"Besides, Carver already asked to meet for breakfast tomorrow. Wants to debrief, go over next steps. And my agent's left about thirty voicemails." I shrug. "I won't be alone."
Maya doesn't look convinced. Neither does Ash.
At the door, Ash stops. Looks back at me. For a second I think he's going to say something—about Diesel, about why he's really here, about the man who fought to make sure I wouldn't face this alone.
He doesn't. Just nods once. But his eyes say it: I'm here because he can't be.
I nod back.
Then they're gone.
The door closes behind them. The lock clicks. Silence.
I stand in the middle of my apartment and wait to feel something.
Nothing comes.
A minute later my phone buzzes with a text. Hope builds again.
CARVER: Proud of you, kid. Get some rest. See you tomorrow. 9am, the diner on Peachtree.
Not Diesel.
Of course not Diesel.
I stare at the message. Then I power the phone off. If I leave it on, I'll spend all night waiting for a text that isn't coming. Jumping every time it buzzes. Hoping.
I can't do that to myself.
I make it three steps toward the bedroom before my knees give out.
The floor is cold against my palms. I don't care. I'm crying—not the manageable kind, not the kind I can control.
He let me go.
I won. Venetti is going to prison.
He let me go. He watched me leave and he didn't stop me. He said what we had couldn't survive out there and then he made sure it couldn't.
"You told me some things have to break before they can be fixed."
I threw his own words back at him. Asked if he was breaking me to fix me, or breaking us to fix himself.
He didn't answer.
This isn't fixing. This is staying broken.
I cry until there's nothing left. Until my throat is raw and the light from the window has gone.
Then I pull myself off the floor. One limb at a time.
I don't turn on lights. Don't unpack. Don't shower. Don't eat. The phone stays on the counter, dark and silent.
I find my bedroom. Fall into sheets that don't smell like him.
The bed is wrong. Too wide, too empty. No arms to hold me. No heartbeat under my ear. No rumble of his voice in the dark.
I close my eyes.
