The Sweetest Victory - Intertwined Series

Chapter Thirty-Nine | I'm not letting you go

Victory had spent the rest of the night by his side, like a sentry guarding Gage as he slept, head draped across his arm, eyes closed and catching snatches of sleep where she could. Relief had swelled, bright and fast, the moment Gage, though groggy and unfocused, had opened his eyes. And then she knew, with every breath and desperate hope, he was going to be okay. He was going to make it.

The doctors had assured them he was through the worst, but now needed his space and rest, pushing them to head home. Though a part of her was reluctant to leave, she did. First to her condo, where Aubrey and Ed waited for word of his condition, and then, because she couldn't handle being there—not after everything—for the only place she could seek out any solace.

Soleil.

The doors were closed to patrons and staff, the kitchen empty and quiet. The pool of blood that had streamed across the soft grey was scrubbed down and gone, but she would forever see it. Forever remember that horrible, garish, slick puddle of red...

For the rest of the week, she hid in her office, with the door closed and her eyes glued to the blank computer screen, pushing through long days and longer hours until she felt like a zombie, shuffling through life and routine. And here, almost a full seven days later, her body was finally determined to break. Victory didn't remember when the fatigue had struck, or the moment she'd put her head down to rest. Only when she heard the sound of a gentle knock at the door did she realize she'd been drooling over invoices.

The first thing Jacqueline noticed, as a mother and friend, was the deeply carved shadows smeared under Victory's eyes, the pale and almost gaunt look to her that set a heart to worry.

"You look exhausted." Jacqueline shuffled into the office and planted a hand on her generous hip, her bright waves of fire red hair piled into a sloppy bun.

Victory sighed, brushing her hands over her eyes to rub away the last stubborn vestiges of fatigue.

"I am." She admitted, straightening in her chair. "But I can't sleep, not while..." she let the rest of the statement linger, unspoken, not that Jacqueline needed her to explain.

"How is he faring?" Lowering to the seat next to Victory, she reached out and took her hand, found the fingers stiff and unwilling to hold on.

"Better. From what Roarke has told me, Gage has had two surgeries to treat the wound and is healing nicely."

"So why are you here?"

"I've been asking myself that every single day." Victory smiled bitterly. "Why am I here? I don't have an answer for you, other than I am afraid." Afraid to face him and the fear of the unknown. What would he say when he saw her? What would she say? And could there ever be hope to undo the irreparable damage she caused the moment she'd pushed him out of her life?

Fear was something Jacqueline understood, and in a gesture she would have done for her own daughter, Ada, she brought Victory's hand to her lips and gave the smooth palm a doting kiss.

"I've known you for a long time," she began. "First you were the quiet, dark-haired girl who always kept her nose down and worked the line. Hard days and long hours, that was you. Passion, driven and determined, you were." Smiling, her soft brown eyes winked with pride. "And you made something of yourself, for yourself. This place, built on hopes, financed with dreams—but as happy and fulfilled you might now be because of Soleil, won't mean a damn thing if you let something even more precious slip through your fingers. Love, Victory.

"Everyone deserves a chance to have it, to hold it. So don't you dare throw away yours." She warned giving Victory's ribs a jab with a blunt finger and was warmed to see the smile dance into her eyes.