“She wanted to run after you,” he repeats, but this time with more compassion, “but we couldn’t let her. We were afraid for your safety too. Afraid that if your source was the one who ratted her out, they’d think you were spying too. So we had eyes on your house from the moment you got home.”
“William’s black Suburban blocking my view…” I say more to myself than to him. The believability factor of this whole situation has become almost too far-fetched, cloak and daggerish for my own liking. So much so that if I weren’t living it, I’d say it was a bogus story.
He murmurs in agreement. “You left the house in Kansas, and she was beside herself because she knew how much she was hurting you. I made her promise just a few more weeks to make sure everything was kosher before she could come to you, that the intercepts still weren’t clean of chatter yet. If you two had seen each other again, then she’d have been putting you in danger. She said you were going to come back, that you don’t give up without a fight,” he says, followed by an audible sigh, my own heart swelling despite the pain to hear this and know she was as tormented as I was. A misery loves company sort of thing.
And then I remember she’s dead. And now it was all for nothing.
“She filed a restraining order, called Rafe to warn you so you wouldn’t come back and be at risk… She just wanted you safe because she loved you. In all the years we worked together, I’d never seen her like this, Tanner. You have to know that. She really did love you.” He rests his shoulders against the wall and leans his head to look up at the ceiling. “She was going on a quick mission to the embassy to deliver some information and confirm a few things for a source we have there. She told me her return flight was going to be to San Diego so that she could tell you everything, beg for your forgiveness, and have a real life for the first time…”
I wince at the words, cringe at the realization of what will never be. He walks up to me and puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes it momentarily while my eyes look down at my shoes. I know I should apologize for punching him, since he lost his partner and probably feels much like I did when I lost Stella, but I can’t bring myself to say anything at all. Absolutely nothing because every single thing ricochets around in the numbed void inside me. I just can’t believe it all yet.
“I’m so sorry, Tanner. For everything… I couldn’t let you leave without your knowing the truth.”
I just nod my head ever so subtly, my eyes still focused on the floor. And I stay like this long after Dane leaves the room, reality slipping through my fingers like sand as I try to hold on to it.
At some point the walls feel like they are closing in on me, suffocating me with the memories I have to hold on to but don’t deserve, the love I feel that can no longer be returned, and a connection with a woman I’ll never be able to touch again. I have to orient myself in the fog of disbelief, and once I do, I grab my bag and soon I’m all but clawing my way out of the private room followed by the meeting room in search of fresh air.
I shove through the exterior doors to an empty courtyard. I must make it only a few yards away from the exit before I drop my bags without thought and fall to my knees as the emotion catches up to me and hits me like a sledgehammer to the heart.
My huge gulps for air turn into body-racking sobs as the tears that I thought had dried up come out in a temper tantrum of visible emotion. Shoulders heaving, head falling forward, and mind accepting that my reality has just changed forever and I didn’t get to have a fucking goddamn say in it.
I was so worried about protecting her that it never once crossed my mind that she was protecting me. And the idea that I could have suspected any of it is ludicrous at best, but it doesn’t make the notion sting any less. Through blurred vision, I look at my hands and know that even though she’s gone, her hands will always hold my heart.
“I’m sorry, Beaux,” I sob out loud because I am so sorry, sorry I didn’t go back to her house that day. Maybe if I had, she would have confessed, never gone on this ill-fated mission, and would still be alive. And then of course the idea of the mission takes hold, and the images of the press briefing flash through my mind. The notion becomes a reality that somewhere in that twisting metal and demolished building was my once-in-a-lifetime.
I’m a man falling apart amid the hustle and bustle of life around me – the click of high heels, the ring of a cell phone, someone’s laughter – but time stopped for me in the devastating blink of an eye.
Chapter 30
S
omehow I make it back to the airport.
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.