Page 107 of After All The Wreckage

Time was slipping away. Time I couldn’t afford.

Then my look landed on my mom’s cold and unmoving body and Nan standing by her side looking so lost and alone, and I knew I couldn’t leave. Not yet.

I needed to be here. I needed to be here for Nan in a way I hadn’t been for Mom.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Gage

YOU BETTER BELIEVE

Performed by Train

Every musclein my body hurt from being held tight for what felt like a week straight. Fear and anguish and now incredible sadness leaked through me. The brief respite I’d had while lost inside Rory back at the hotel seemed like a dream that had vanished into the night. A mirage that had disappeared with a blink.

I lay on one side of the pullout couch in River and Audrey’s living room, listening to Monte’s breathing as he slept on the other sofa. I was grateful he was asleep, but I wondered if it would be broken with nightmares. We had to be getting closer to the day his vision came true. Too many strings had been pulled for it not to be happening soon. Rory and I had stepped into a field full of landmines we’d never expected.

My heart ached for Rory. I couldn’t shake her tortured cries from my head.

Monte had sounded like that at Dad’s funeral.

I’d cried a thousand tears on my way from Kansas to Virginia after I’d gotten the call about Dad. I hadn’t been able to say goodbye to him, but on the drive, thousands of memories had flooded me.

I’d cried for Dad, for the father I’d admired and loved more than words. I’d cried for myself. For the lost dreams and my lost future because even then I’d known the truth—I wouldn’t be going back to Kansas.

What worried me most now about Rory was the guilt I’d seen written all over her in that hospital room. She believed this was because of her. That somehow she could have stopped it from happening. Her voice screaming at me to leave Shady Lane and get to my siblings had filled me with terror not just for my family but for her.

Would she ever recover from this? Would it become a new wound that would fester and grow until it absorbed her entire being, taking all her light and dousing it?

I rose from the bed, stepping quietly to the window and shifting the blinds to look outside. Mist curled up from the ground, shrouding the world in more than just darkness. A thick heaviness hung in the air.

More thunderstorms were coming.

Through the dim spotlight the streetlight cast in the gloom, I barely made out the shape of a patrol car parked at the curb. I’d been surprised Muloney had sent someone, especially when I hadn’t given him all the information. Just enough to know I’d witnessed a murder and that what had happened with my brother was tied up with the Lovatos. I’d told him the FBI was getting involved, and maybe that had spurred him into helping.

I pulled my phone from the side table where it had been charging, dashing off a note to Rory.

ME: Are you awake? Are you home?

I wanted to ask how she was. I wanted to ask if I could call or if I could come over or how the hell I could help. But all of it seemed pointless. Useless. I knew from hard experience that no one could help. No one could take the pain away.

There was only one way to travel the road of grief—alone. All your friends and loved ones could do was walk beside you and try to catch you if you fell. So, I’d do that for Rory. When she collapsed, when she needed someone to carry her for a few feet, I’d be there for her.

When she didn’t respond, I didn’t know if I was relieved or worried. Was she actually sleeping or was she ignoring me on purpose? Was she off doing some sort of Rory supersleuth work? Or was she grieving in silence?

Noise from down the hall had my entire body going still and my ears straining. I eased quietly on my sock-clad feet down the dark planks. At the door to the garage turned art studio, I paused. A desk lamp cast a beam on River standing at his workbench shoved up against a side wall.

His large hands worked tweezers as he moved pieces so small he had to use a magnifying glass to maneuver them. Behind him, a large statue took up the rest of the garage. Audrey’s new piece was made of large chunks of granite wrapped in swirling, thick metal.

River looked up from his work as I moved closer, giving me a nod. I took a seat at an old barstool that had been perched near his bench for decades.

“I’m sorry if you couldn’t sleep because of us,” I said gruffly.

“The truth is, I’m up at this hour a lot of times anyway. When I’m working on something new, I often can’t sleep until it’s done,” he said. He carefully put down the items he’d been holding.

“Everything’s spiraled out of control,” I told him. “People are dying… Hallie Marlowe… That Walden guy I told you about.”

In my mind, I heard the whoosh Rory had identified as a suppressor fire all over again. I heard Walden’s fear as he begged for his life, and my stomach coiled tightly, threatening to lose the sandwich I’d picked at earlier.