Page 425 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Five days later

Rick

"I’m sorry for your loss." The old woman squeezes my hand. Her skin is soft, her fingers so thin, I worry I might crack them. I gently place one of my much bigger, broader paws over hers.

"Thank you." I swallow.

They say the pain gets better with every passing day, but it’s only grown bigger and wider, filling up, first my chest, then my belly, spreading to my legs, where it weighs down every step I take.

Grams had been watching the game on TV with India when she fell asleep.

She never woke up. India said she’d begun cheering when the Ice Kings had won, then turned to share the excitement with Grams and found she had her eyes closed.

She called her name and there was no answer.

That’s when she realized something was wrong.

She touched Grams’ hand which was still warm, but Grams wasn’t breathing.

She grabbed Grams phone which was next to her—unlocked, because Grams didn’t believe in passwords—and called, first Dr. Kincaid, then tried me. When I didn’t answer, she called Gio.

Gio’s car drew up as she disconnected the call.

We took it to Grams’ place, where Dr. Kincaid gave us the news.

Grams didn’t die of heart failure. She simply stopped breathing.

It's as if she waited until I’d won the League, and then passed.

I couldn’t believe it. Grams, who was so full of life, so happy that we’d gotten married, who’d been making plans to go on her next cruise.

She was content, India said. And the happiest she’d ever seen the old woman.

I set out to get revenge for my sister, but I ended up ensuring Grams' last few weeks were joyful.

I owe that to Goldie. It's because of her that Grams believed our marriage was real. Perhaps, I should feel some guilt for the charade and for having deceived Grams, but having a conscience isn’t one of my strong points.

No, I don’t regret it. I don’t regret the smile I put on Grams’ face, the contentment when she saw me and Goldie together. No, I don’t feel contrite for what I did. I may have set out to get revenge, but I fulfilled Grams' wishes along the way.

The reason I wanted to make Goldie suffer receded, too.

It became less and less important that I thought she was responsible for what happened to Diana.

I knew it was irrational to think she was the catalyst for Diana taking that final step.

But my ego wouldn't let me admit it. I couldn't face the reality that I was more to blame than she was.

It wasn't until I faced the prospect of losing Goldie, as well, that I was willing to confront my own guilt and my misguided attempts to shift the blame away from myself.

And I want to tell her all this. I want to open my heart to her, to share the feelings I have for her.

To declare my love for her, but every time I try, the coldness in my chest stops me.

Losing Grams hit me with the kind of gut punch that pushed all feelings out of my body.

I feel like I’m looking down at the events unfolding around me.

I must have said and done the right thing, though, for there was only sympathy on Dr. Kincaid’s face.

Goldie tried to talk to me, but I shut down and refused to answer.

I saw the hurt on her face, felt a twinge in my belly, but was unable to act on it.

With the win at the League, there was no need to share the house with the team anymore.

I didn’t attend the presentation ceremony, and Finn, as the alternate captain, received the cup along with the rest of the team.

When he and the team found out what had happened, they wanted to come over, but I dissuaded them.

I also asked Edward, Knight and my other friends to give me space, and so far, everyone has acceded to my wishes.

But today's the day of the funeral, and there's no stopping them. Edward insisted on driving Goldie and me to the cemetery where Grams’ friends are in attendance. She was popular with the community, with the result that her living room is overflowing with all those who came by to offer condolences. People like this old woman, who wipes a tear from her face as she tells me she was Grams’ bridge partner.

Then, there's the man who runs the corner shop, who shares how Grams put his kids through school. The delivery guy, who dropped off her groceries from Waitrose and whose citizenship application Grams sponsored. And her book club friends, those who attended the senior citizens’ weekly ballroom dancing classes with her over the last decade, her golfing gang…

Yeah, Grams led a long and happy, and fulfilling life.

She made the most of every moment. She was gutted when my parents passed and fell apart when Diana died but managed to pull herself together and comfort me.

She was insistent Diana’s suicide wasn't my fault, even though I refused to believe her. She warned me I needed to move on, then pushed me into getting married. I owe having met my wife to her. My wife, who I haven’t been able to look straight in the face since she moved into the guest bedroom of the apartment I’ve been renting since before I became the captain of the team.

She put off going to L.A. by a week, then took charge of all the arrangements related to the funeral.

I, on the other hand, have taken to running day and night and working out.

It's the only thing that helps me get through the days.

The nights are the worst. My insomnia is back in force.

If I get a few hours of shut-eye, I'm lucky. Every time I close my eyes, my family’s faces crowded in on me.

Did I fail them all? I spent so much of my life pursuing my own goals, then running away from my demons, I missed the opportunity to be with those I loved.

You’d think I’d learn from the mistakes of my past, but here I am, still turning away from sharing the depth of my feelings with the woman who means so much to me.

I tried to show her how sorry I am for what I did, but I know that's not enough.

I needed to find a way to make things up to her, but it feels like I'm caught in a limbo where my thoughts don’t quite make sense, even to me.

We’ve spent the days in a strange silence which she’s tried to interrupt, but I haven’t reciprocated.

To her credit, she hasn’t given up. She also started wearing her wedding ring, probably because it made things easier when she was dealing with the arrangements.

Every time she introduces herself as Rick Mitchell’s wife, a jolt of sensation pierces the fog that seems to envelop me.

It's the only time something close to hope ripples under my skin.

The only time I sense cracks in the wall that seems to be closing in on me.

It's akin to green shoots breaking through the hard winter ground, or the growing pains of a teenager who grew so quickly, his bones stretched and hurt and the rest of him scrambled to keep up.

I'm finding my way through the darkness, and she's the glimmer of light beckoning me. Only I don’t acknowledge her. I see her, but I don’t tell her how much it means to me that she's there.

It's like I'm trapped behind glass of my own making, and no matter how much I scream, she can't hear me. She doesn't even know I'm there.

I wake up in the middle of the night and go into her room to watch her sleep, her hand flung out, the dark shadows under her eyes telling me this is as difficult for her, but I don’t let on that I see it.

I don’t once open my mouth and tell my wife how much I appreciate what she's doing, how I couldn’t have done this without her, how I need her to make sense of this world, how when I look into the future, I see her. How…

I love her so much, it feels difficult to put into words the ferocity of my feelings.

How… I know I should share my thoughts with her, but I can’t.

So, I settle for doing what's needed to ensure I give Grams a good sendoff, which includes inviting all her friends to the house for a gathering after the funeral.

Each of them comes up to me, shakes my hand, and offers their condolences.

And with each commiseration, that wave of emotion in my body solidifies, until it feels like I’ve turned into the Stone which is my nickname.

I grit my teeth, manage to say and do the right things, and get through it.

I know Gio's making sure the food and drinks keep coming, but I don’t thank her for it.

I want to. God, how I want to pull her into me and bury my face in the crook of her neck, and inhale and stop the walls from building up between us, but I can’t.

I keep the mask of polite interest on my face until, one by one, Grams’ friends begin to depart. The Ice King team follows. They turned up in suits, bringing the press to my door—something else my wife managed with great finesse.

Fuck, if I don’t admire her. Fuck, if it doesn’t convince me further—I can’t do without her. Fuck, if it doesn’t affirm she's too good for me.

Not that I share the decision I arrived at with my closest friends. I don’t need to, though. These men know.

Finn scowls. "You need to grieve. Holding it in is going to turn you into the man you were before she came along," Finn warns before he leaving. Thanks for nothing, asshole. It’s not like the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.

JJ takes one look at me and wipes the smirk off his face. "Don’t do it," he warns. "Whatever it is, don’t make decisions when you’re in emotional distress." Good advice. A little too late, though.

Sinclair sets his jaw. "You’re grieving, but that doesn’t excuse making poor choices." I bare my teeth. He arches an eyebrow, then growls, "I hate having to pick up the pieces when my friends are hell bent on burning bridges to the lifeline they have." Then he spins around and leaves with Summer.

Michael doesn’t waste his breath on words. He points his forefinger and middle finger toward my eyes, then back at his. Yeah, yeah, like that scares me. I’ve made up my mind. And I’m doing it for the good of both of us.

Edward's the last to leave. Under the guise of hugging me, he squeezes my neck so tight that my vision blurs. "If you hurt her any more, I’ll fucking kill you."

Take a ticket and get in line, mofo. And the temporary hurt I’m gonna cause her is better than the lifetime of hurt she’s setting herself up for if she stays with me.

Tiny, though… That mutt is something else.

He runs between me and my wife all evening.

Back and forth, back and forth. As I put distance between us, he traverses it faster.

He knows something's up. He's trying his best to keep us together. And if he stayed, he’d know what I'm about to do is unforgivable. That I deserve all the hate my friends and hers are going to pour on me. If he stayed, I’d lose my nerve.

Grams set up India for life in her will. She wants to go traveling and is leaving tonight. So, I push Tiny’s lead into Edward’s hands. "Will you dog-sit him? Just until Liam and Isla return?"

Edward looks at me strangely. I'm sure he's going to refuse, but then he nods and begins to lead Tiny away. The dog whines and pulls Ed toward Goldie. She pats his head and coos to him. Tiny brushes his head against her side very gently in goodbye, then the mutt turns and glares at me—no, I’m not kidding, he does.

Then, he prowls over and bumps into me so hard, I almost fall over.

It's a warning, I’ll have him to deal with him if I cause Goldie any further sadness.

It's only temporary, though. She deserves better. Someone who doesn’t come with so much baggage. Someone who’ll love her the way she should be loved. Someone who'll be there for her every step of the way. Someone who didn’t betray her. Yeah, she needs such a man.

But I'm not that man. She deserves so much better. She deserves someone who will treat her better than me. Someone better than me. It’s why I’m doing this—for her good.

It’s why, when the last guest has left, and it's only my wife and me, and the remnants of the feast she laid out for them, I turn to her and say, "Thank you for your help this week. I won’t forget what you did for me. But I don’t need you anymore; you can leave. ”