After two years of searching, I found Marie only to lose her anyway. And in the same cruel breath, I learned Sofie was already gone.
My chest constricts as I drag in a shaky breath that does absolutely nothing.
The theater has changed as rescue crew members move between survivors; medics push equipment across the stage and voices resonate through the building.
But they all sound distant.
Muted.
As though I’m underwater.
Then I feel him before I see him.
Tyler.
His presence settles against the edges of my awareness.
I lift my head.
He’s standing several feet away.
Watching me as his face is tight with grief, anger and helplessness.
But he doesn’t move toward me, not yet.
He knows me too well for that.
He knows if he touches me right now, whatever fragile control I’m clinging to will shatter completely.
So, he stays where he is.
Giving me space and a choice.
The kind only someone who loves me would know to give.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
My throat burns and my eyes sting.
I stare at the blood covering my hands.
At the evidence of everything we’ve lost.
Then I look back at him.
And the moment our eyes meet, something inside me comes undone.
The same grief I’m drowning in is written all over his face.
And somehow that hurts even more.
Because I know he’s grieving Marie and Sofie too.
For two years, Tyler has asked me the same question.
Every mission. Every lead. Every body. Every dead end.
Every time we stood over another monster and watched the life leave their eyes.
