“Alis.” Saying her name turns her attention back to me. “What happened?”
“It’s George,” she says. George. Leo’s George? Obviously,otherwise Alis wouldn’t be looking for him. Still, I repeat the name.
“George?”
“Stephanie’s dad. They’re close.”
I nod. I think I knew this. We’re going to pretend that I most definitely knew this.
“Ok, what happened?”
The look Alis gives me communicates that I have said something stupid. Awesome.
“He… died.” My eyes go wide. “From cancer.” My mouth drops open. “Today.”
The hallway tilts a fraction, that vertigo when an elevator stops one inch off level. Somewhere, a copier starts, and the mundanity of it makes my eyes sting.
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“Leo didn’t tell you? Skye didn’t tell you?”
I shake my head, because no, he hasn’t told me anything about his life. Not his lifenow, anyway.
And… wait. “Skye?”
“Yeah. She’s close with them, too. Both George and Linda.”
I swear it’s like I don’t even know the people in my own life. Where the hell have I been the past year?
Oh, right. In Moraine. With Chase.Not here.
And after I moved here? I’ve been coddled. Everyone focused on all my trauma and drama. Nobody sharingtheir liveswith me because they’re too focused on the shit storm happeningin mine.
The realization lands like a stone in my gut. For a second I can’t find words, so I reach for action instead. “Okay,” I say, voice steadier than I feel. “Where would he go? House? Hospital? With Stephanie? Do you know if Linda?—”
Alis shakes her head, biting her lip. “Dex thinks he might be at the house or—honestly—just… driving. He does that when he doesn’t want to break down in front of anyone.”
I nod. That, I understand. “Text me if you hear from Dex. I’llcheck his office, the lot, and then I’ll call him. If he doesn’t answer, I’ll go to his place.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, eyes glassy.
I squeeze her forearm once—brief, decisive—and head for the pod, already pulling up Leo’s contact. The screen reflects my own worried face back at me as his line starts to ring.
One ring. Two. Voicemail.
“Leo,” I say, and my voice is softer than my spine feels. “It’s me. I—call me, okay? I’m here.”
I end the call and stand in the corridor, phone warm in my palm, the hallway suddenly too long, the air too thick. A week ago, I would’ve told myself to mind my business. Today, I don’t hesitate. I turn toward the stairs, toward the parking lot, toward wherever he is, because grief is a language I understand and because—whether or not I’m ready to say it out loud—he’s become one of my people.
Maybe even myperson.
And my people don’t do this part alone.
TWENTY-FIVE
LEO
The line moves,slow and unending, a tide of black clothes and murmured condolences. I barely hear the words anymore. My place is beside Linda, steadying her when she wavers, and I don’t let go of her hand. She clings to me, fingers shaking, and I keep my grip firm because it’s all I can do. Stephanie is on my right, Aaron hovering close to her, Adam and Ethan with their families nearby. We’re all here, lined up like some formal arrangement of grief, but nothing about this feels orderly. It feels hollow. Off balance. Wrong.
