, who has the water hose in her hand, trying her best to squirt Lincoln over her shoulder. Realizing her dad is no longer behind her, she spins around. The grin on her face reminds me so much of Lincoln’s when he’s doing something silly. Over his dad’s shoulder, Gray’s wearing the same grin.
A moment passes as Gemma holds up the sprayer. Lincoln takes a step toward her, and she blasts him square in the chest. I can hear all three of them laugh as Lincoln takes off after her, Gray still on his back. Gemma squeals and drops the hose before turning to run away.
I turn away from the window with a smile on my face, feeling lighter than I have in days. Grabbing the makings for sandwiches, I hum to the sound of their laughter as I make my family lunch. By the time I’m done and have the plate of sandwiches on a tray, along with a pitcher of fresh lemonade and some cups, the backyard has grown quiet.
Bumping the screen door handle with my hip, I push the door open. My heart melts at what I find. Lincoln and the kids are lying on their backs looking up at the sky. Lincoln points to one of the clouds and says something too softly for me to hear. They both giggle. As kids, Lincoln and I used to do this all of the time. Since Gray started to understand what we were doing, we’ve done it with him. And the same with Gemma.
Setting the tray down on the table, I grab the handrail as I descend the four steps to the ground. A shadow covers Lincoln’s face when I loom over him.
“Oh, look, kids.” He points his finger up at me. “It’s a momma.”
Gray snorts, a smile tugging his lips, and Gemma covers her mouth as she giggles.
With a gentle smile, I say, “I have lunch ready on the patio table.”
“Who’s hungry?” Lincoln shouts, shooting to a sitting position.
“Me!” Gemma bounces to her feet while Gray lumbers up more slowly.
I look down when a hand almost the size of mine grabs mine. Gray, who’s looking forward as we walk across the backyard to the deck, doesn’t acknowledge the action. It’s been a long time since he’s willingly offered his hand for me to hold. Lincoln and I have talked about it, and we both agree he knows something’s off with his family, but he has yet to ask us what. I’m grateful he hasn’t, because I still don’t know what to tell him, and I’m not ready to tell him the truth. I’ll never be ready, but I know we’ll have to once we know the results of his and Gemma’s genetics test.
At the steps, he lets my hand go and walks ahead with Gemma at his side. I feel Lincoln behind me. He’s always behind me when I walk up steps now, afraid my legs will go haywire again. If I’m honest, I’m scared too. I hate not having total control of my body. I’m only glad the kids haven’t quite caught on to that fact yet.
We take a seat, and I hand out sandwiches while Lincoln pours the lemonade.
“Did you two have fun helping Daddy in the shop today?”
“Yes! Daddy let me help paint one of the statues.”
“What about you, Gray?”
“Yeah.” He takes a big bite of his sandwich and swallows before he elaborates. “I got to help put one of the horses together.”
Gray isn’t as artistically talented as Lincoln was at his age, but he’s still very good.
“That’s great, sweetie.” I peel off the crust on one side of my sandwich and toss it in my mouth. “Your dad and I were talking last night. What do you say about going to the zoo tomorrow?”
“Please! Please!”
I laugh at Gemma’s pleading. Lincoln reaches over and pulls one of her pigtails. Ninety percent of the time, you’ll find Gemma in pigtails.
“You got it, beauty.”
“Can I invite Andrea to come?” Gray asks.
“Sure.” So Gemma won’t feel left out not having a friend with her, I suggest, “How about we call and ask if Aubree can go?”
“Okay. I hope the wolves are out this time. We missed them last time.” She kicks her legs back and forth under the chair, making her bounce up and down. “And can we feed the giraffes again?”
“If they’ll let us.”
“Goodie!”
“When are the next set of pieces due to Mr. Fischer?” I ask Lincoln.
“Fifteen are due in a month. Another fifteen the next month.”
Frowning, I take another bite of my sandwich. “Will you make those deadlines?”
Understanding my worry, he reaches across the table and covers my hand. Lincoln hasn’t been working as much as he should with this big of a job. Instead, he spends a lot of time in the house. I feel guilty because I know it’s because he wants to keep an eye on me. I’ve taken the month off from work, grateful the vet I’ve hired to take over for me came highly recommended and seems to be doing a good job. I don’t even know if I’ll ever be able to go back to work.
“Everything is covered,” Lincoln says gently. “I was already ahead on several pieces and Owen has been helping me. They’ll get done in time. Besides, Mr. Fischer extended a lot of my deadlines.”
“He did?” I ask in surprise.
Lincoln nods, draining the rest of his lemonade. “Yes. I spoke with him a couple of days ago.”
I glance at the kids and find their heads together talking quietly. I look back at Lincoln and lower my voice. “Is it because…?”
“Yes,” he answers when I trail off, not needing me to continue. “He knows how difficult things will be.”
I dip my chin and pick up the rest of my sandwich. “I really liked him and his wife. They seem like decent people.”
“They do.”
“His wife wants me to have lunch with her sometime.” I shake my head. “But I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
His brows furrow. “Why not?”
I give him a pointed look.
His eyes slide to the kids before he scoots his chair closer to mine. His hand grabs mine, lacing our fingers together. “Molly, go to lunch with her. Enjoy yourself. Have girl talk. Maybe go have a pedicure. What you shouldn’t do, is let this keep you from enjoying life.”
Lincoln doesn’t get it. It’s not that I don’t want to go out with Melanie Fischer because I don’t think I can enjoy life anymore. It’s that I don’t want to spend any time away from him and the kids. Every precious second I have left on this earth, I want to spend it with them.
“We’ll see.” I evade giving him a definitive answer.
Just then, my phone rings. Seeing Dr. Becker’s name flash on the screen sends fear racing through me. I glance up at Lincoln just as his eyes leave the phone to meet mine. I snatch the phone up, swipe across the screen, and press it to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Molly Bradshaw?” a female voice asks.
“Speaking.”
“This is Kelly from Dr. Becker’s office. He wanted me to inform you he got the genetic tests back from the lab and wanted to know if you could come in tomorrow at two to go over the results?”
My gut tightens, and I keep my eyes locked on Lincoln as I talk. “I don’t understand. The results weren’t due back for another week.”
“Dr. Becker was able to have the results rushed. Are you able to come in tomorrow at two?”
“Yes,” I nearly shout.
“Okay. That’s great. We’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“Thank—” I clear my throat. “Thank you.”
I hang up, my hands fumbling with the phone, and it drops to the table.
“Tomorrow at two.”
I don’t need to elaborate for Lincoln to know what I’m referring to. His jaw tightens, and he nods.
Tomorrow.
I don’t know which emotion is stronger. Relief or fear.
Tomorrow at two, we’ll know the fate of our kids.
We finish lunch, but spend another hour outside. Gemma helps me plant the flowers we bought the other day while Lincoln shows Gray how to use the Weed Eater. Every so often, I stop and simply look at my family. How much longer will I be able to spend time with them like this? How long before I’m stuck in the house too weak to move?
According to Dr. Becker, my body will slowly shut down, effectively trapping me in a useless body. The muscles that control my breathing will become impaired, which could cause pneumonia. There’s a chance I could lose my hearing, and I’ll lose muscle coordination. I’ll eventually become bedridden, won’t be able to eat without assistance, and I’ll be unable to communicate. The two most common causes of death are pneumonia or death after a coma.
I sat in that chair in Dr. Becker’s office, terrified as he explained what would happen to me. The physical symptoms were hard to hear, knowing my family would have to watch me slowly die. But it was the mental symptoms I’d suffer that scared me the most. Dementia is very common in GSS. Will I eventually forget my kids and Lincoln? Will I look at them like they are strangers? I can’t imagine that ever happening. How can I forget the three most important people in my life; the three people who give my life meaning?
Tears prick my eyes thinking about that possibility.
And what’s worse is the pain I know they’ll go through watching me. It’s hard enough knowing I may forget them, but knowing the pain they’ll suffer, sends a sharp and unforgiving ache through my chest.
I shake my head and force my thoughts to a better place, determined to live in the moment and not the uncertain future.
Leaning over, I kiss the top of Gemma’s head, and when she looks up at me with her beautiful grin, I smile back.
Chapter Thirteen
LINCOLN
“Please, take a seat,” Dr. Becker says, gesturing to the two chairs we sat in a week ago.
My nerves are shot to hell. From the pallor on Molly’s face and the death grip she has on my hand, I know she’s not faring any better.
Dr. Becker takes his seat and steeples his fingers together in front of him. Relief hits instantly when he smiles.
“We have good news. Neither Gray nor Gemma carry the gene.”
Molly’s hand jerks in mine. “Are you sure?” she croaks.
Dr. Becker nods, his smile growing. “We are one-hundred percent certain. There were no traces of the gene.”
“Oh, thank God,” she breathes, sagging against the back of her chair. When she looks at me, tears appear in her eyes, but they’re happy tears. I feel my own eyes prickling. “Our babies are going to be okay.”
I get up from my chair and pull Molly with me, straight into my arms. She buries her face in my shoulder. I take a deep breath, pulling more air into my lungs than I have in days. A huge weight is lifted off my chest, but my heart still weighs a thousand pounds. Our kids are healthy and will live long lives, but I’m still going to lose the woman in my arms. How can I feel so much relief while still feeling like my heart is splintering in two?
“I know, baby,” I soothe, keeping my voice low to hide the sorrow I still feel. “Gray and Gemma are going to be fine.”
My eyes meet Dr. Becker’s over Molly’s shoulder. His expression is solemn with understanding. Yes, the news he just gave us was the best news we could have gotten today, but it doesn’t change Molly’s fate.
After a moment, Molly pulls back and looks to Dr. Becker. “What about Lindsay and Aubree?”
Lindsay and Joe are due to come in after us for their results, but I know it’ll eat at Molly until she knows. Federal law prohibits doctors from giving out patient information to anyone who is not the patient, but Lindsay has given permission for Dr. Becker to do so. We have their parents and Lindsay on all of our forms, just as they have us on theirs.
“I’m happy to inform you that neither Lindsay nor Aubree have the gene either.”
Molly’s eyes fall closed, and her shoulders sag in relief. The tension that’s been on her face for a week slowly fades.
“Thank you, Jesus,” she whispers.
After we retake our seats, Dr. Becker asks, “Tell me, Molly, how have you been the last week?”
Her voice is small when she answers. “My legs have been going stiff more often. I almost fell out of the shower a few days ago.”
A flash of finding Molly lying on the bottom of the bathtub after hearing her scream flares through my mind. It scared the shit out of me, finding her like that.
