Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 55769 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55769 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“You know what you gotta do,” Hugo said.
The bartender put his glass in front of Mace. He picked it up and threw back a healthy shot before setting it back to the bar, his fingers still wrapped around.
He kept his gaze on the back of the bar.
“Take her with you,” Hugo encouraged. “First, she needs to go. She needs to be there with you when you go. But she also needs that connection. And second, it’s always gonna kill, but with her there, it’ll lessen the pain.”
He knew exactly what Hugo was talking about. What he didn’t know was how Hugo knew to talk about it.
Maybe Stella had shared with him. Maybe Floyd had a conversation with him.
But Mace reckoned this was all Hugo.
“I don’t know if I can,” he admitted to the bottles of liquor behind the bar.
“You can. You need to. The concept of closure is bullshit. There are some wounds that never heal. This is one of them.”
Mace turned his head to Hugo.
Hugo kept talking.
“But this is the journey, Mace. You can’t avoid stops on the journey. You do, they’ll haunt you. You got enough haunting you, brother. Don’t you think?”
Mace lifted the glass and downed the rest of the bourbon.
He then jerked up his chin to the bartender for a refill.
The bartender complied.
Through this, Mace nor Hugo said anything.
Only after Mace took his next sip did Hugo speak.
“She’s there all alone, brother.”
Mace felt those words twist in his gut, and that feeling made him send a murderous look to the man at his side.
“She’s not there.”
Hugo shook his head. “She’s there, Mace. And she’s wondering why her brother hasn’t visited her.”
Mace dropped his head, clipping, “Fuck.”
Hugo downed his cognac, clapped him on the back and slid off his stool.
“I’ll leave you with that, man, ’cause I know you’ll do the right thing…” His pause was meaningful, then he landed his last velvet blow, “For your sister.”
He felt Hugo’s hand on his shoulder. There was a firm squeeze, then the man was gone, leaving Mace with his bourbon and his memories.
When he got back to their bungalow, Stella was again at the table. No coffee this time and sitting in the dark.
“Did you talk to him?” he asked after he shut the door behind him.
“No,” she answered. “Which one was it?”
There it was.
She didn’t talk to Hugo. She didn’t talk to any of them.
“Floyd?” she went on, her tone knowing, love threading through it, Floyd being the only real dad she’d ever had.
“Hugo.”
He could sense her surprise.
Mace moved to the couch and folded into it.
She came to him and climbed on to sit astride his lap.
She said no words. She just rested her chest to his, shoved her forehead in his neck and pushed her hands in at his back so she was holding him.
Mace didn’t touch her.
“Do you believe in life after death?” he asked.
He felt her body tense, knowing she worried about giving him the wrong answer, prodding that wound that would never heal, causing him pain.
Mace knew she forced herself to relax when she replied, “I haven’t landed on my decision on that, but I’d like to think yes.”
“I think it’s no,” he shared. “I think once you quit breathing, that’s the end. And when the last person who remembers you dies, that’s when you cease to exist.”
Stella was on him, all around him, her scent, her weight.
But somehow, she made it more, wrapping him up, holding him closer, with more than just the tightening of her arms.
Mace drew in breath, drawing her in, the strength of her love was all he ever needed.
Maybe that was it. Maybe that was why he fucked them up the first time.
Maybe he wasn’t ready for Stella to give him the strength.
But now, he reminded himself, he was ready.
She’d given him the strength.
“But just in case,” he whispered.
“Yes,” she whispered back. “Just in case.”
Mace held the huge bouquet of roses.
Stella held Mace.
When they arrived at the destination Mace had avoided until that moment with everything that was him, he saw Chloe had done well. The stone was perfect. Not huge and ostentatious, not small and unnoticeable.
A pair of ballet shoes was etched in the top. Words and numbers he refused to look at in the middle.
And at the bottom, it said, Loved by her mother and her brother and everyone who knew her.
Mace read those words.
Then he read them again.
And again.
Stella squeezed his hand.
He swallowed, let her go and crouched, putting the pink flowers at the base of the marble gravestone.
He wanted to say something, he just didn’t know what to say.
Or how to say everything he had to say.
It was on this thought, he heard the guitar.
Startled, he looked over his shoulder.
He thought it was just him and Stella.
But under a tree a few rows away, stood Floyd, Hugo, Leo and Pong.