I followed his instructions automatically. In, out. In, out. The black spots receded, but the pain remained—a physical agony lodged beneath my ribs.
Jennifer was still on the phone. “...as soon as possible... yes, we’ll make arrangements... she’s right here.”
She held the phone handle out to me. “Your brother wants to speak with you.”
I took it with hands that didn’t feel like mine. “Michael.”
“Tess.” His voice cracked. “I’m coming. I’m getting on a plane right now. Don’t move, okay? Just stay where you are. I’m coming.”
“Michael,” I repeated, his name the only solid thing left. “He’s gone. Marco is gone.”
Saying the words made it real. Marco was gone. The man who had kissed me last night, who had promised me forever, was gone. And he wasn’t coming back.
“I know, sweetheart. I know. I’m so sorry.” His voice was thick with tears. “I’m coming to you. Just hold on.”
Time stopped making sense after that.
I was alone in the suite now. Jennifer had said things about arrangements and assistance and privacy.
A breakfast cart sat by the window. Two covered plates. Two cups. Two glasses of orange juice, condensation beading on the outside. A small vase with a single red rose.
He’d ordered it last night. Before we fell asleep. “Breakfast in bed,” he’d murmured, kissing my temple. “We’ll sleep in, have breakfast, then pack.”
I stared at that cart, at those two plates, and something inside me went numb.
I should call the kids. I should—what? What do you say to children whose world is about to shatter?
Your father went skiing this morning. There was an avalanche. He… he...
No. I couldn’t. Not yet. Not alone.
I sat on the edge of the bed and waited. The clock on the nightstand ticked forward. 10:00 AM. 11:00 AM. Noon. I watched the numbers change and felt nothing.
The knock, when it finally came, was different—less official, more hesitant. I opened the door and Michael was there, his face ashen, his eyes red and swollen.
He dropped his bag and opened his arms.
I fell into them, and something broke inside me. A dam giving way. I sobbed against his chest—violent, wrenching cries. Michael held me, his hand steady on my back, saying nothing because there was nothing to say.
He let me cry until I was spent, until my legs gave out and we both sank to the floor right there in the entryway, my face buried in his shoulder.
“I’m here,” he said finally, when my sobs had quieted to hiccups. “I’m here, Tess.”
“He promised,” I choked out. “He promised to be safe. It was just a resort run, Michael. Just one quick run and now he’s—he’s?—”
“I know.”
“We were going home today. We were going to see the kids and close the Ashley deal and—” My voice broke completely. “We were supposed to have more time.”
Michael tightened his arms around me. “I know.”
We sat there on the floor for a long time. Eventually, Michael helped me up, guided me to the sofa, and wrapped a blanket around my shoulders like I was a child.
“Have you eaten anything?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Okay. I’m going to order some food. You don’t have to eat it, but it’ll be there.” He picked up the phone, his movements purposeful, giving himself something to do.
