His low chuckle matured into a genuine laugh. “That sounds about right.”
As I talked with Axel, I felt Freddie watching me still. Occasionally, unable to help myself, I watched him too, finding his lips pressed flat, his jaw clenched, his knuckles turning white around the glass of whiskey in his hand whenever I laughed at something Axel said. All of it made me feel unfairly awful. As messed up as I was, I didn’t want to hurt Freddie. I didn’t want him to think I might be interested in another being. Because that would be a truly terrible thing to do to someone a person supposedly cared about.
When dinner came to an end, I walked the Kravaxians back to their suites. Axel’s suite was located farthest down the hall, so by the time we reached his door, we were alone.
“Thank you.” He grinned down at me. “You’ve all been very kind to us.”
“My pleasure,” I said with a small nod that left me dizzy. A profound exhaustion swirled around me like mist. Through the bleary fatigue, I sent him the link to my VC. “If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to contact me.”
He stared at me long enough, meaningfully enough, that I wondered if he would make a pass. I also wondered how I’d gone so quickly from being a woman who would have been thrilled when a handsome new guest showed interest in me, found me desirable, offered me an easy night or two of escape in the palm of their hand, to one who simply…wasn’t. I suppose I needed a new hobby. When my subconscious suggested puzzles, I gave it the finger.
In the end, thankfully, Axel didn’t make a pass. He only nodded back and said, “Good night, Sunny.”
The next fewdays passed by in a blur. Security on the senator and her family remained a top priority, but the crew had relaxed considerably now that we knew the Kravaxians hadn’t come to scuttle the ship and vent everyone aboard her into space. Even Rax and Morgath had behaved themselves while training Axel and Tano in LunaCorp security protocols. Chan and his mentee, Marisia, got on as well as could be expected, considering the woman never spoke, as far as I could tell—and considering Chan kept running off to have lunch or afternoon tea with Makenna.
And Tig and Reya, well, I’d never seen Tig so excited about spending time with another being. As for me, scheming endless possiblewhoops, this innocent picnic under the willows in the atrium is actually a date–type scenarios for them was a surprisingly effective distraction.
Speaking of which, Freddie had given me all the space I’d asked for. He hadn’t commed or tried to contact me onSqueeor tried to speak to me at all unless it was something work related, and even then, he’d been efficient, all business. Hurt still hung behind his eyes, though. It hurt me too, like pressing on a bruise. But he’d respected my request, like he always had and probably always would. And every day that passed, a voice—quiet at first, but growing louder—spoke up inside me:Maybe, just maybe, you’ve got it all wrong.
I needed to talk to him. I owed it to both of us. But not today. Because today, I woke up with the weight of a planet slamming into my chest, pushing me back down into my bed. Smothering me.
Today was the anniversary.
28
It always snuckup on me. Every year, I knew it was coming. Every year, I counted down the days, tried to prepare myself. Every year, I thought I’d be able to move through it with more ease and grace than the one before. And every year, I was wrong.
It never got easier—the grief, the devastation. It was always right there, waiting for me, as strong as ever.
I’d struggled through morning meeting like a ghostfly through honey. Freddie’s concerned stare across the staff room table alone made me dig my fingernails into my palms so hard one of them left a half-moon indentation in my skin. After the meeting, I’d asked Chan for the rest of the day off, and he hadn’t hesitated to give it to me, looking at me like I might break into pieces right in front of him. Which was exactly how I felt.
I should have been able to manage this better. I should have been compartmentalizing and developing coping strategies and accepting my loss—all the things the therapist I never had the courage to see would have taught me how to do. But the list of all the things I should have donestretched out farther than I could see.I should have been there. I should have made sure he was safe. I should have been a better mother. If I had been, maybe he’d still be here.
But he wasn’t here. He was gone. So like I did every year on this day, I disappeared, hiding in one of the ship’s sensory rooms, huddled under the domed ceiling, sitting on the floor I’d instructed the room’s climate controls to make feel hard and cold.
This was the only way I could get through it, bombarding myself with so much sensory input, there was no room left for anything else. Once I was completely overwhelmed by the wind and the thunder and the crashing waves all around me that I was numb, then I could remember him. Then I could look at the pictures and watch the vids I only let myself watch on this day. Then I could miss him without it ruining me.
I accessed the room’s controls again through my VC, turning up the wind until it drowned everything else out. Everything. Even the opening and closing of the sensory room’s door.
When a hand slid over my shoulder, I yelped.
“It’s okay,” Freddie said against my ear. “It’s only me.” His hand slid away from my shoulder as he sat down behind me. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said while I dimmed the audio. “I knocked, but it was so loud.”
“What are you doing here?” My voice was a rasp. “How did you know I was here?”
I felt more than heard his sigh. “Elanie.”
Turning around so we faced each other, both of us sitting cross-legged on the floor, I asked, “How? Nobody knows I come in here. How did she…” My shoulders sank as I closed my eyes. Elanie knew. She’d hidden it, but of course she knew. She knew everything.
“I’m not sure,” Freddie said. “She only said that today would be hard for you. That every year on this day, it’s hard, and you come in here. But Sunny, you look…” He scanned my face, deep grooves creasing his brow, bracketing his mouth, like it was agony for him to just look at me. “You’re hurting. And at the meeting this morning, you seemed so…lost.”
“Did Elanie tell you why?” With the question, I braced myself for the wave of panic certain to crash over me, that he might know my secret, that Elanie might have told him. “Did she say why today would be hard for me?”
He shook his head. “When I asked, she said she didn’t know.” He reached out, his fingers wrapping gently around my clenched fist. “You don’t have to tell me, Sunny. You don’t have to say a single word to me if you don’t want to. And I know there’s something going on between us right now, but can I sit with you? I can be quiet. I can just be here. So you’re not alone.”
Whatever I’d been feeling toward him, whatever confusion or frustration or hurt I’d been holding inside over the last few days, was so entirely dwarfed by my heartache now that it might as well have been a single particle of dust floating in the vastness of the universe. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to let him in. I was so tired of being alone. I needed someone else to carry this grief with me. So I tried. I really did. But my mouth only opened and closed, nothing coming out but worthless wisps of air. I had no idea what to say, where to start.
“Stars, Sunny,” he said, his eyes turning glassy. “Do you need me to leave? I shouldn’t have come. I’m so sorry. I can go.”
