I wanna lay you down in a bed of roses
For tonight I'll sleep on a bed of nails
I wanna be just as close as the Holy Ghost is
And lay you down
On a bed of roses
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This is how we go on: one step at a time, one breath at a time. Every second, every minute, every hour...each one at a time. We face our pain, our fears, our struggles...one at a time. We smile in the light of the sun, and seek shelter when the darkness falls. We rejoice, we cry, we embrace the lives we've been given. And when the rain finally falls again, we turn again to face one pain at a time, one heartbreak at a time, one disappointment at a time. All this we do, in hopes the sun will break the clouds again.
He'd lived this for a decade...living life in the very minute, sure that if he looked ahead, the next would simply strip him of his will to go on. He'd carried guilt, so raw and so deep that it had bled each and every day...even until now. He'd failed, then crawled from the bowels of his own self-induced, alcoholic hell. He'd done things and had made choices that he'd thought were best for his family, and some he knew were not. He had made mistakes that violated his dreams and haunted his life. The consequence of a choice made in a single instant can never truly be guaranteed, and it had taken only that still summer night so long ago to prove that.
His dark eyes came to a rest on the bar as she spoke. He had tortured himself over the things he'd done, and while she had every right to be angry and to push the dagger just a little further, he didn't know what it was accomplishing. If it made her feel better, he'd gladly bear it...but it hadn't seemed to help last night, and didn't appear to be helping now. He was all but damned in her eyes, and he saw no way to mend that.
As she scolded him for thinking she was weak, his gaze snapped back to hers. "I never thought you were weak, so don't even think it for a second. Would you have had constant protection, if you hadn't known? They would have come, Angelina. They would have come, they would have waited for you to be alone..." He trailed off, not wanting to get gruesome. But she didn't know this group. Not all criminals had morals like the crew she'd known. "They would have raped and killed you. Maybe even Des. They regard dogs higher than women. Look what the bastards got busted with." His fear for them had been very real, and his fear of what the other ring was capable of had been the rawest he'd ever known. Anger danced in his gaze--at himself for not making the right choices, and at her for demeaning his desire to protect his family.
He listened as she spoke about the women, wincing and taking a drink of water as she went into what had happened to Nancy and Shania. His interest was piqued about Sway, but he thought maybe he'd find out from Tumbler when the other man got into contact. Time was short. "No one meant for harm to come to any of you. Just the opposite." When she spoke of Desiree having a crush on Sphinx's son, a flash of...something...crossed his features. He hoped the son hadn't favored his father's previous playboy tenancies, before he'd married. He was slightly amused at her reference to how the two seemed to have flip-flopped fathers, and a slight grin crossed his face. "I'm glad you gave her the chance at more opportunity. She'll go far in life, if she's got half of her mother's ambition and hardheadedness."
How he ached to see the little girl he'd helped to make, whom he'd loved blindly from afar every instant of every day. He was sure the meeting would not be joyful...but perhaps in time his daughter would give him a chance. God willing.
"Thank you for taking care of the properties, Angelina." This was said softly as he thought of all she'd gone through for them all. And had received nothing but abandonment in return. How vicious this entire thing was.
Then she asked of Sphinx, seeing the desperation there. He knew she worried for her friend, Sasha...but he'd promised her no lies. So he shook his head slowly. "Sphinx is alive. He was wounded from what I've heard, and should have died...but he's alive. And he's in Cascade."
He finished off his water, setting the glass on the bar. His story was out, and so was hers, it seemed. Fragments, anyway. The best they could do, considering the lack of time and the location. He looked to the woman who'd once been his wife and was now nearly a stranger. He shook his head slowly, lost. "Angelina, I don't know what's going through your head. I don't know anything, other than that you're hurt and everything lies in Desiree's hands." He paused, thinking carefully. "So I guess I want to know what you want from me, then? Should I go back to Chicago until you've had a chance to talk to her?" His presence in Cascade seemed to do nothing but cause her pain, and that was something he didn't want. All he knew was, when he looked into that hazel gaze, there was nothing there, save for wariness...a clue to that face that with her, the cause may very well already be lost. He only hoped he wouldn't find the same in their daughter.
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