Undefeated (Unexpected Book 5) (4 page)

The words of Detective Murray, from the homicide division of the Arapahoe County Sheriff’s office, resonate inside my head, “Mrs. Brooke, we’re here to take you to the coroner’s office to identify the body of Leonard Brooke.” He said much more but I can’t recall the words. The moment he mentioned body my world crumbled. Of course, I accompanied them, praying that they had the wrong person—maybe Leonard lost his license.

But there he was, sleeping like an angel on top of a metal table pale and lifeless. I lost my husband.

I lost my life.

Each morning I reach to my left side hoping that the past months have been nothing but a long, bad dream. The longest nightmare in the history of the world, but no. Leonard’s side of the bed remains empty—like my heart. The inside of my wrist misses his feathery kisses that would travel all the way up to my mouth. He took a piece of me with him. No, he took all of me.

“Keep on going, Mac, don’t stop breathing,” I mumble, squeezing my eyes shut. I’m working hard to keep the burning tears at bay, but I fail.

“I can’t. Please, come back to me,” I plea. “Help me because I’m drowning, Leo, this isn’t worth it without you.”

His loss is still a sharp knife that cuts deeper and deeper into my heart. My heart has holes. I might look alive, but I’m dead inside. Wiping the tears with the edge of my sheet, I sober up, because even death has responsibilities. Two beautiful responsibilities that became my life support. Harper and Finn. It is because of them that I drag myself out of bed every morning and pretend to function like any other mother. But inside I’m incomplete.

Losing my mind.

Living in hell.

Broken.

“Mommy, you forgot to open the blinds again,” Harper, my five-year-old daughter says, as she storms into the room. I wish I could stop her, but I don’t have the energy to argue with her. With two swift movements, the morning illuminates the cold walls of the bedroom. “Good morning, Mom it’s time to head to school.”

“It’s Saturday,” I remind her. Her small shoulder slump and her face falls. These days school is more fun than staying at home with her mom and brother. “We’ll find something fun to do.”

“Like what?” She narrows her gaze, with the same “I-don’t-believe-you” look Leonard had, yet she waits because maybe today she’ll have her mother back.

Grocery shopping trips aren’t fun with me. Not like when she went with Daddy. They’d organize a treasure hunt and if they found everything, they’d get ice cream afterwards. Sounds easy, but I don’t have the energy to enter into Leonard’s office and search for the maps he created. No. That room will remain closed for as long as I need it to while I pretend that he’s in there. Leo is working on a secret project for the United Nations and can’t come out until he finishes it. Whatever he’s building will stop global warming, bring world peace, and eliminate world hunger. That’s why he’s there, because the entire human race depends on him.

I tilt my chin up, looking at the ceiling. Expecting a miracle, begging for a sign, or anything that’ll take me out of this hellhole. Waiting for the wave of sadness to drift away, working overtime to be the mother she deserves.
Why did you leave me?
I ask one more time.

What would Leo say to make her smile? “For ice cream, then how about we—”

“We haven’t had breakfast yet, Mom.” My gaze shifts to the clock on top of the nightstand. Seven in the morning, another twelve hours before I can crawl back in bed. “How about if you make Mickey Mouse waffles.”

That was Leonard’s favorite breakfast, another thing I refuse to make. My heart squeezes as I realize that everything was his favorite. He was full of life, love. A happy man that found greatness among everyone and everything. Living for the moment, every minute counted.
“In a blink of an eye something can happen”
was his motto. In fact, it happened in the blink of an eye. A junkie mugged and shot him, leaving him on the side of the road bleeding out to die.

Grief, the pain that you feel when you lose a loved one, never goes away, but you learn to handle it. I thought we had, that it had diminished in some sort of way, but it hasn’t. Not one bit. Each holiday, each milestone, each anniversary or birthday, we’re all reminded of who we lost. His absence is bigger. It fills the house with a certain void that asphyxiates me. I’m not sure how we’ll survive without him. Every time we’re supposed to celebrate, we mourn more and more.

A sob escapes from my gut and I can’t stop myself. My body crumbles and Harper’s little body is suddenly next to me. She’s sobbing with me. Fuck. I need to find the strength for them.

Lying in bed next to my son, I wait for him to fall asleep. I wonder when he’ll come back to me. Finn Michael Brooke was once a happy boy filled with life. A curious kid who, at twenty-six months, spoke in full sentences and asked more questions than I could answer. His light brown eyes crinkled when he grinned or as his full-blown laugh filled a room. All of that disappeared when he realized that daddy wasn’t coming back. The therapist says it’s a phase. Phase or not, I’m desperate. It’s been almost two years and he’s half-alive.

“You need a change,” Mom said during our weekly call. “Get out of Colorado, find a new place. You’re not even from there, sweetheart.”

“Where would I go, Mom?” I asked without disclosing that my financial situation wouldn’t allow me for much. We both knew there was no way I’d move with her and Dad to Florida. They lived in a retirement community.

“Aunt Molly has space; she’s offered it before.”

Aunt Molly lives in Portland, alone with a cat and two extra rooms. I love her dearly; she’s a little eccentric woman with a kind heart and a wonderful sense of humor.

“Mom, I have to go, let’s talk later.”

At the end of the call, Mom suggested I move away from what makes me sad. My aunt has a free place that would give me the new beginning I urgently need. “Think about it, honey.”

What’s there to think about? If for some miraculous reason Leonard came back, he wouldn’t find us. For just a second I close my eyes, finding Leo’s amber ones staring at me. The brightness coming from them illuminates the dark room. His presence warms my heart, making it beat fast and hard. That fresh aftershave scent of his softens the thick atmosphere. Finn’s room is filled with my husband’s presence, but is he real or am I losing my mind?

The panic is back. My eyes sweep the room, then look back to the bed’s footrest. He’s still wearing a pair of khaki pants, a button-down shirt, and his wool sweater. His brown hair swooped to the left, not one hair out of place.

Thank God.

It was all a dream.

“You’re back,” I murmur, not wanting to wake up my little boy. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me—leave us.”

“Kenzie, you’re never alone,” he says, his unmoving lips giving me a tender smile. “I’m with you, inside your heart—always. But it’s time to let me go, baby. Find a way out, for them. For our little ones.”

“Leo, I can’t,” I choke with my tears. “Take me with you, please.”

“You’re my strong girl; be their hero, pull through this. I promise you that better days are yet to come and even when you don’t see me, I’ll be next to you.”

“I don’t know where to start.” He tilts his head giving me his typical, “Kenzie, who are you fooling” glare. “Leo, please just come back.”

“Portland, start there. I can’t stay long, but remember—I’ll never leave you.”

“No, Leo, don’t go,” I beg when the phone rings and he’s gone.

My eyes flutter open, I’m still in Finn’s room, but on top of his Mickey Mouse bedding is Leo’s wool sweater. I snatch it, hugging it tight. Absorbing his essence and believing, for a second, he was here. The sweater has his fresh scent. The ringing of my phone, pounding my head like an electric hammer, wouldn’t stop. With each ring, the automated voice repeats: “Call from Mom.”

There’s no way I’ll answer her call, not while the shattered pieces of my heart become atoms. My mind remains trapped inside that dream, or whatever had happened just now. After several attempts, Mom finally gives up, but leaves a message. I carry myself closer to my room, to listen to her voicemail.

“Mackenzie, sweetheart, call me,” she sounds neutral. “Your dad and I want to offer to pay for the moving truck and the plane tickets so you can move to Portland. Please, sweetie, think about the kids.”

Leaning against the doorframe of my bedroom, I stare at the nightstand where I placed my husband’s ashes earlier today. I want to believe that he’ll come back, that this is a bad joke, or that as a special favor from God, he’ll come back to us.

His words come back to me:
“I promise you that better days are yet to come and even when you don’t see me, I’ll be next to you.”

Better days, that sounds right. My babies needed a breather, a new light.