Page 135 of Dark Surrender

Even if I’m ready to kick the bucket, I can’t deny this place is nice. The people are even nicer. As a patient, I can’t complain. As a visitor, it’s the perfect setup. Remote, but not too remote. Everything runs on solar power. They have a cistern and a well. They grow much of their own food and raise chickens for eggs and meat.

When I’m sick of lookin’ at my dad’s ugly mug, my eyes grow heavy, which doesn’t take long. I’m good for an hour awake, tops, before exhaustion wears me to the bone.

Pushing out of his chair, Pops rounds my bed, picks up my water, and holds it for me to sip. The coolness refreshes my wrecked throat for a moment before the esophageal spasms do their thing, and I choke on water, of all fucking things.

Sighing as if he hates this as much as I do, Dad returns the cup to my cart and touches my shoulder. “I’m sorry, kid,” he comments in that low, broken tone I’m sick of.

I glare at him and turn my head away.

There’s nothing to be sorry for.

He’s alive. He’s well. He’s solid.

He wants me to live, so I’m living.

See.

Alive.

Air in my lungs.

My fingers and toes move. Even if I can’t stand. Even if I can’t shit on a toilet. Or eat solid foods yet. I’m here. Still, for however fucking long that is.

Closing my eyes, I succumb to sleep. It’s better than being awake.

Thankfully, my solace finds me in the darkness. Her soft touch brushes my fingertips, and her mismatched eyes meet mine… For a little while, I’m okay. Happy to be with her, away from it all.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

EIGHT MONTHS

Dark

Plucking a lemon off the tree, I chuck it across the yard at Pops, who dodges it like a pro and laughs. Given he’s not Sir-Limps-a-lot, like yours truly, and doesn’t have to use an old-man cane, again, like yours truly, he moves like a normal person.

He flips me off, picks the fruit from the ground, and rips it in half with his bare hands. Then he tips his head back and lets the sour juices drip into his mouth like a model in one of those ads women finger themselves to. The juice runs over his beard, which has grown out, and down his tan, bare chest, where it mixes with sweat. I roll my eyes as one of Angel’s sisters stares out the back window of the main house, on the verge of fainting over his hotness. They all fawn over Sunshine. El Sol. That’s what they call him. It probably doesn’t help that he’s gotten even more cut since we arrived. With all our free time, he spends most of it helping around this place like the do-gooder he is—trimming trees and cacti, gathering eggs. You name it, El Sol does it.

“You’re gonna give one of the women heart issues if you’re not careful.” I snort and notch my chin at the onlooker, now lookers, as he’s drawn a small crowd before I hobble over to the bench next to a small mosaic fountain. My knees protest when I force myself to sit. It hurts, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. A few months ago, when I still couldn’t walk right, Doc got me in for an MRI. I tore my knee, which required surgery. Yay me. Now I’m on the full mend. Off antibiotics, no more fevers or throwing up. I have PT here a few days a week, so I don’t have to leave. I’ve moved into the main house with Pops. We share twin beds in their guest room. It’s not so bad.

Except…

We have to get back to our real lives soon. We can’t live here forever. It’s been months. Sure, living in Mexico has done us a solid. I fucking love it here. It’s warm. No snowstorms. Excellent food. Amazing music. The best people. But there’s an end to this ride, and when we get off… there’s gonna be Iris. Kali. My sons and Lily. All of them will need answers.

None of them have heard from us. Pops is determined that this was the right choice. Even if I’m not so sure, there’s no turning back now. We’re in it. Given my track record when I disappear, I don’t know what we’re gonna go back to. In the past, I was out fucking other women. There’s no denying that. The reason doesn’t matter. It still happened. At least this time, Pops is with me, and he’s as loyal as it fucking gets. I can’t say the same. Until now. Until her.

There’s just something about… Iris.

I rub my knee and think about her. About us. About what she might be doing right now. I wonder how she slept last night. Who’s been getting her breakfast? Does she think I’m dead? Does she care?

A heavy exhale escapes my lips as the sun soaks into my bare shoulders. Thanks to all the fresh air, which Doc says is nature’s best medicine, I’ve gotten a solid tan.

The back screen door swings open, and Doc’s wife, wearing a colorful dress, brings us fresh-cut mango and glasses of lemonade.

See…so fucking hospitable. I owe them my life.

Pops moves my cane aside and sits beside me on the bench. We drink and eat in silence, with nothing but the gurgle of the fountain to keep us company. It’s peaceful.

I eat a piece of fruit, and as I chew, I ask, “When do we leave?”