Make it to the one place I’ve always relied on to escape everything. To the one place that I knew would take me away after Stella died, back into the thrill of the pursuit, the adrenaline rush of being first to report a story. But right now as I stand before the departure board, how I got here is all a blur I don’t even recall because I was too busy keeping my shit together. I can’t remember ever feeling so lost in my life.
I just need to get on the plane, do my job, and then get back home and figure out the life that eight hours ago seemed crystal clear but now is a fucking shattered mess of glass.
And then it dawns on me that I can’t get on the plane because deplaning means that I’m going to be rushing to and reporting on the story that took Beaux’s life. If I feel paralyzed now, seeing the devastation in person, knowing her blood has been spilled somewhere in the rubble, would make it more real than I can fathom.
Even if I could gather myself to do the report, use the numbness to get the story out before the journalistic fourth wall crumbles, I don’t want to. I can’t face it.
I’m done.
The buzz I’ve lived my life by is gone. I don’t feel a single zap of it, and the last time I did was telling Rylee that I was going to fight for what was mine. For Beaux. The inexplicable draw to the hard beat has died for me. I stare at the electronic boards, a man who finally found what was missing in his life only to lose it before he could fully recognize it. The destinations blur before my eyes, running together, and I have no idea where I’m going, what I’m doing, but there is one thing that is crystal clear.
It takes me a second to realize my cell is still turned off, that I was so fixated on getting to the meeting and then with the aftermath that I never turned it on. When I do, texts from Rafe come in a flurry, and I know that he’s found out somehow about Beaux’s death. As much as I don’t want to talk to him, don’t want to share my misery, I dial and wait for him to pick up.
“Jesus Christ, Tanner. I had no idea,” he answers. But his words aren’t enough for me. What did he have no idea about? That she was killed in the embassy bombing or that she was a spy?
“Did you know?” I grit the question out, needing to know more than ever if he knew about the setup, was in on it. When silence hangs on the line, my instinct tells me that he doesn’t. He’s not a good enough liar to play me that well, and if he was, he’s not going to tell me anyway. He remains silent for a moment. “Put Pauly on the story.”
“What… what’s going —”
“Pauly deserves it. Give him a shot to make the headline.”
“Talk to me, Tanner. What are you —”
“Thank you,” I say, cutting him off again, my eyes still trying to focus on the digitized cities on the screen in front of me. I don’t know where I’m going, but the only caveat is that there won’t be a desert. “This time it’s for real.”
“What is? What are you talking about?”
“I quit.”
Chapter 31
One week later
S
he’s so beautiful, it hurts sometimes to look at her.
I glance up from the bed to see Beaux standing at the edge of it, hair down, eyes on me, a soft smile on her face.
“Tanner,” she whispers as she sits down beside me. The mattress springs squeak, and we both laugh at the memory. She leans over, her hair tickles my face as it falls down to my chest, but I forget all about it the minute her lips brush mine. Her kiss tastes like her, like everything I’ve ever wanted, like forever.
I startle awake from the dream. Just like I do every morning, every night. Every time I close my eyes. And the vivid imagery of it and the way it leaves me feeling is so real, so tangible, that it takes me a minute to remember she’s gone.
And then the ache comes roaring back with a vengeance. The pain still radiates in my chest, the grief still weighs down my soul, the loss still runs my life.
This is my good morning. Has been every day since she’s been gone.