“Tell me, Tom,” I beg, already feeling broken, already knowing the answer but needing to hear him say it out loud.
“She’s gone,” he chokes out, looking almost as destroyed as I feel.
It was supposed to be me.
It should have been me.
Present Day, April
“Sir.” The flight attendant approaches like she’s edging up on a wild animal. Given my appearance, I can understand. “Some of the passengers are afraid of dogs, and are requesting you muzzle yours for the duration of the flight.”
“That’s not happening,” I mumble under my breath.
“Sorry, sir? I didn’t catch that.” She looks nervous. I almost feel bad for her... almost. But after months of physical therapy, doctor appointments, and worst of all, a house that’ll never be home without Krystal, I’m fresh out of fucks to give.
I didn’t think I’d take Tom up on his offer to move in and start fresh, but right now, that and this dog, who’s somehow more depressed than I am, are the only things keeping me going. Some service, therapy dog, or whatever, she is. Ellie lifts her big, sad brown eyes at me. The same eyes she’s given me every day since I came home without Krystal. It’s like she misses her, too, and it guts me.
“Sir?”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I grunt out, tuning back into the sound of call bells, beverage carts, and the shuffling of passengers as they find their seats.
The flight attendant appears to relax and extends her hand toward me, attempting to hand me a muzzle. I look at it with a raised brow, then back to her.
“You misunderstand,” I snort. “You can let that passenger know my dog isn’t a threat. Putting a muzzle on her woulddirectly interferewith her trained tasks, which, according to DOTregulations, you’re not allowed to require unless she’s posing an actual danger. She’s not.”
I lean back, my jaw setting as my expression hardens.
“So, unless someone back there has suddenly become a federal safety expert, we’re skipping the unlawful accessories. If they’re that uncomfortable, they can switch seats. Hell, if they want to wear the muzzle, I’m all for it. But Ellie and I? We’re not going anywhere.”
The flight attendant blinks at me, muzzle dangling sadly from her hand.
“If that’s all, I’ll have a bag of pretzels.” Ellie’s ears perk up at the word pretzels. “Better make that two.”
She practically sprints away, and the rest of the passengers avoid eye contact for the rest of the flight, but honestly, I prefer it that way. People who stare too long always get caught, and once they’re caught, it’s like they feel obligated to ask what happened, like my scars are some kind of public property they’re entitled to an explanation for. I wasn’t much of a people person before the accident... but at least Krystal was there to help me tolerate them.
My hand rises on instinct, rubbing the ache in my chest I’ve learned to live with, the one tucked just under my robin tattoo. Ellie nudges her snout into my hand before dropping her head into my lap. Within minutes of my petting her, she’s out cold.
If only it were that easy for me.
I haven’t slept through the night once since the accident. Unless you count the nights they sedated me, which, honestly, at this point, is sounding like a damn good idea. It would make this five-and-a-half-hour flight go down a hell of a lot easier. Unfortunately, that’s not an option, so I shove my headphones in, turn on my playlist, and close my eyes. Hoping, praying, for even a few minutes of peace.
As usual, about thirty minutes in, my brain drags me right to the last place I want to be. At this point, I don’t know why I botherfighting it. Maybe I really am a masochist, punishing myself for being the one who’s still breathing.
I’m still so pissed at her for saving me instead of herself.
“She loved you more than anything, Levi... She’d want you to go on, to live, be happy.”
Her mother’s voice echoes in my skull.
What a joke.
Be happy.Right... Sure.
My mind swirls with memories of the funeral that play louder than the music blaring from my headphones. I could barely look at her parents that day, knowing they would never see their daughter again, and it’s all my fault. They don’t see it that way, of course. But that doesn’t change a damn thing for me. That’s the truth. I’m here, and she’s not, which means someoneupstairsreally screwed something up.
“God doesn’t make mistakes, Levi.”
Her voice plays in my head so clearly that it almost stops my breath. She had this annoying, and somehow incredible, ability to twist anything awful into something hopeful. She could turn a damn dumpster fire into a life lesson, always finding the light in the dark.
