My Dark Desire: Chapter 89

Two hours.

My flight would take off in two hours. Straight to Italy, where Eileen resided in a luxurious estate owned by Celeste Ayi’s second ex-husband.

I intended to break off the engagement with her, taking no more than seven minutes, then hopping on the jet back to Potomac with a little under twenty-four hours left to spare.

I stared at the still vision of Mom, her eyes closed, her skin pale and lusterless. She looked like she’d aged a couple centuries.

And yet, she also seemed at peace.

Finally relaxed, unburdened by the weight of our loss.

Mom’s eyes moved left and right beneath their lids. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees as I watched her.

The nurses had pumped her with drugs, full to the brim with painkillers to combat the broken rib the paramedic on site had given her. She was probably higher than inflation.

Her eyes fluttered open in the dark room. The machine hooked up to her continued its steady beats.

I didn’t know what a good son would do in this moment. I didn’t have much experience in that department.

If the roles were reversed and Farrow hovered over my hospital bed, I’d want her to hold my hand.

Still, I kept mine to my side.

After all, I’d just threatened to cut Mom off, should she contest my relationship with Octi.

“You’re in the hospital.” I sat back, realizing I did, indeed, feel a substantial amount of relief to see her wake up. “How are you feeling?”

Mom darted her tongue to lick her lips. A grunt escaped instead, the movement too tasking for her current state.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Been better.”

I didn’t say anything.

Mom inhaled, as if trying to make sure she could. “What happened to me?”

“A mini heart attack.” I slipped my hands into my pockets. “Very mild, according to the doctors. You’re currently at Chiang Mai’s best private health institution with around-the-clock supervision. Celeste Ayi is at the hotel, packing up a bag. They want you to stay for five days to monitor your heart rate and put you through some general checkups.”

“Then why do I feel so… woozy?” She swallowed and winced, like the mere movement delivered excruciating pain. “And in terrible pain?”

“The medics performed CPR at the villa. The chest compressions broke a rib. It’s more painful than dangerous. In fact, it’s not dangerous at all. Just a discomfort. You can pump more painkillers with this button if you’d like.” I took her hand and guided it to a white remote tucked in the corner of her bed.

Mom gasped a little. Her mouth tumbled open.

She almost squealed when I touched her.

“Sorry.” I drew back. “Did it hurt?”

“N-no.” She shook her head, staring at me, mesmerized. “I just… you touched me, Zach. You never touch anyone. Not since your father passed away.”

“Farrow taught me skin-to-skin.” I smiled, somewhere between bitter and nostalgic. “There was a lot of trial and error.”

Awkward moments.

Joyful moments.

And I cherished every single one of them.

Tears hung from the tips of her lower lashes.

“Can I…” Her hands shook all over. “Can I hold your hand? I’ve always wanted to.”

But she didn’t wait for permission. She clasped my palm and laced our fingers together. Dry, cold skin met mine.

I remained utterly still as she brought the back of my hand to her icy chapped lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles.

An unpleasant tremor rolled through me, but I didn’t cower, nor did I retreat. Didn’t want to hurl myself into the shower and jack up the temperature to that of a boiling kettle.

Guess I was cured.

Funny, how I’d always imagined all my problems would go away if I just learned how to touch. It never occurred to me that touching came hand-in-hand with feelings.

And the only person whose touch I craved was thousands of miles away, on a different continent, probably picking a fight with a crocodile just to show herself that she could.

Mom began full-out bawling.

“She did this?” I could barely make out her hoarse whisper. “She made you touch again?”

“Yes.”

You have no idea. She taught me more than I could ever hope to learn.

“But… how?”

The news must’ve broken a piece of her brain.

She’d sunk an entire mega-mansion down payment into psychologists, therapists, doctors, and even hypnotists. Specialists from all over the world. The best in their fields.

None of them had ever managed to help me.

Not even a little.

“It’s simple.” I drew my hand from her grip. “She made touching her utterly irresistible. She showed me warmth, and courage, and a passion for life I’ve never seen before. She made me forget about work. About empty achievements. She made me…” I flashed back to my time with Farrow. A small smile formed on my lips. “She made me eat junk food. And drink shitty beer.”

“Oh, Zachary.” Mom sounded equal parts appalled and amused. “That is extremely unpalatable.” She paused, the makings of a grin starting to spread. “But did it make you happy?”

“It made me thrilled. Before Farrow, I’d forgotten how to be happy. I would give anything to bring her back.”

Mom peered down at her blanketed legs. A wrinkle creased the gap between her brows. The woman who tore through thousand-dollar face masks had aged a decade in mere hours.

She looked helpless against the world.

“I need to tell you something, Zachary.”

I stared at her in silence.

I hadn’t lied when I’d told Farrow I thought someone in the universe was messing with me. My flight would leave in ninety-seven minutes.

The countdown ticked by the second.

Meanwhile, I sat in the middle of a deathbed confession, sans the deathbed. Such a cruel trick from fate that, despite endless opportunities to have this discussion at home, we’d chosen to debate weather and stocks over bland lunches.

“What is it?

”

“I…” Mom brought her fist to her lips to suppress a cough. Blue-and-purple veins ran on the back of her hand like a familiar map. “I respect Farrow for handling the way I treated her well.”

“Beyond the attempted bribe?”

Yes, I’d witnessed that. Through the bay windows on Farrow’s first day.

The sight of her declining the check had stirred curiosity in me.

“Yes. A few petty tricks to get her off your back.” Mom stared at her covered feet. “She fended them off well.”

“She’s strong like that.”

Perhaps I should’ve been angry.

I wasn’t.

For starters, I expected it. In fact, I’d anticipated worse.

Secondly, Farrow Ballantine could hold her own. She thrived on tiny victories. It would be pointless to fight every battle for her when everything that made Octi the woman I loved could be summed up with her heart.

Strong, vibrant, steel-coated, and warm.

Mom paused. “She declined the money, by the way.”

“I know.”

“Her deal with you was probably more lucrative than what I offered.”

“I know that, too.”

“And you don’t find her to be a gold digger?”

“No.” I left no room for doubt in my voice.

Question answered.

Case closed.

If she pressed, I’d make good on my threat and leave. Permanently.

“I don’t think she’s a gold digger either.” Mom fingered the cannula in her hand, not meeting my eyes. “But that’s not my point.”

I checked my watch, unhinged by the prospect of missing my flight and ruining any chances with my feisty little not-gold digger. “What is your point?”

“That you could do worse.” She didn’t dare look at me. “I think Eileen is lying to you.”

“About?”

“Her personality, her aversion to touching, pieces of her history. Take your pick.”

It didn’t come as a shock. Mostly because I’d already placed her on the top of my shit list for the crime of refusing to be broken up with when we were never even in a real relationship.

Any extra negative trait could only be considered a bonus.

“It doesn’t make a difference. The engagement was always a sham. I have no intention of marrying her. The better question is why you would let your son marry a liar.”

“Because she molded her life around yours. Someone willing to do that is someone willing to keep you safe.”

“I don’t need to be safe.”

I was finally realizing that. With each touch. Each rainfall. Each god-awful drive in that death-trap Prius.

Every time I held myself back, I became smaller as a person. There was as much risk in taking leaps as there was in not leaping at all.

“You do.” She shot forward, not quite managing to shout or move where she wanted to, but I knew she would if she could. “You are the only thing left in my world. I love no one more than I love you. Don’t you realize that?”

“No shit, I do.”

She didn’t even admonish me for my language, too busy driving her point into me. “You need to be safe. Your dad would want you alive and happy.”

“I will be happy. So long as I have Farrow. As for alive…” I paused, diving my fingers into my hair. “I can’t promise to be perfect in every single moment, but I’ve certainly learned that life is valuable.” And not through Oliver’s so-called lesson. “I won’t take unnecessary risks. But make no mistake—I won’t cower in fear, either.”

The tap-tap of my heel against the tiles startled me. I hadn’t realized how upset the prospect of cutting Mom off made me.

Truly, before the accident, we shared an incredible bond.

Every time I saw Mom behave like a stranger, latent childhood memories pried at my mind, cracking apart my anger. Late night movies. Surprise arcade dates. Make-your-own dumpling nights. Even Romeo wanted to move into our house.

Granted, he had other reasons.

I waited with bated breath for Mom’s response.

Let me live my life the way I want. Be happy for me.

She lowered her chin into her neck. “What will it take for you not to cut me out?”

On cue, the beeps from the heart rate monitor drummed faster, picking up speed.

I answered immediately. “Accept the end of my engagement.

”

“Done.”

“Accept Farrow.” This time, I collected her hand in mine, setting it on my palm. “And eventually, love her like your own daughter. She’s never had a family, Mom.” I looped my fingers with hers. “She’s never held a mother’s hand. I promise, when you get to know her, really get to know her, you’ll love her as much as I do.”

With her free hand, Mom traced the seam where our palms touched, almost transfixed. “Do you really love her?”

“Yes.” No hesitation. Just the easy truth. “I am utterly deranged when she’s not here.”

Mom squeezed my hand after a moment, dragging her eyes up to mine. “Deal.”

“Also…”

She leaned her head back on the pillow, lips forming around a groan. “There’s more?”

“Last thing. Promise.” And the thing you might resist most. “I want you to seek help. For your anxiety.”

“I don’t have anxiety.”

“You do.”

“I refuse to take pills.”

“There are other methods, but if a doctor recommends them and pills are the best option, I need to know you’ll do everything to get better. At the very least, I want you to speak to someone qualified to help you.”

The heart rate monitor went wild.

She shook her head. “But⁠—”

“I need all or nothing, Mom.”

“Fine.” She heaved out a breath, staring off to the side for a moment. Finally, she returned her gaze to me. “I see you staring at your watch every ten seconds. Take the jet. Go get your wife, Zachary.”