Her voice is barely audible. “So…she didn’t drown?”
“She did,” I murmur. “Her lungs were full of water. She was still alive when she went under, but she couldn’t swim. Couldn’t scream for help. She probably seized or lost consciousness, and no one saw it happen. So the cause looked obvious. No one thought to look closer.”
Annie sinks back on her heels, wiping at her face as the full weight of it lands. “When did you find out?”
I exhale, the memory bitter in my mouth. “That last night in Vegas. My parents told me after the show.”
I’ve tried to forget everything about that night.
The way I tore into her.
The way I used my sorrow like a weapon.
Looking back, I see it now—the edginess, the way I’d go from managing to miserable without warning. I thought it was just the pain.
But it was the tumor. Pressing in the wrong place, disrupting hormone levels, scrambling signals that were never meant to get crossed. I wasn’t just angry; I was chemically off-balance.
And I tried so hard to hide it from her.
Then I scared myself enough to walk, believing that a volatile, dying man had no place in Annie’s life.
But she’s still holding me. Still hanging on to whatever pieces I have left.
Gently, she reaches for my hand, her fingers threading through mine like a lifeline. “You should’ve told me. Because I wouldn’t have run. I would have stayed. I still want to stay.”
My heart squeezes. “I don’t know how to let you.”
“Start here. Start right now. Because I’m not going anywhere. I will never leave you.” Her voice collapses on the words. “And maybe there’s still hope. We can fight this. You and me. Just tell me what to do.”
For once, I don’t have an answer.
Only this unbearable ache in my chest that says I can’t let her go.
Not now. Not ever.
My voice breaks as I look at her, drinking in her blurry borders, beautiful shape, and purple stripes. “Just…hold me.”
She doesn’t hesitate. Annie pulls me in like she’s been waiting to do it since the day I left.
Arms around my shoulders. Fingers in my hair. Her cheek against mine.
I fold into her. Every jagged edge. Every broken part.
We end up on the bed, curled together in the dark. The room is filled with the sound of her breathing, steady and strong, anchoring me to something real.
Toaster finds us moments later, weaving into our two-person cocoon.
My family.
A life I want more than anything.
Then, as the minutes stretch and the light drains from the room, Annie begins to sing.
Holy doves and marble arches.
Kings and thrones and beauty and moonlight.
Secret chords.
