Chapter 9The morning sunlight flooded Davie’s room and I sat in the chair by his bedside, holding his limp hand. I had not slept.
Annette had left minutes ago. She’d been quiet, solemn. She’d asked if I wanted David’s doctor to come by. She’d asked if I wanted her to stay. But Davie had made me swore to him last night, as he’d fought for air, that we would be alone until the end. That I would be his, that he wouldn’t share me with anyone else.
I was tired, yet so alert, my every thought, crystal clear.
Davie’s breathing was uneven and his face was swollen. The morphine was wearing him down. I held his hand, pressed his fingers. He was not even thirty years old. He’d only been on the cusp of greatness. Oh, but he’d been excellent. Yes, everything Davie had done in his life, he’d done wit
