Boss undercover series b.., p.38
Boss Undercover Series Bundle, page 38
“I just want him back so much,” Darren croaked, burrowing his head into Claire’s chest, her hands replying positively to console his pain. “Why him? Why couldn’t it have been me instead?”
“No, no,” Claire objected, shaking her head as she rocked Darren back and forth. “Don’t say that. Jonas wouldn’t want that. He wouldn’t want you to say that. It was a horrible accident. A horrible, horrible accident that no one knew was coming.” Lifting his head up, she pecked his forehead as she cried. “Now, you listen to me. You’re not giving up on me. You’re gonna get through this, honey. You’re gonna push through this. Okay?” Her sight was blurry as she continued to rock him back and forth.
Nothing else could be said as Darren wept and Claire embraced her friend, failing at her attempt to remain strong. It was all too surreal. How could a fun, playful night switch just like that? It was all too overwhelming for anyone to consider.
One of the nurses, with ginger curly hair, entered the room, offering a respectable smile towards Darren, whose eyes pinpointed onto the sudden intrusion. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said as she approached the other side of the bed.
Darren nodded slightly, barely able to make a word as Claire watched the nurse gently lift Jonas’s arm, scanning for any changes of the skin. “What…will…”
“The morgue. Then it will be discussed with the funeral home on his preparations. I know this is difficult to take in, but I can ensure you he was in no pain, and he slipped away peacefully,” she began when Darren faltered and failed to remain on track.
“I don’t know…if he had life insurance…I…” Darren replied, his eyes red and sore. “Can we stay here just a little longer please, before—”
“Sure, I understand this is a difficult process,” the nurse replied again when Darren was unable to finish off his words. She swept out the room, leaving all three of them alone again.
Darren wiped his nose as he muttered, “I…this can’t be real. All of it can’t be.”
“What about his parents?” Claire asked, squeezing his hand with comfort.
Darren shook his head. “They…” He paused, swallowing back tears. “They’re conservative. Don’t agree with Jonas’s ‘lifestyle,’ he told me. Kind of disowned him, so he left home at nineteen and headed away from London. He,” Darren paused as he glanced towards Jonas admiringly, “had always…tried to encourage them, but they…couldn’t handle that their son was gay. He told me all of this, but never once had he spat a horrid word against them no matter how…disagreeable they were.”
“They have to know this,” Claire mumbled as she stood up. “I’ll do it if—”
“No,” Darren disagreed lightly, shaking his head. “I have to. The funeral and all…” Then he paused, drifting his attention away from Claire and diverting his eyes towards the floor. “I need to go use the bathroom. I’ll be back.” His voice was dull and lifeless as he lifted his frail body off the chair and weakly walked out the doors.
Claire was first to turn her head towards Zack, who’d looked over instantly with sympathetic eyes. “This is all too much to handle.” She sniffled, dragging her feet over to him and resting the palm of her left hand against her head. “He doesn’t deserve this. Jonas doesn’t deserve this. God, he should be alive. For fuck’s sake!” She wailed a little as she kicked a trashcan. “Why did this have to happen? It’s my fault. I should have got the taxi. It should have fucking—”
“Hey, hey,” Zack interrupted, standing up and embracing her in his arms. “Sssssh, don’t you say that. You’re not going to say that, because this was no one’s fault except that mad driver who ran him over. It wouldn’t have made any difference if you’d gone to get the taxi or if we left a little later, because this was not planned. It was an accident.” She tightened her arms around him as he rubbed his hand up and down her back.
Claire sniffled. “I just don’t want to see him through this pain.” Her words were muffled and quiet. “How can I stay strong for him when all I want to do is break down and cry? I saw it happen, Zack. I saw that freaking crash. And it’s a scar on my memory.”
“No one is asking you to be strong, baby. So if you want to cry, you cry, because no one can just put a brave face on for something like that,” Zack argued, attentive to wiping away her tears. “I’m here for you whenever, babe.”
***
Saying goodbye was the hardest thing to do. They watched, standing in that clean, linoleum corridor that smelled of fresh pine as the staff rolled the body out of the room. Jonas was hidden under a blue cover in respect to those wandering past in the corridors and family and relatives of the deceased member. If a ceremonial gunshot could be heard in the background, it would be signalling the reality kicking in. Tears flowed and embraces tightened as the loss of a loved one dawned upon them.
Darren would have to say goodbye to his lover, say goodbye to that happiness that was planned, the adventures, the romance, and fun times the couple had endured and hoped to happen. Instead of walking down an aisle, Darren would be walking down a graveyard, no hand in hand, and no celebrations of joy as a kiss of death thundered. His own happiness was broken and killed. The other half of him was snatched away and discarded in a trashcan. There was no denying that his life would never be the same again.
***
CLAIRE
Claire had no words inside or out. She wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball in the corner of the room and weep till her heart could no more. It was heart-breaking to see Darren like this. It was devastating for all of this to have occurred. Jonas was a good man. He was kind, funny, and sweet, and he was the key to the locket of Darren’s heart.
Now, he was gone, and so was the man she knew Darren to be.
Chapter Fourteen
DARREN
Darren had been distraught for the past three days, mourning the loss of his deceased boyfriend, whose memories clung onto every inch, crevice, and surface of the apartment. There was not a moment when his mind wouldn’t abruptly flash into the past; even the red kitchen kettle held importance, broadcasting the times Jonas would skip into Darren’s apartment and immediately scoot to the kettle for a session’s bitching on Miranda—the veterinary’s very own Regina George. It was just too heart-breaking at times for him to stand there in the centre of the room and not well up with tears at just recollecting the past as if the car accident had never happened. There would be no handsome devil of a man walking through that front door, no smile, no laughter hooting through, just silence imposing and yesterday’s ghost clattering on the wooden floorboards, making the place dead and hopeless to his heart. His body felt limbless, felt entirely like there was a loss of gravity, and selfish thoughts consumed his mind of leaving this dreadful place and heading away to search for his other half. But he knew that was not the answer, and with the moral support of his best friend, his mother, and knowing deep down that Jonas would turn twice in his grave if he ever heard him say that, he slogged on.
Yet it didn’t make it easier.
Late Saturday’s short coverage on the accident and the evening newspaper’s sub headline made the accident trivial and impersonal, appearing only as a name printed in black and white and nothing more—yet it couldn’t outdo the coverage of an odd celebrity’s baby shower. He deserved so much more. And then there was the court case for the dangerous driving. Jonas’s killer reported not to have committed the act of speeding and blamed his visual obstruction from the garage’s poor fitting of headlights—more news to cast gloom upon Darren, who just wanted all of this to end and bring back his lover. He was missing his key, his final puzzle piece, the other shard to his broken heart, and he knew unless there was a magical potion out there, he was never bringing him back.
As for work, he was acquitted time off, allowing him time to grieve and fix his broken heart. But that was never going to be the case. How could he ever get over Jonas? It would be impossible. Darren’s heart belonged with no other. There was no way he could ever find himself falling in love again.
The funeral had been suggested for the end of the week, but with sudden interest from Jonas’s parents, it was put on hold as they planned to meet Darren sometime this week and discuss their deceased son’s affairs. He wouldn’t lie in that he was startled by their input and knew instantly they were not pleased, as displayed by their utter disgust over the telephone to realize that their son was engaged in a homosexual relationship with Darren. There would be no coming together—just a storm of opinion, a gut feeling he had.
Darren was sitting on the edge of his bed, squeezing the guitar pick tightly that once sang under Jonas’s attentive care. He sighed, closing his eyes, attempting to bite back the tears that threatened to run down his face. He had thought he was completely desiccated from crying constantly, but no, tears still lingered from the shattering heartbreak.
“Darren? My baby boy…” He heard the soft, welcoming tone of his mother’s voice intruding on the other side of his bedroom door. Her head soon popped through, red faded curls, and a perky face accompanied with a sympathetic, reassuring smile. “Honey, are you hungry? I’ve made you a ham sandwich. It would be good for you to eat, darling.” She headed over towards the end of the bed.
“I’m not hungry.”
“I know, honey. I know. But you’ve got to try.” His mother gently sighed as she sat down beside him, the bed dipping down a little in response to her weight. “I’m so sorry, my baby boy, about Jonas. I would have loved to have met the man. He sounded lovely, and I cannot find a single bad thing to say, knowing he captured my son’s heart.”
“Thanks…Mom,” Darren muttered, clasping his hand over hers with affection. “He would have loved to have met you too…God,” he groaned, throwing his head into his hands. “We had it all planned, Mom. The big move. Eventually marriage and…perhaps kids. But now, what? I’m alone, a broken mess, and there’s nothing I can do to bring him back.”
“I know, petal,” his mother said, draping her arm across his slumped shoulders. “But know that he’s always watching you from above. He wouldn’t want to see you down and gloomy forever. You’ve got me, you’ve got that young, nice lady friend of yours looking after you, and you’ve got all the world ahead of you. I know it hurts, my sweet boy, but only time can heal that heart of yours. Now…how about just one half of the sandwich? Huh?” she tempted, squeezing his shoulder.
Darren exhaled, “Okay.”
***
ZACK
The afternoon was fairly quiet in the local bar since nearly the entire population of the county was at work, pushing through the long-dreaded hours and anticipating the return home. Zack sat on the bar stool beside Kyle, both barely muttering a word as they chugged back some cheap beer and kept their eyes glued to the television screen hung high on the wall broadcasting a monotonous slur on yesterday’s results on the premier league football standings.
“God, I hate Wednesdays,” Kyle blurted aloud as he brought the bottle towards his lips and took a brief swig. “I know your whole weekend must have been the right highlight of a fucking disaster.” He turned his head towards his friend and offered a sympathetic smile and nod.
Zack lifted his brows in agreement. “Yeah, fucking disaster.” He took his turn to swig back the bitter taste. “I just worry about Claire.”
“It’s really pulling her down?”
Zack exhaled, running one hand across the fair stubble upon his right cheek. “It is. I worry, and I know every time she comes back from supporting her friend each day—you can just tell that she has had to attempt to keep a brave face on and say that everything is gonna be all right, but all that girl wants to do is cry and be held too. I-I…” Zack paused as he frowned at his inner reflection of the situation. “I don’t know what else I can do to help. It just sucks knowing I can’t magically erase the pain.” He subconsciously brought the bottle to his lips and stared straight ahead, fixating on one single point.
“I hear you,” Kyle replied, shaking his head. “And what about you? What has that—how you feeling? After all, you witnessed it, too. No person wants to see that happen right in front of them.”
Zack scratched the top of his forehead. “Honestly…it sucks. I don’t know how I feel—guess I’m more concerned about Claire’s well-being considering she hardly eats, cries herself to sleep, and barely blinks when she speaks. I mean, of course, I feel like shit for what happened, the guy didn’t deserve it, and God…it must be so shit for Darren—her friend. And yeah, the coverage of it all was inadequate, and the fucking driver is trying to get off by cowardly attempting to blame it on something else. But I’m just concerned for Claire.”
Kyle ushered the bartender over, ordering two bottles of the exact same beer before he added his own input on the situation. “This is all shit. I mean, you haven’t even told your father or mother, right? Only Jared knows.”
“Yeah, it’s not like there was coverage for them to know I was a witness. And let’s just say I won’t put the burden on them, either. Don’t want that to be a fucking reason I have my mother on my case twenty-four-seven interrogating my ass,” Zack explained before picking up the second bottle.
“No, you don’t.” There was silence between the pair until Kyle spoke up again. “Hey, look. Let’s just drop this deal and all. You know, it ain’t good, especially when this has happened.” His face scrunched as he uneasily swallowed down his pride.
“No, and I can’t,” Zack objected as he shook his head. “I can’t just pile this onto Claire right now. Not when she’s going through all this shit. Besides, I’ve dug myself in from the day I started this affair. Now…it’s not gonna make a difference if I leave now or later when the deal is off, because I know I’ve lied to Claire and…well, I don’t have a fucking clue how she’ll react when this is all over. But no, I can’t now. I have to be there for her…she needs me. And…I still have to yet to figure out who the conspirator is.” He sighed as he briefly closed his eyes and shamefully inwardly scolded himself.
“I think…she’ll come around when it does come out,” Kyle said, his voice tottering with confidence. “And hey, it’s my fault as well. After all, I suggested her ad and pushed you towards it,” he admitted.
Zack shook his head as he slapped Kyle’s back. “I don’t blame you, you dick. So cut your apology out.” Then he sighed. “It’s gonna fucking sting when the truth does finally come out. And I don’t know when I’ll have the balls to do it, but I better before fucking November comes around the corner.”
***
DARREN
Darren was taking a much-needed shower, just standing there as the dance of water coaxed his skin and a cloud of condensation clung onto the tiles, appearing like tears mourning for him as he closed his eyes and focused on nothing but the pitter-patter of droplets on the bathtub floor. In his mind, he could create a happy fantasy redrawing that dreadful evening: Jonas still alive, taking a cab back home, not an ambulance, and making love on the midnight hour as an old eighties tune sang in the background. There he saw that familiar smile, smelled that intoxicating cologne filling his nostrils, and could feel those arms wrapping around him like a safety net ready to catch him, always.
It all changed, flooded back to reality when he heard his mother’s interruption dragging him away from Jonas’s arms and putting him back into the grim world. “Darren! Darling. You have visitors. I think they’re Jonas’s parents,” she informed aloud once again, or for that matter, many times considering his attention had been switched off.
“I’m…coming!” he yelled back, water dripping off the end of his nose as he sniffled. Guess the storm heightened today, he thought.
In about five minutes, he had changed into tracksuit bottoms and a comfortable blue t-shirt; if they were meeting under different circumstances, he might have cared for his appearance, yet the blue-faced reality that they were here for Jonas’s death altered that entirely, and he knew he was going to be picking a hard tooth with them, since they were against same-sex relationships.
On observation, as he entered his compact living room, his mother sat uncomfortably on one side of the room, glancing briefly at her nails, and on the other, a tallish woman and a shorter, plump man sat beside one another, their noses raised with superiority. Their scrutiny pinpointed onto Darren as soon as he made his presence known.
“Hi, you must be Jonas’s parents. I’m Darren. We spoke on the…phone.” Darren introduced himself, wary that they had not shifted an ounce of respect or sympathy for his loss and remained grim-faced with zero distress. The wife looked like she had not shed a tear; her greyish-blonde locks, genetically shared with Jonas, were prim and proper in a beehive shape with not a strand of hair out of place. Her hands were neatly held together in the centre of her lap, and her composure was straight and not a slouch in place. If she was a mother of a deceased son, she sure didn’t look or play the part, and the following words that left her mouth made Darren’s back crawl with unease.
“Darren, is it? I am indeed Jonas’s mother, and this is his father. We are here only to discuss our son’s arrangements, and there will be no space for debate on our decisions.” Her lips moved with precise action, spit flicking often as she spat out her words.
“We will be taking our son for a burial in our home county, where he will receive blessing, cleansing him of his past sins,” the father interjected, his bushy grey eyebrows lifting as he spoke with firm authority. “Our son will not be associated with that sexuality, so I ask that you pay your own respects after the burial and in your own time.” His face was impassive and lacking the approach a deceased son’s father should show.
