Baewatch - Xavier Neal Page 0,82
Once she’s settled in her seat, still not making eye contact with me, I shut it and hastily bolt to the other side.
Our drive back to the hotel downtown is done wordlessly.
Sounds of her silent sobs echo around the vehicle in spite of their noiseless nature. The tears pouring from her eyes scream in volumes so deafening my eardrums damn near burst under the pressure.
The pain.
As soon as we’re back in our suite, she offers me my jacket, head still hung.
“Babe…”
I reach for her chin to tip it upwards, wanting to see the brown gaze I can’t live without, only to have my touch evaded once again.
New tides of trepidation pull me further under, and I find myself beginning to believe less and less that I’ll survive.
The instant the article is successfully transferred, she shuffles away to the bedroom where she shuts the door behind her. I give my hair a frustrated tussle and carelessly drape the damn thing over my shoulder. All of a sudden, a pinging sound hits my ears, demanding my attention fall to the floor. There’s no mistaking the sight or stopping my knees from hitting the ground because of it. Seeing the unique creation abandoned in front of me instead of securely on the hand it belongs to successfully submerges me in more sadness than I can handle. The tears that I hadn’t been letting reach the shores of my lids are granted full access while my head drops from the unbearable weight of sorrow.
This isn’t really happening.
This isn’t when our ship sinks.
This isn’t when we lower our sails.
This isn’t our final voyage…
It can’t be.
Chapter 11
“Why can’t she see me, Kourtney?!” Grandmother loudly grouses. “Why’s your phone broken?!”
“It’s not broken, mother!” Mom shrieks in frustration.
“Don’t you talk to me like that,” Grandmother reprimands all while shifting the device around giving me shots of up her nose, inside her mouth, and what I’m guessing is her ear as she presses her face against it. “I’ll get my spoon and-”
“Grandmother,” I interrupt, voice weak from exhaustion, “please, trust her with this one. Let Mom show you how it’s done.”
Which would move along this little intervention they seem to think I need.
I’m not sure that I do.
I’m pretty sure I’ve got how to hide from your fiancé or possibly ex-fiancé mastered.
Sunshine and seashells…ex-fiancé?
What is that? Like the shortest engagement in history?
Finally, Mom manages to wrestle the phone out of my grandmother’s possession and properly angle it so I can see both their faces, and they can see mine.
“There she is!” Grandmother joyfully claps. “See, Kourt, I told you you were doing it wrong.”
Mom briefly shuts her eyes and shakes her head.
See?
This is what I want for my kids someday.
Sure, there’s bickering and yelling and irritation, but there’s an endless amount of love and understanding and support. I’ve never once doubted my parents or grandparents cared about anything other than providing emotionally for us first and financially second. That’s the world I want my own babies to know.
Not the money-focused, Captain Hook mentality Ax’s father had.
Ugh.
I wish he’d lose his hand to a crocodile.
Or alligator.
Either one is fine.
“You look as bad as Ax does,” Grandmother bluntly announces. “And that baby boy looks bad. Nothing like the little doll I’m used to seein’.”
Her left island statement has me tilting my head in confusion. “How do you know what he looks like right now?”
“He called last night,” Mom unexpectedly informs. “After…the incident. He was checking in on our grand dog-”
“I want great grandchildren, Brooky. Real ones. The ones I can hold, and they won’t lick my face.”
I do everything possible to resist smiling at her interjection.
“There was clearly something on his mind, so…I asked. And he broke down.” Her shoulders noticeably fall. “And broke down some more…”
“Bawling like he was shipwrecked and might never see home again.”
“We talked. And, then he talked to your father. And, then he talked to your grandfather-”
“So, basically, he talked to everyone but me?!”
“You’re the one who locked yourself in the bedroom like Rina did when I told her she couldn’t go to prom in the eighth grade.”
The accurate comparison has me cringing. “I needed some space.”
“You needed to talk to him,” Grandmother corrects, gaze disapproving.
“Grandmother-”
“Young lady, you cannot run away or hide or give silent treatment to your spouse every time sand is kicked around your marriage.”
“We’re not technically married yet…”
My meek rebuttal has Grandmother rolling her eyes. “I’m not technically eighty yet, but that doesn’t stop me from planning my party, now does it?”
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