Page 154 of When Ben Loved Jace

Soft padded feet press down on my rib cage. I hear a warm rumbling purr as Samson takes another step—a meowing bridge over the valley of our bodies.

“He says you’ll have to call in sick,” Jace translates.

“Those claws!” I hiss.

Jace is grimacing too. He kisses me again, the pained expression not leaving his face, but I don’t know if it’s physical or emotional. A little of both maybe.

“Will you hold me?” he asks.

I swallow and nod.

Samson hops off as Jace rolls over. I raise my head and watch the cat settle down against my husband’s chest, secure in the curve of his arm. Then I kiss Jace’s shoulder before pressing against him from behind, sunlight warming our bodies and making my limbs feel heavy. My hand seeks out his. Worries grow distant as I drift off in a blissful haze.

When I awake again, Jace is trembling. I raise my head in concern and notice the sun has moved on from his side of the bed. He must be cold.

“I’ll get the blanket,” I say, trying to rise.

Jace clenches my hand possessively. “Ben…”

“I’m here,” I assure him, placing a kiss on the small of his back. Jace breathes out and relaxes. His fingers go slack, freeing mine.

I slide my hand out from under his and roll over to check my phone. I really need to call work. Almost an hour has passed. I swear under my breath while pinching the bridge of my nose. When I reach for the blanket at the end of the bed, I notice that Samson is standing on Jace, his paws kneading, but my husband doesn’t react to the prickle of those claws. He isn’t moving at all.

“Jace?”

No response.

“Jace!”

I pull on his shoulder until he’s on his back. Jace’s eyes are closed, his face serene. His chest fails to rise. The beat of his heart has fallen silent when I drape myself over him and begin to wail. My tears don’t rouse him. Clinging to my husband fails to warm him again. I try anyway, because I don’t want to accept the cruel reality. Minutes, hours, or days pass, I’m not sure. Time is meaningless to me. I’d rather stay here forever and fade away than confront the horrible truth.

He’s gone. My man, my precious angel, the love of my life. Taken from me, along with my will to live. I don’t know how I’ll ever recover. The only thing that is certain, when I finally pick up Samson and leave the room, shutting the door behind me, is that my broken heart will never love again.

— ——

A phone call. I only have the strength to make one.

My best friend walks into the house, finds me crumpled up on the living room floor, and promises the impossible. “Everything is going to be all right.”

I know it can’t be. My body might still be breathing, but when Jace died, I went with him.

Chapter Thirty-eight

Life goes on. Even when you don’t want it to.

I’m numb, three weeks later, when sitting on the back porch of Jace’s childhood home. I understand now that the plans he made—the instructions given to Adrien—were about so much more than his estate or how his body should be laid to rest. That’s why we came to see his mother and father, who are inconsolable. All they do is cry. I can’t imagine how much it must hurt to lose a child, but ever since arriving here, I can picture it with perfect clarity. I don’t think that’s an accident on Jace’s part, because it forced me to change my plans.

I wanted to kill myself. To join him in oblivion. But now I know. I’ve seen what it would do to my parents, and that means I can’t. I have to keep living, no matter how bad it hurts.

A cat rubs up against my leg, the fur ginger instead of gray, but I think of Samson anyway. Adrien is taking care of him while I’m out of town, but he can’t give Samson the same level of care. I know what Jace would want. He spelled it out, in his own handwriting.

You’re his daddy now too. Love him for me. Please.

I almost resent Jace for coming up with so many reasons to languish here without him, but I would have done the same. Had I expected to die and wanted to make sure he didn’t take foolish action. Jace knew what he was doing. He experienced this kind of loss. And yet, presumably, he had his own reasons for not giving in to despair.

My attention moves to Greg, who is sitting hunched over, elbows on his knees, his usual exuberance absent. He only comes to life when one of his kids needs him. I guess we all have our anchors.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and look up. Michelle’s eyes are bloodshot from crying. “Are you ready?” she asks.