Page 87 of Dandelions and Smoke

As the end of the night draws near, the tinge of loneliness starts to creep in again, the feeling that a part of me is missing. Taking a second to myself and unable to put it off any longer, I dissolve into the back of the room and check my phone. Bracing, I open Tris and Ainsley’s group chat message to find a photo of the two of them at the cafe sent earlier today.

The first message reads, One Angel short. The next followed seconds later: Get your ass back home. I don’t even have to look at the names to know who sent which message. A laugh bubbles up, but it catches in my throat as emotion tightens around it.

Unable to find the words to say, I send them a group picture taken of everyone around Lettie. Before hitting the lock button and returning my phone to my pocket, a new message from Chief comes through, popping up on my screen without even having to open it.

Garre-Bear:

I miss you.

It’s three little words, but they’re enough to make me wonder if I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life. I’m about to text him back when another message pops up.

It’s a picture of him and Scout.

My thumb hovers over the screen, every thought in my head screeching to a stop before crashing into each other all at once. I’ve always thought ‘torn in two’ is just one of those dramatic sayings people throw around because it sounds poetic. I never imagined it could be real.

But this is real.

It feels like I’m being pulled in two opposite directions, torn between the part of me begging to stay and the part screaming at me to go home, unsure which ache hurts more.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t think.

I can’t even remember what I was going to text him because all I see is that beautiful picture and everything it means.

He’s happy. He has his son. If I go home, he might lose that.

I can’t let that happen. A child needs their father.

But what about what I need? The little voice in the back of my mind whispers loud enough to pull me once more the other way toward home, toward him.

My heart doesn’t know which one to choose, and my brain won’t stop trying to choose all of them at once.

“Deep breaths, hermana pequeña,” Sammy says quietly, coming out of nowhere and handing me a water that I take gratefully. “If you can’t fix it today, save it for tomorrow.”

Finishing off the bottle, I do what he says and take a deep breath. Unfortunately, where Sammy and I usually go head-to-head with the world’s best banter, right now I can’t find it in me to pretend.

“There’s always tomorrow, Samuels,” I say somberly, my shoulders dropping.

Like he’s somehow haunted by my statement, his expression turns more serious than I’ve ever given him credit for, before his lips twitch up to the side, making me wonder if I imagined it.

“Not always.” He takes a long swig of his drink before placing it on the table and grinning at me like a total goofball as the song changes. “But we do have right now, and right now, I’m going to teach you the Flamenco.”

Putting my phone away along with the rest of my worries, a slow smile forms on my face as Sammy’s wide grin tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing. I slide my hand into his, grateful for the distraction, and surrounded by our friends, we dance the rest of the night away.

NINETEEN

CHIEF

After spending the morning in my office, banging my head while going over more paperwork and signing off on the department’s budgets, I can’t take it. My jaw ticks back and forth, and to say I’m feeling on edge is an understatement.

My knuckles thrum against the desk as I force myself to stay on track, but it’s no use. If I’m asked one more time if I’ve heard from Rory, I’m going to lose my mind. Every few minutes, my hand reaches for the phone to make sure I haven’t missed her, or I swear I hear it ring, but the screen is blank. I realize there’s only so much staring at my phone, waiting for her to call or text me back, that I can do, and I’ve definitely hit that limit, but I can’t help myself.

Something isn’t right.

The silence, the time in between our conversations, has increased with every interaction, and now, where I was hearing from her at least every other day, then every three, I haven’t heard from her since before the baby shower she threw on Sunday.

That’s five days.