But the male voice on the other end wasn’t Brandon’s. “What?”

She shook her head, feeling a little stupid. “Art?”

“Yeah, who’d you think it was?”

Not wanting to get into it with him and in a hurry to get to Brandon, she played it off. “A friend of mine. I was just being silly. What’s up?”

“Bad news, babe. Dad’s back in the hospital.” Her heart tanked, and she gripped the wheel. “It’s not looking good. They want us all down there ASAP. I’d just gotten home when I got the call. I could swing by and get you.”

“No!” she said, the lump in her throat nearly unbearable, and her voice gave. “Not looking good?” she cried as she pulled out of the parking space. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. They just told me to get there as soon as I could and to get you on the way. Gina, you shouldn’t drive like this.”

“Too late. I’m already on my way. I’ll just meet you there.”

As soon as she hung up, she let out a sob, banging her steering wheel. “Daddy, wait for me, please!”

The moment she arrived at the hospital, she knew she was too late. Bell tore herself away from Romero, whose chest she was latched on to, and ran to Gina.

“Sissy, he’s gone! Daddy’s gone!” she sobbed, wrapping her arms around her.

Regina nearly collapsed, but she held onto Bell with a shuddering bawl. She allowed herself to fall apart for just a few minutes as she and Bell clung to each other. When she walked into her father’s room where her mom was sitting holding his lifeless hand praying, it took everything in her, but she held it together. Pat stood next to her mom, crying softly, and Gina hugged her then leaned over and kissed her mom on the head.

“How are you feeling, Mom?”

Her mom didn’t answer. She didn’t even look up. She just kept praying and brought her husband’s hand to her cheek.

Instantly, Regina was all business. “Have they checked her blood pressure?” Bell and Pat exchanged blank glances. “They need to,” she said, heading out.

Just as she’d been afraid of, her mom’s blood pressure had spiked. Regina’s grief turned into utter dread. She’d just lost one parent. The last thing she wanted was to have to worry about her mom making herself sick over this. Not surprising, her mom hadn’t remembered to take her medicine lately as she should.  Her mom took it and was taken out of the room so she could sit somewhere and relax away from the sight of her dead husband until her blood pressure went down. Regina sat with her and her siblings, and they spoke calmly about the good times with her dad, remembering only things that made her mom smile even if both her sisters were a mess.

Bell held onto Romero, burying her face in his neck. Art held Pat, comforting her as Regina continued to speak to her mother soothingly. After about an hour, they were allowed back in her father’s room for a final good-bye. Both Pat and Bell said they’d stay the night with her mom. Regina needed to leave—needed the luxury of falling apart like she really wanted to. She took the long numbing drive home where she’d now spend her first night without Brandon, grieving alone.

Afraid of giving into the temptation of calling Brandon, Regina dropped her cell phone on the floor and then proceeded to bang on it with the bat she’d pulled out of the closet. When she was satisfied it was completely non-functional, she proceeded to smash the mirror on the wall and then the lamp on the table next to it. Little by little as she obliterated everything in her sight she fell on the floor, taking another big swig straight from the wine bottle, and sobbed.

This was exactly why she didn’t want to be tempted to call him. She didn’t want anyone, but especially Brandon, to see her this way. The excruciating pain of losing her father manifested itself and was quickly becoming too overwhelming. It was making her feel as if she was losing her mind—she could barely breathe, and she no longer had the will to fight the temptation to pull the gun out of that trunk. If Brandon caught her this way, this may be the last time he ever saw her, and she’d be damned if she wanted him to remember her this way.

She hated feeling so weak, but she was. Any strength she needed to try and get through this subsided with every second that passed. “Why!” she screamed, agonized.

It was a question that just poured out. She didn’t even know what exactly she was asking, or maybe she did. Why was she so weak? Why the fuck couldn’t she deal with pain like normal people? What was wrong with her!

The vision of her father lying lifeless in his hospital bed with her mother sitting by his side hit her suddenly. It felt as if someone had taken her bat and pummeled her with it.

“No!” she screamed, shaking her head as if the louder she screamed the more she could will the vision and the reality that her father was gone. “No!”

Scrambling onto her knees, she scurried toward the wooden chest, spilling the near empty bottle of wine on the floor in the process. Flinging the chest open, she grabbed at things—old pictures, Ryan’s baseball glove, everything she hadn’t wanted to look at in over a year—and flung them all aside until she saw it: the gun.

Her heart pounded against her chest, and she began shaking, but she reached for it. She reached for the box with the ammunition too and took it in her other hand. Holding the cold gun in her hand brought back all those memories of that dreadful day, the day she’d been interrupted. “Not today,” she said with conviction and stood up shakily.

She made her way up the stairs to her bedroom, nearly tripping along the way. Thoughts of Brandon and how her fall had brought them together came to her, and she nearly smiled. Then reality slammed into her mercilessly, and she felt her face crumble again.

Rushing now, she opened the door to her bathroom and walked in, locking it behind her. She’d do it this time, and the world would be rid of her pathetic ass once and for all.

She sat on the cold floor for a moment, silently, as the tears continued to roll down her cheek with one thought: Brandon. How naïve she’d been to think his love could make her better—his presence in her life could somehow make her stronger. She was hopeless. Even her beautiful Brandon hadn’t been enough to give her the strength to fight through this suffocating pain.

Setting the gun on the floor, her hands nearly shook out of control as she reached for the box of ammo and took a single bullet out. It was all she needed.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Brandon

Glad that it was Friday, Brandon had arrived at work that morning, somewhat dreading to see Regina. He’d been both surprised and disappointed she never showed up or even called him back last night. Twice he’d almost given into the temptation of calling her. Even arguing with her would be better than going the whole night not seeing or speaking to her.

Mainly he’d dreaded seeing her today because he knew how badly it would hurt if she did or said nothing to try and rectify the situation. Clearly, she didn’t care enough to call him back last night, and he knew telling her to go to hell had a lot to do with it. He’d actually been disappointed when he realized she hadn’t come in to work today.

He thought of her anxiety issues. The possibility that maybe this fight and his telling her it was over could have made her lose it, had him calling her by noon. He’d put it off, telling himself she was fine and that she was probably just being melodramatic by not showing up today. Even he had considered staying put today—calling in sick—something he’d so rarely done in all his years in the Marines. He’d seriously considered it today, not to be melodramatic but because after tossing and turning nearly the entire night he’d been tired as shit this morning. He knew he’d be a zombie all day. The only thing that got him out of bed and to work was the possibility of seeing her.