Authors: Rebecca Sherwin
Thrive (25 page)
I folded my arms and looked out of my window. “Later. In bed. But you have to earn it.”
His voice, tight with sudden arousal replied, “How will I do that?”
“You’ll see.” I smiled in excitement, the anticipation making me shift in my seat. I tried to hide it, but I knew Curtis could feel how hot I was for him.
“Oh, I’ll earn it,” he said, turning on the engine and shifting the car into gear. “I’ll exceed your expectations, Skillet.”
“You always do, Cut Throat.”
Our smiles collided when I turned to face him as he checked the mirror and edged out of the space.
***
The sun shone down on us as we got out of the car. It was a warm day, the trees were a luscious green, giving themselves to the birds that sat in them and sang their summer song. The sweet smell of flowers in the flowerbed lining the path surrounded us as we held on to each other and tried to keep our emotions under control.
The drive from the house I once shared with Thomas – the place Curtis and I now called home – had been quick, filled with the overwhelming sadness and grief.
We had to say goodbye to Kent as part of our respective, and shared, treatments, but we were encouraged to come here once a week, to visit the place that would always trigger our memories of the past, and to face the demons so we could begin to overcome them together.
Curtis set the chequered blanket on the ground and sat down; I replaced last week’s flowers with the ones I’d picked from the garden this morning and sat next to him.
We stared ahead and said nothing. We always shared the silence at first, as we processed our own thoughts on where we were.
Geoff lost his battle against cancer just one week after the night in Kent, passing away peacefully in his sleep, in the bed we’d set up for him so he could leave this world in comfort, knowing he was loved.
It wasn’t until he died that Curtis realised he was Geoff’s infinity; he was the son Geoff never had, and Geoff was the father Curtis deserved. Curtis finally believed that his love for him was enough as he cried himself to sleep in my arms. I held him as tightly as I could, assuring him that Geoff would be happy and proud to have had Curtis in his life.
Almost a hundred people attended his funeral. Geoff had no biological family, but he had a family – his fighters – and every one of them turned up to pay their respects to an incredible man who inspired so many to make a better life for themselves, including my animal.
Chaz, who took over
SportsUK
when Thomas died, published a tribute to Geoff in the centre pages of the magazine. Curtis and I framed it as we shared a bottle of wine one night, while Curtis told me stories about their times together. The four frames now lined the wall of our kitchen.
We buried Geoff next to Oliver, and that’s where we were now, holding each other’s hand, drawing comfort from the silence of our shared pain.
“They’ll look after each other,” I said, catching a tear as it fell from my eye. “Oliver isn’t alone anymore and Geoff has been reunited with Juggernaut Jones.”
“I know.” Curtis wrapped his arms around me and tucked me into his side. “Is it weird that I don’t feel sad anymore?”
“What do you mean?”
“I miss them. I miss them every day, Skye. But I’m glad they’re together. We found Ollie’s answers and we took care of Geoff. We’re free from Phil, Lois and Pamela have the treatment they need, and you and I have each other.”
“That’s true.” I smiled, snuggling into him as we watched the flowers sway in the soft breeze.
“Remember what I said when we were on The Eye?” I nodded. “I don’t feel angry anymore. I always wanted to just
live
, but there was something missing. For years, I felt so wired up I’d explode. But now? Knowing my parents were murdered, knowing what Phil did to them, to Tiffany, to Ollie, to all of us…I should feel angrier than ever. But I don’t.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“You’ve found closure. We both have.” I squeezed him tighter. “You told me you just wanted to be…”
“With you,” he interrupted.
“Yes,” I giggled. “With me. And now you can. We’ve found peace, I think, and now we can look back in remembrance and smile, knowing we did it. We kicked fate’s ass and we beat it.”
“We did.” He startled me when he stood up, taking me and the blanket with him and took my hand. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“I need to tell you I love you the only way I know how, and I can't do that in a graveyard.”
“Wait.” I pulled him to face me when he began to walk to the car. I saw a familiar car pull up next to Curtis’. “Tell me. Tell me you love me.”
He cupped my face and I closed my eyes, warmed by the sun and the hands of the man I loved more than life itself.
“I love you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to each eyelid.
“I love you,” he breathed kissing each of my cheeks.
“I love you,” he rasped, his lips skating over the bridge of my nose.
“I. Love. You.”
Finally he kissed my lips, with a soft, passionate pressure that ignited my soul and healed a little more of the pain that lingered. We would heal each other; we did it every day.
Life is not a fairy tale, but would we really want it to be?
The further the fall, the harder we climb. The more pain we feel, the stronger we love. The more we suffer, the more determined we are to protect the ones we love. The more tears we shed, the harder we fight to turn tragedy into happiness.
The harder we have to fight for our survival, battle for our revival, the greater the reward. The more risks we take, the greater the chance we have to thrive in this life that promises nothing, but offers everything.
Curtis took my hand again as I opened my eyes and mirrored the emotion I saw in his. He stroked his thumb over the back of my hand as we headed back to the car, where the driver of the car waited for us.
Jesse ‘the Gentleman’ Kennedy was leaning against the side of the car, with his hands in the pockets of his suit trousers. A wide smile had settled on his rugged face, and his blue eyes gleamed with relief.
He had returned. The three of us had been reunited; happy, healthy and ready for infinity.
We had beaten fate. We had knocked it out and raised our arms in victory. We had beaten its twisted game and become champions.
For now.
(Co-written with Paula Radell)
I’m a doctor.
My life’s work is to peer beneath the surface – at the signs and symptoms – to uncover the truth. Analyze the clues. Test probable causes. Arrive at a diagnosis.
Treat.
Heal.
Repeat.
I’m a boxer
.
My passion is to prepare, rigorously - mind and body - to face my opponent. Study his actions. Find his weakness. Attack and defend.
Fight.
Win.
Repeat.
This is who I am. This is what I do. This is all I know.
I deal with facts. I deal with the truth. I deal with what’s right in front of me.
Emotions are the enemy. In my life, they’re a liability. Once you start to feel, you stand to lose. You begin to deny reality. You make yourself vulnerable…
Patients you can’t heal, fights you can’t win.
But what happens when you don’t know your enemy?
What if it’s not a disease or an injury?
What if it’s an opponent you can’t see, or didn’t see coming?
What if the facts don’t make any sense?
What if all you have to go on is something you can’t begin to understand – and all you can do is
feel?
Who is your enemy then?
Deception.
I’m Jesse Kennedy, and
deception
is the story of my life.
I was on the run.
One day someone would reopen the case and they’d come after me.
The rain frightened me.
Darkness terrified me.
Looking over my shoulder, never knowing if I was safe, left me bereft.
Angry.
I couldn’t trust anyone.
The rumours ran wild, but I didn’t deserve them. I’d felt so much pain, I’d cried so many tears; I’d had everything people take for granted ripped away from me, or tarnished with blood and betrayal. All I had was anger. Anger for what I’d done, rage for what I hadn’t, and resentment for the life I would have to live alone, because people like me could never be free.
I was a maimed child, I was a broken adult spiralling out of control. I was looking for a fight –
the
fight that would take the pain away.
I had a target on my back; a trail of evidence someone would find one day lead to me and, soon, I would have to lift the lid on my life and expose Benny the Hunter for who he really was.
I was a marked man and my past was closing in on me.
Thank you to Alfie. The greatest gift I’ve ever been given. The greatest challenge and the greatest reward.
Thank you to my muse. My favourite mystery. My favourite puzzle. My knight in kinked armour.
Thank you to Paula Radell. My editor and friend. My person. My publicist and partner in crime. My diamond.
Thank you to Tracie Podger, for giving me a butt-kicking when I need it and being a great friend, no matter how frustrating I get.
Thank you to Edward A Stanbridge, for reading before anyone else and spotting the flaws that made me smack my head on the desk and rewrite the ending.
Thank you to Mary White, Kerry-Ann Bell, Catherine Scott and Anne Morillo, for being my friends and pillars of support.
Thank you for reading.
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Happy reading!
