Home > Maelstrom (World Fallen #2)(6)

Maelstrom (World Fallen #2)(6)
Author: Susanna Strom

“Tell you what,” I said, reluctantly stepping back. “I’ll see if I can find the ingredients to put together the sauce, and you go to the vegetable garden out back. Look for carrots or beans, anything that’s ready to harvest.”

“Okay.” She rose on her tiptoes and kissed me. “Later,” she said, her eyes full of promise.

“Yeah, later.”

While Mac searched for vegetables, I found what I needed in the pantry. Put a pot of rice on to cook while I made the sauce. Fifteen minutes later, Mac hadn’t returned to the kitchen, so I stuck my head out the back door, looking for her. Spied the side door to the garage wide open. Mac sat on an upside-down bucket in the middle of the yard, a shovel on the ground next to her.

I’m a fucking moron. Hadn’t occurred to me that she’d need a shovel to dig carrots, or that she’d likely go to the garage to look for one. I crossed the yard and hunkered down next to her.

“Shit. I’m so sorry, Mac. I wasn’t thinking.”

She nodded, her eyes swimming with tears. “Poor Frank. I saw Evelyn’s grave and the grave marker. It’s so sad.”

“Yeah.”

“Some people think that it’s immoral or cowardly to commit suicide,” she said. “I never believed that, but before the flu, I would’ve said that depression and grief are temporary. If you’re thinking about killing yourself, you should get help, counseling, or medication. Fight to survive. But now?” She shook her head. “What kind of help is available? Who am I to tell somebody how much pain and loss is too much to bear? I can’t blame him for saying ‘Enough is enough.’” She turned glistening gray eyes to mine. “Does that make me a bad person?”

“No, Mac. You’re not a bad person.” I brushed a stray strand of hair back from her face. “Had a friend commit suicide a couple of years ago. One of the strongest men I’ve known. Knew he was having trouble, and I tried to talk to him about it, but he shrugged it off. He said everybody has problems, and he just needed to suck it up and deal. I think the stigma of talking about suicide—the fear of looking weak—kept him from seeking help. I didn’t know how to help him back then. Sure as hell wouldn’t know how to help somebody now, not when the world’s gone to shit. So...yeah...I don’t blame Frank, either. His life belonged to him, and I don’t have the right to tell a man how to live it, or how to end it.” I stood, offered Mac my hand, and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go dig up some carrots. Kyle and Sahdev will be back soon, and we should have dinner ready for them.”

As if my words conjured them up, Kyle and Sahdev emerged from the orchard that bordered the yard, Hector trotting at their side.

“Got something for you, Kenz,” Kyle called, waving a bowl filled to the brim with yellow-red cherries. “Only your favorite thing to eat in the entire world: Rainier cherries. I noticed the trees when we were coming up the drive. Sahdev and I picked some for you.”

Mac summoned a thin smile. “That’s so sweet of you guys. Thank you.”

Irritation pricked at me. Just when I thought Kyle had made peace with the idea that Mac chose to stay with me rather than go back to him, the kid said something to remind me of their history together. Time was, he took a lot of pleasure in rubbing in how well he knew her, her likes and dislikes. Thought we were past that. Maybe not.

“Is something wrong?” Kyle asked. “You look kind of down.”

“I saw the B & B owner’s body in the garage. He committed suicide after his wife died from the flu.”

“I’m sorry you were upset, but what a chickenshit thing to do.” Kyle rolled his eyes. “If a man can’t face reality, I guess he isn’t much of a loss.”

Mac recoiled, as if stung by his words. I laid a hand on her shoulder before swinging my angry gaze toward him.

Really? Country Club Kyle—who’d lived like a prince off his daddy’s dime, who’d never had to work a day in his life—had the nerve to call out another man for not being able to face the real world? I almost choked on the irony.

“You’re not being fair,” Sahdev spoke up. “Grief and stress can trigger a chemical imbalance that makes it impossible to think rationally.”

Kyle shrugged. “You’re a doctor. You’re hardwired to be sympathetic. I’m a realist.”

A realist? I snorted. Wasn’t his fault that his parents gave him an easy life, sweeping aside the obstacles and difficult choices most of us peons had to deal with. And Kyle had come a long way since the flu hit, stood toe to toe with me when we had to deal with the arsonist, agreed to tone down our bickering for Mac’s sake. But the kid hadn’t earned the right to call himself a realist. Not by a long shot.

I glanced over his shoulder at Evelyn’s grave. The fucking flu had killed off most of the world’s population and left those of us who cheated death scrambling to hang on to some semblance of normal life. The four of us—Mac, Kyle, Sahdev and I—had survived a pandemic, an inferno, and a flood. What else would this crazy, post-plague world throw at us?

 

 

THREE

 

 

Kenzie


Moaning with pleasure, I slid further down into the clawfoot tub, not stopping until my chin touched the surface of the blissfully hot water. Orange blossom-scented steam wafted through the air and fogged the gilt mirror hanging over the sink. I’d scattered candles throughout the opulent bathroom, along the windowsill, on the antique dressing table, even on the back of the toilet. We’d spent the past two months without electricity. You’d think I’d leap at the chance to flip a switch and flood the room with artificial light. Somehow, I couldn’t reconcile harsh electric bulbs with the quaint, Victorian-style bathroom. Candlelight suited the pink-rosebud wallpaper and framed nineteenth-century prints better than electric lights.

Ripper opened the bathroom door, stirring the air and making the candle flames dance. He dragged the stool from the dressing table over to the tub and sat down, resting his muscular forearms on the porcelain rim.

“Hey,” I said, with an indolent smile.

“Hey, yourself.” He trailed his fingers through the water, then rubbed them together. “Water feels slick.”

“Bath bomb.” I pointed to a wicker basket filled with luxury bath products. “Frank and Evelyn ran an upscale operation here. The bath bomb’s made with organic almond oil and top notch essential oils. I’m going to be all soft and slippery and sweet smelling when I get out of the water.”

“That right?” Ripper asked. His eyes hooded.

“Mm-hmm.” I held my breath and dunked my head, then reemerged, brushing water droplets from my face.

“Venus rising from the sea,” Ripper murmured, stroking a hand along my wet locks.

Thanks to an art history class, I recognized the name of the famous sixteenth-century painting. Once upon a time, I would have marveled when Ripper made such a reference. A biker familiar with Renaissance paintings? Not any more. The breadth and depth of his knowledge had ceased to amaze me, and I’d finally learned not to exclaim when he dropped an unexpected comment.

“I forgot to grab a shampoo.” I pointed toward the basket. “Could you choose one for me?”

Hot Books
» House of Earth and Blood (Crescent City #1)
» A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire
» From Blood and Ash (Blood And Ash #1)
» A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime
» Deviant King (Royal Elite #1)
» Den of Vipers
» House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City #2)
» The Queen of Nothing (The Folk of the Air #
» Sweet Temptation
» The Sweetest Oblivion (Made #1)
» Chasing Cassandra (The Ravenels #6)
» Wreck & Ruin
» Steel Princess (Royal Elite #2)
» Twisted Hate (Twisted #3)
» The Play (Briar U Book 3)