“I did learn from my mistakes.” Katie grins. “I learned that it’s far easier to make others do the dirty work for me. And now I’ll be ten times richer while you scramble for what’s left of your future.”
“I don’t think so,” Maya says. “I think you’re going to get exactly what you deserve.”
“Thisis what I deserve.” The woman snatches the bag from Maya’s arms, dropping a small pouch in front of her. Maya scrambles to pick it up while the couple disappears into the elevator.
“What are you doing?” Maya yells.
At me.
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“I thought you came here to help. Why’d you let them go?” She turns toward the elevators, ready to chase after them, but I grab her arm and pull her to my chest, only grimacing a little when pain shoots through my wounded arm.
“I think you’re right; they’re going to get exactly what they deserve.”
A flyaway hair lands in her eyes, and she blows it away with a huff. “Yes, well, while that’s a nice sentiment, I kind of meant foryouto enact that justice.”
“Oh.” I scratch my beard. “Why didn’t you say so?”
She punches my chest, but I grab her hand, cradling it to my heart. “There’s a certain FBI agent who has been deprived of caffeine for the last four months waiting for them downstairs. Everything is going to be okay.”
She sighs, letting out a chuckle, dropping her forehead to my chest. “Is it really over?”
“Yes, love.” I rub her back, trying to soothe away the stress of the last year for her. “Is the missing chess piece in the bag?”
Maya nods against my chest, reaching into the drawstring bag and gently pulling out the small queen. It’s white and gold, inlaid with crystals of different colors. It’s beautiful. I can see why a thief might want it. She reaches in again and pulls out a wad of cash, a key to a storage unit where her stuff must be, her license, some credit cards, then—
Her cheeks flush, and she closes her hand around the object.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing.” She tries to stick it back in the bag, but I take her hand in mine, prying her fingers up until I see it clearly. It’s the ring—the ring I gave her when I proposed at eighteen. I’d loved her for years, and after waiting for her to finally notice me, she fell in love with me too. It was wild and impetuous, absolutely terrifying to spend every last dime in my pathetic bank account on an engagement ring. But I wanted her more than anything. I proposed the day after graduation, down by the lake, floating lanterns I’d spent hours lighting dotting the water.
I swallow the sudden lump in my throat. “You kept it?”
“Yes.”
I frown at the gold band that used to be smooth but is now jagged and misshapen. “What happened to it?”
She chews on her bottom lip. “I might have put it down the garbage disposal because I was so mad at you.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or be slightly horrified.
“Only for half a second,” she continues. “And then I cried for two days straight because I ruined it.”
And even then, she didn’t get rid of it. That somehow makes the imperfections in the band more perfect. Because it’s us. We were broken and shattered, a beautiful thing never to be the same again. But it’s far from ruined. Those scars are the story of us; they brought us back together. I hold it to the light, imagining a new destiny for this ring.
I slip it into my pocket.
“Hey, that’s mine!”
I catch her hand in mine. “Don’t worry, I’ll give it back.”
Her lips part, but I pull her into me before she can freak out. “When I’m good and ready,” I say. This seems to satisfy her, and she takes a deep breath.
“How did you find me?” she asks.
I bring my hand to her face, brushing my thumb down her cheek. “I’ll always find you.”
