Scars of Yesterday (Sons of Templar MC 8)

I paused, sitting in companionable silence for a beat. “The parts of me that belonged solely to Ranger wanted me to give up. But I couldn’t, of course. Because there are other parts to me. I’m a mother. It is my responsibility to stay alive for my children. It’s my duty. So no matter how much I wanted to, I didn’t die. I lingered in limbo for a while, of course. But there was a time limit on that. So I had no choice but to live. For them and them only at first. Then, a long time later and much, much slower, for myself.” I drained my drink. “Though I don’t think I’m fully there yet.”

Evie stared at me for a while, really thinking about my words, listening in that way of hers.

“I’m too strong and too stubborn to forfeit my life because my Old Man is in the ground, but I get wanting to die. Thing is, you did die. Parts of you, at least. Parts that are never going to come back to life. Parts that lie in the coffin with Ranger. But you’re being reborn. In some ways. Not ‘cause of any man you’re fucking, though, that surely helps you recognize that life is worth living and worth living well.” She sighed. “We’ve all got seasons of our lives. Your winter was brutal, honey. Not gonna lie. But looks like spring is here. Happy to see you start to bloom, baby.”

I blinked back the tears at her words, because you didn’t cry drinking whisky with Evie. You ovaried up.

I did that by getting up to pour us another whisky and informing the kids we were having a sleepover.

I suspected Evie might need that too.

Even if she never said it.

Us widows had to stick together.Chapter 12I knew from the moment I woke up it was going to be a terrible day. Mostly because I woke up to a tightening in my head and an uneasiness in my stomach. The telltale signs of a migraine. They’d started when I was seventeen.

“Headache episodes”, my mother had called them. As if they were something I chose whenever I felt like a leisurely escape from the world when in actuality, it was an agonizing period of time where I had to lay perfectly still in the dark because even breathing too deep was like a rusty knife being inserted into my skull, piercing my brain.

Over the counter painkillers were like a rowboat in a tsunami. Same with most of the stronger medication doctors prescribed.

It only got worse during pregnancy. Luckily, with Jack, it only happened a couple of times. Though those were the worst ones that lasted two days at least and had me recovering for a week. Lily was even rougher. It was only after the morning sickness subsided that the migraines began. It was hard on Ranger seeing me in that much pain, not being able to do anything about it.

Though it wasn’t exactly a picnic for me either.

After Lily was born, they subsided some. Hormones settling, whatever. I got them once yearly, on a good year. And I always had Ranger to put me to bed, check on me, take care of our children.

Now it was just me. There was no one else to make my kids breakfast, get them to school, pick them up again. Sure, I could call on Olive. My mom. Gwen. Amy. Laura May. Lily. Or the long list of women and men who would happily take over. Take care of my kids for me.

But that had happened one too many times already. Plus, it was only painful now. Excruciating was around the corner. There was still time. I had to get used to the pain, get used to doing everything despite it.

I got up. Took four Advil. Made the strongest cup of coffee I could. Caffeine technically made migraines worse, or that’s what every patronizing doctor tried to tell me. But for me, it was the only thing that chased away the worst of it. For a time, at least.

One cup got me strong enough to get the kids up. Then showered. Dressed. Breakfast consisted of the sugary cereal I kept for special mornings, weekends, sleep-ins and middle of the night cravings.

Jack noticed something was wrong straight away. His eyes caught the strained way I was moving, every step launching pain upward to my skull. The way I didn’t look at the overhead light that seemed to be doing its bests to burn my retinas.

A small hand took the milk from me as I attempted to pour milk into bowls.

“I got it, Mom,” Jack said gently, low, as if he somehow knew that any kind of noise made my eardrums bleed.

I should’ve fought him on it, but I didn’t have the strength. So I let my son finish breakfast for him and his sister. Then I thanked myself for being organized enough to have prepared both of their lunches the night before. As it was, getting them packed and into their bags each morning was a mission in itself.