I rub my chest, my exhaustion-ravaged pulse hammering hard enough for me to see stars, and I’m of half a mind to believe I’m tripping my tits off. Succumbed to hallucinations from whatever drugs still course through my system. But the harder I look, the starker his name becomes, sitting there on the screen, waiting for me since…
Feck. This morning. Unless it was yesterday…goddamn it, I’m so banjaxed right now.
Need air.
I force my wobbly legs into motion and stagger outside into the witching hour, barely aware of Sonny still trailing after me, quiet to whatever madness is keeping me upright, all the while hovering my shaky thumb over the unread message, elation and fear fighting for dominance. Hope I haven’t earned dances in my veins, but at the same time, what if this is Sab telling me to get lost once and for all?
It isn’t.
I’m so sure of it I should crack this message wide open. And yet, this pickled from a terrible shift, I really am scared. If this is Sab’s goodbye, I can’t face it. Not tonight. I can’t face anything except the cold air seeping into my bones and a wait for a taxi I know is going to fecking kill me.
“What’s wrong?”Sonny. He peers over my shoulder and I lack the will to shrug him off. “You don’t want to open it?”
“I’m not sure it’s good news.”
“Can’t be worse than what you’ve survived in the last twelve hours.”
“Now, you say that?—”
“Give it here.” Sonny has my phone out of my hand before I can draw another breath. He taps at the screen and frowns as he reads, which does nothing for my nerves.
Then he grins, slow and sure, and thrusts the phone right back at me. “Well look at that. Your Christmas wish arrived right on time.”
Takes me way too long to focus enough to see what he means.
Even longer to comprehend—to believe—what I’m seeing.
Then it’s my turn to split my face in half with a slow grin, certainty filling every cell of my battered body.
I’m ready, Sab. For you, I always was.
I just didn’t know it.
Sab
It’s the longest day and night of my life. The only thing I have to compare it to is the week and a half Tam spent in ICU all those years ago, and it eats me alive that this feels the fucking same.
Actually, it feels worse.
At least with Tam, I was there. Holding his hand. Counting his fucking heartbeats. Drowning in the harsh reality that he was so close to death.
Galen, though.
How will I even know unless they splash his face all over the news? And that’s banking on Tam letting me have the TV remote back, which isn’t happening any time soon.
It leaves me with my phone. But Tam deleted all the news apps before he let me near it and now he’s watching me, on alert for guerrilla googling, and for his sanity and mine, I let it be. Play chicken with the thing on the arm of the couch, all the whileTam’sphone buzzes and flashes as if it’s hot-wired to the mains.
“Is that Bhodi?”
Tam slides me a shifty gaze.
At least, it seems shifty to me. “Non. Il bosse. Tu sais bien.”
“I know he’s working, but it’s been a fucking lifetime.”
Right?
Truth be told, I can’t think straight enough to figure it out. And I don’t need to. Tam’s aware enough of how long Bhodi’s been gone. That it’s the early hours of Christmas morning and his husband isn’t home. That he’s fighting to keep his eyes open, but he’s staying awake for me.
