Page 17 of Almost Beautiful (Beautiful 3)

I kept my thumb on the band of her wedding ring; the doubts in my head were relentless. It was stupid as fuck, but touching her ring was the most discreet way to quiet my fears.

The building and the muddy ground bordering the four corners of brick and stone were now a crime scene. The FBI had gotten involved, investigating the death of a hundred and thirty-two college students, most of them not old enough to buy a beer.

I’d been wondering for days when or if I should tell Dad, how he would take the news that his youngest son had been involved in the most tragic event in Eastern State’s history, and what he would say.

I imagined the disappointment in his eyes, the worry and stress that would plague him, even after the Feds carted me off to prison.

Dad had promised Mom, on her death bed, that he’d quit the police department and never let any of us go into law enforcement of any kind. His years of late nights and close calls had been hard on her, their marriage, and she didn’t want that for her boys.

When I’d declared my Criminal Justice major I thought he’d blow a gasket, but he’d only gently reminded me of his promise with the hope I’d find something in the field that would help him keep it. I closed my eyes.

I wasn’t going to be able to take the expression on his face when he found out, the only thing that would feel as shameful as going against her only dying wish.

The bricks over each window of the building where Adam had staged my last fight were stained black from smoke. The horrified screams from just a few nights before still rang in my ears, and I recalled the terror I felt when I was desperately looking in the basement through the dark maze of halls for Abby. The overwhelming dread that came over me when I realized Trenton wasn’t outside with the rest of the survivors was still fresh.

The shrill, audible fear and desperation to escape was exactly what I imagined Hell would sound like. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end just thinking about it.

Still, none of that touched the heartbreak so many parents had been feeling since the story of the fire had broken on the news. Even though Abby never missed an opportunity to say that what happened wasn’t my fault, I still felt responsible.

I paused in front of a makeshift memorial for the victims: a pile of notes, ribbons, flowers, photos, and stuffed animals.

Abby tugged on my hand, pulling me forward without saying a word. She knew I was beating myself up about it, but she didn’t know I was struggling with the urge to turn myself in. The only thing stopping me was the thought of spending even a day apart from my wife.

“Trav?” Abby said.

“Yeah, baby?”

“We shouldn’t talk about any of this at the apartment anymore.”

“I know.”

“It’s not just the apartment. It’s our phones. The car. We can only discuss anything to do with the fire away from the apartment, outside, and never on the phone. Definitely no texts.”

“That’s Hollywood shit, Pidge.”

“Where do you think Hollywood got its inspiration? Just, trust me, okay?”

“Okay, but—”

“Hey, kids,” Finch said from behind us. He hooked his arm around Abby and me. “How’re you holding up?”

Abby turned to hug him. He held her tight, winking to me with a half-smile.

I wondered if he knew anyone that belonged to any of the memorials, and if he knew I’d had a part in it. If he did, he wasn’t angry.

“It’s so good to see you,” Abby said, wiping her eyes. “I’m glad you weren’t there.”

“Me? In a dusty basement with all those cavemen frat boys? Actually, that sounds exactly where I’d be, but no. It was my dad’s fifty-ninth birthday dinner.”

“Oh, that’s right, how was it?” Abby asked, her expression changing within seconds to a surprised smile.

Finch helped her with some smeared mascara under her eyes. “I’ll tell you what, biscuit. I have to get to class and so do you, so let’s get coffee soon and I’ll catch you up on Dad’s boring ass birthday and my new tall, dark and handsome, and you can catch me up on”—his eyes scanned me from boots to hairline—“what it’s like to be married to a mad dog.” Finch spoke the words, his eyes playfully alluring.

I shook my head and led Abby away by the hand.

“Wait. You have a new guy? Who?” she called after him.

“Later, darling. Later.”