Court of daggers, p.36
Anything For You, page 36
Copyright © 2024 by Brittney Lauren
brittneylaurenwrites@gmail.com
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact Brittney Lauren.
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
Book Cover Illustration by sennydoesart
Editing by Indie Proofreading Services
Contents
Dear Reader
Dedication
1. Lennon
2. Lennon
3. Lennon
4. Lennon
5. Lennon
6. Lennon
7. Theo
8. Lennon
9. Theo
10. Theo
11. Lennon
12. Theo
13. Lennon
14. Lennon
15. Lennon
16. Lennon
17. Lennon
18. Theo
19. Lennon
20. Theo
21. Theo
22. Lennon
23. Lennon
24. Lennon
25. Lennon
26. Theo
27. Lennon
28. Lennon
29. Theo
30. Theo
31. Lennon
32. Lennon
33. Lennon
34. Theo
35. Lennon
36. Lennon
37. Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Dear Reader
Anything For You is a contemporary romance novel that includes themes that may be difficult for some readers. Content includes death of a spouse, alcoholism, anxiety, and implied childhood neglect. This story includes open-door romance, meaning there is on page sexual contact intended for mature readers only.
For my over active imagination.
Who knew you’d be good for something other than causing my anxiety.
one
Lennon
When they lowered my husband’s casket into the ground, I screamed. The gut-wrenching noise echoed out into the chilly afternoon and would reverberate in my mind until the end of time. The moment his casket sank into the ground, every ounce of happiness I ever experienced evaporated like it never existed. In its wake, pain made its home in my heart, burrowing deep enough that I knew it would be impossible to remove.
Heartbreak was supposed to be a metaphor, an unspoken step in the process of grief that you worked through in your mind. That statement no longer held any weight, since my heart was sitting in the bottom of my chest, torn into pieces. The pain rippled through me, forcing my body forward in my chair. Every part of me, from my limbs to my skin to the very atoms I was made of, writhed in agony.
No one moved, all too stunned by my sudden outburst to help. This was the first sign of any emotion from me since I received the call that my husband, my Camden, was dead.
For three weeks, I had been devoid of all feelings. Numbness was my only companion. It followed me like a ghost with every step I took and lingered around corners, waiting to remind me that he was gone. I had built what seemed to be a thousand layers of protection around me to help me through this day. Then his casket slipped past the horizon of his grave and it all came crashing down around me.
My hands clawed at my throat as I struggled to breathe. Tears clouded my vision as I twisted myself around in my seat, searching for refuge in anyone around me. Why was no one helping? Why was no one stopping what was happening in front of us? Why was my husband being lowered into the ground?
I didn’t understand.
I screamed again and again.
My sister materialized before me, taking my face in her hands. “Lennon! Lennon!” she said, her voice full of panic. Abigail shook me, trying to snap me out of the psychosis that was continuing to set it. Her hands dug into my upper arms as my eyes focused on her through the blurriness. For a second, I was grateful, her frame blocked my view of the hole that was no longer empty.
“Help me,” I choked out in between ragged breaths. If I could count on anyone to get me out of this situation, it would be her. A realization slammed into me like a freight train. She’s one of the only people I had left. Her and Carina, the only other friend I truly had.
Nothing worked.
My brain couldn’t seem to tell my legs to move, and everything was numb. Abigail had to physically pull me to my feet before I latched onto her to step away from the site. We walked hand in hand along the paved roads that circled around the cemetery. There were no words that I could find to fill the space around us. Instead, I silently broke into pieces in front of her. The grief was overwhelming, and with each moment that passed, I fell deeper and deeper into an endless pit of agony.
Clouds hung low in the sky as the air whipped around us. Icy as it sliced over my skin, a picture-perfect funeral if there ever was one. November was always a cruel month, gray skies that seemed to stretch on for forever and an endless amount of rain.
When the first drops fell, I tilted my head back, hoping they’d wash away the hurt that was simmering under my skin. But when they hit my skin, I felt nothing, like someone had scooped out everything that made me, me and left only an empty shell.
There was an endless loop of memories playing in my head. The type of memories you wouldn’t think to treasure when they were happening, but now, they were the only thing I had left. The simple way he would walk through the door after work, his voice in the shower shouting for a towel, or how his fingertips would mindlessly drag across my skin as we sat on the couch. Everything was coming to me in flashes, and I was trying desperately to grasp onto them to safely lock them away.
I couldn’t possibly begin to wrap my mind around that this was all I had left of him—brief moments that would only exist in my memories.
“What can I do?” Abigail pleaded with me as anguish flashed in her eyes. Her long chestnut colored hair billowed in the wind as I contemplated what she was trying to ask me.
Could she turn back time and give me one more day with him? Could she make it so that at the very least I could’ve been there when he passed? Could she bring him back?
That was all impossible, so no, there was nothing she could do for me.
Another wave of sobs erupted from my chest as I clutched my arms around my black clothed torso to hold myself together. I turned towards Abigail as grief continued its assault on my soul. I didn’t want to be here, and I did not want to be doing this.
He was gone.
The man I was supposed to spend my life with. The man I vowed to love for all of eternity was dead, and I was left alone, a widow at thirty-three. This wasn’t part of the plan we had for our life together. Surely this was some cruel mistake the universe was playing. I was going to wake up any second and this would all be a bad dream; that could be the only logical explanation.
“Abby,” my voice sounded weak and I could barely form the words. “What am I supposed to do now?” Tears cascaded down my face without pause. I was convinced I would die drowning in them.
The wind swept my auburn curls through the air, leaving strands clinging to my damp cheeks. Abigail pulled me in and enclosed me in a suffocating hug. Bunching the fabric of her black dress, I held onto her. She stroked my hair softly and replied, “You will get through this, I promise. You are not alone; whatever it takes, I will get you through this.” Her voice broke over the words. Her tears fell freely, wetting the fabric around my shoulder, as we stood among the headstones grieving under the clouds.
My eyes scanned the lawn from over her shoulder, headstone after headstone lined the perfectly manicured cemetery. Some held wilted flowers, others were overflowing with lush, fresh bouquets. Every plot contained somebody’s loved one. I took little comfort in knowing I’m not alone in my grief.
Burying your loved one is one of times oldest traditions, a cathartic action of closure, but one that never got easier. Throughout millenniums and across cultures, it’s the one thing we all had in common—no one escaped death. We were all born to die. The hope was that the time between our first breath and our last was filled with more joy than sadness.
Everything about this was wrong. Burying Camden wasn’t bringing me closure, only heartache and doubt that there was something better after this life. Anger burned through my veins that he was no longer here. I wanted to curse the sky and God and everything that was good in this world that he was taken from me too soon. Much too soon. How was I supposed to move my way through life without his hand in mine, without his light to guide me and brighten the darkness that always seemed to follow me?
I thought that if I could stuff it down far enough, I could make it through today and face it all tomorrow. It was stupid to hope when, all day, I couldn’t take a step without someone offering their condolences.
‘He’s in a better place,’ or the equally stupid, ‘he had a good life,’ or ‘he was so happy with you.’
It was all filler conversation people felt compelled to say while they looked at me with eyes full of sorrow. A better place would be a world with Camden alive and with me. A good life would have been a long life together. Anything less than the life we had planned was clearly a mistake, and they had been reminding me constantly.
This had to be a mistake.
I softened my grip on Abigail’s dress, dropping my head onto her shoulder. My breathing steadied as I stood there, unmoving, as she rubbed small circles on my back. Before I pulled myself away, the words “What’s the point anymore?” fell from my lips so softly that I was sure Abigail didn’t hear me. She regarded me with careful eyes as I pulled myself upright and brushed my tear-stained cheeks with the back of my hands. A weak smile tugged at my lips, but my eyes didn’t crinkle like it used to, and I didn’t think they ever would.
I drew in a steading breath and again stuffed everything back down. “Let’s get the rest of this day over with,” I said and started back to her car after taking note that our friends and family were gone from the gravesite and likely on their way back to my house. I squeezed my eyes shut and took another deep breath.
Just a few more hours and it would all be over, and I could go back to—not normal, but something other than whatever this was.
“I love you,” Abigail called out, causing me to turn back and face her.
Her appearance matched my own. Even in my damaged state, there was still a pull in my chest to comfort my younger sister. “I love you, too,” I replied. A simple statement of fact, but not one we often spoke aloud. It didn’t matter how many years passed, there were still times I looked at her and saw the small girl I spent my life protecting. She slipped her hand into my outstretched one without a second thought. Our heels clicked against the pavement as we walked in sync toward the car.
Nothing about me would be the same after this.
How could it be?
Camden blew into my life during a time when nothing in this world seemed to go my way. He was the light that illuminated every dark crevasse that carved its way through my body. With him gone, I was a black hole devouring even the smallest beams of light, until I was left blind and in the dark. I would never be able to get back what I lost in Camden.
After all the people left, food filled my refrigerator, and I stopped experiencing feelings hours prior. I was drained of what little energy I had left. My sister and our closest friend Carina were the only ones who remained in my home. They found me sitting on the edge of my bed, too exhausted to even remove my dress, as I stared blankly at the wall in front of me. Together, they gently tucked me under my covers and crawled in beside me. The chill that had been permeating my bones, threatening to freeze me from the inside out, lessened as they wrapped me in their arms and whispered promises of survival.
two
Lennon
My ceiling fan needed to be dusted. I had been lying on my bed staring at the blades while they slowly turned in circles for the past hour when the front door creaked open. “Good morning!” A voice shouted out from the entryway. My arm stretched out over the empty space next to me and gripped the blankets that laid undisturbed on the side of the bed he used to occupy. If I could fall back asleep I would, I would do anything to get this day over with.
It didn’t take a psychic to know that my sister was going to show up today, but that didn’t stop me from being annoyed by it. A groan escaped as I tossed the covers over my face. It had been two years to the day since Camden died.
Two years, and my heart still sat in my chest, cleaved into pieces. Every day, I missed him. Every day, I woke up hoping this had all been a dream. And every day, dread took up space in the pit of my stomach when I remembered that this, in fact, was my real life.
“Lennon?” Abigail’s voice carried down the hallway as I waited for the squeak of her sneakers to get closer.
“I’m in here. It’s eight in the morning. Where else would I be?” My voice was muffled by the thick blanket covering my face. I could sense her lingering in my doorway, likely taking in the shape of my covered body.
“What are you doing?” she laughed.
“Clearly wallowing in self-pity, Abby,” I snapped, and the bed dipped as she joined me. I didn’t really mean for the words to sound as harsh as they did, but honestly, what type of answer was she looking for? Abigail drew the blanket down to look at me with a raised brow.
“I’m just trying to figure out what type of situation I’m going to be dealing with today.” I couldn’t place the emotion in her voice; it was a mix of amusement and something I couldn’t quite decipher. Pity maybe?
“Remember, this doesn’t have to be a bad day. We can do anything you’d like to do.”
Definitely pity, it’s always pity.
On the first anniversary of Camden being gone, I had myself quite the party when I secluded myself in my home that I shared with no one but my cat. It started with a champagne breakfast and ended with a vodka dinner. The day had passed in a drunken blur as I cried more times than I could count while looking over a photo montage that had inconveniently generated itself on my phone of Camden and me. I vaguely remembered Abigail showing up to tuck me into bed at some point after all her calls and texts had gone unanswered.
“I don’t have any plans, and I don’t anticipate a repeat performance of last year. The hangover alone was enough to make me never want to drink again.” I nearly gagged thinking of the memory.
We laid side by side in silence for a little while longer as Abigail’s eyes scanned the room. Nothing had changed in the past two years. Our wedding photo still sat on the shelf and Camden’s clothes still hung in the closet. His nightstand still held the watch I bought him for his last birthday, and the dish that had collected his day’s change still had exactly two dollars and seventy-three cents. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to move anything; it was as if the room was in a standstill.
On days when loneliness crept in too far, I could pretend I was expecting him to return home and climb into bed with me at the end of the day.
I was living in a time capsule, and I didn’t know how to get out. I didn’t even know if I wanted out.
“Do you want to go shopping?” Abigail questioned.
I rolled over so that we were face to face. “Nope,” I said, popping the sound for flare.
“Okay, okay.” Abigail held up her hands in defense. “I was just asking. I thought it might be a good time for a fresh start.”
No, no, no. This was not what I wanted to be doing. I wasn’t ready, and she knew it, too.
I sat up and threw the covers off and headed for the bathroom. “Give me twenty minutes and we can go to breakfast.” I closed the door behind me and collapsed back against the frame. I would not cry today, I thought to myself.
The water ran while I stood in the bathroom, looking back at myself in the mirror. Two years had changed everything about who I was, down to the very thoughts that floated around in my head. I couldn’t stop the hurt from consuming me at every turn as much as I wished I could.
One step at a time, though.
I wish I could express how much I appreciated her showing up today. Or really every day since Camden died, but I had never been good with words. My sister had been my saving grace and a sounding board against the grief that I’d let isolate me during this period in my life. Abigail never wavered, never left. She stood by me, picking up my broken pieces, slowly helping me put my life back together.
“You can do this. You can do hard things, you can do uncomfortable things,” I said to my reflection, with no one else around but me to hear. I wanted to start by not shutting everyone out. It was the least I could do.
We sat in our usual window seat at Wake Up Café. The plastic booth seat crinkled under me as I let the sun sink into my skin. We had been coming here for over a decade, seeking solace from heartaches and hangovers over the years.
I brought my coffee mug to my lips and let the aroma linger before taking a sip. I glanced up over the cup to meet Abigail’s eyes. We stared at each other briefly, refusing to blink.
It’s the one feature we shared, our eyes, dark blue that we inherited from our mother. Otherwise, we were complete opposites, and barely even look related. My tall and curvier figure to Abigail’s shorter and naturally thin body. But as opposite as we were, there was no mistaking that the bond we shared was significant and unbreakable.
