by Enders, KC
“Lee, my flight’s boarding. I’ve got to let you go. Just … don’t expect me to come into work tomorrow. I have something I have to do.” There’s no doubt in my mind that she can hear the smile in my voice. The stress and strain melting off of my shoulders.
“I’ll see you in a couple of days. Fly safe.” She ends the call.
For the first time in two years, I feel good. Really, honestly good.
I jog the last few yards to the gate, and the attendant smiles broadly as I step up and scan my boarding pass.
“Enjoy your flight, Mr. Kent.”
I thank her and walk down the jetway, pulling the strap of my bag over my head, a line of wrinkles creasing my shirt across my chest.
My flight is not at all full, and a little over halfway back, there’s a completely empty row. Not a soul on either side of the aisle and plenty of space overhead for my bag. I pull my noise-canceling headphones from my bag, stow the bag above my seat, and settle in by the window.
While I still have a hot minute, I tap out a text to Chloe. I doubt she’s available, but I want her to know I’m thinking of her.
Miles: I’ll be home tonight.
I fasten my seat belt and slide my big headphones over my ears, the sounds of the announcements fading away to nothing. I scroll through my playlist, selecting one that I use for relaxation, meditation, whatever it’s called. I’m about to switch to Airplane mode when a reply pops up on my screen.
Chloe: I can’t wait to see you.
A stupid big smile stretches across my face. I type out a quick I love you, and my thumb hovers over the Send button. Should I? Should I wait?
The flight attendant stops in the aisle next to my row.
I pull back one side of my headphones, so I don’t speak too loudly. “Got it. Airplane mode.” I tap the icon on the screen and turn it for her to see.
And then I close my eyes, allowing the peaceful feeling of a job well done, my task complete, to wash over me. The plane propels forward down the runway, pushing me deep into my seat, and California drops away.
* * *
The quiet shift and collective waking of the passengers on the plane pull me out of the sleep of the dead.
“Sir, we’re on our final approach to Norfolk. I need you to face forward and fasten your seat belt, please,” the attendant says softly.
With slow, stiff movements, I drag my leg off the seat next to me and turn myself in the seat. My knees are wedged into the back of the seat in front of me, my clothes are a wrinkled mess, and I want a toothbrush more than anything. But I feel amazing. On top of the world. Finally at peace.
I stretch my arms over my head, vertebrae shifting and popping. The only tension sitting in my neck and shoulders is from sleeping in a funky position, and even that’s not bad. On missions, I caught Zs in less comfortable places for sure.
The attendant comes through the cabin again, her bag out, collecting trash. I slept through the entire flight. A full seven hours.
The only other time that happens is when I’m wrapped around Chloe, her tucked into my chest and my arm locked securely around her waist. There’s no soft, sleepy wake-up though. She tends to jump from the bed, panicked and throwing clothes at me as she pulls on whatever she’s got close. Then, she ushers me down the hall, still trying to keep our sleepovers from Jake.
I wanted to laugh the first time she shoved me into the guest room across the hall from Jake’s room, intent on hiding the fact that I’d spent the night. Even bleary-eyed with sleep, stumbling to the bathroom, Jake noticed me and that the guest bed hadn’t been slept in. He even backed up a couple steps and rubbed his eyes, taking in the perfectly placed mountain of throw pillows.
The kid is way smarter than Chloe wants to admit. Knew all the mechanics of sex when I finally bit the bullet and took him out to have the talk. Someone had to make sure he knew what was going on, and Chloe flat-out told me she was ostriching hard on that one—head in the sand in full avoidance mode.
But he knew. Knew about girls and sure as hell knew that I hadn’t crawled sleepily into the guest room after staying up late to finish a movie, like Chloe had told him. Her stuttering and nerves alone would have clued him in if he needed the extra push.
The whine of the engines shifts, the captain mumbles his unintelligible spiel through the speakers, and then the tires squeal against the tarmac.
I’m home.
My mind races with all the things I want to say, all the things I want to do. I slide to the aisle seat, headphones in hand, my thumb tapping against the hard plastic. As soon as the plane is at the gate, I’m up and out of my seat snagging my bag. Headphones tucked away, I throw the strap of my duffel across my chest and wrap an arm around it, holding it close.
I nod to the attendants, thank the captain, and hit the ground, moving out with a purpose. It’s on the shuttle halfway to long-term parking before I remember to take my phone off Airplane mode. I bounce the black plastic case against my thigh, debating on giving Chloe a heads-up on my plans for her tonight, to see if I need to pick anything up on my way over.
Still weighing the pros and cons, I step out of the shuttle and make the short walk to my truck—not Maggie. She’s not one I’d leave unattended in the airport parking lot for a week. I throw my bag in the backseat and climb behind the wheel, rolling the windows down to let the cool night air in. My phone connects to Bluetooth and immediately rings with a call.
“Ryan? What’s going on?” I pull through the toll lane and swipe my card to pay for parking.
In no way could I ever suspect, let alone prepare for, what’s about to hit me.
“Miles, I don’t know how to tell you this. There aren’t words to express how sorry—”
Training takes over, pushing emotion aside, and I steer my vehicle to the shoulder and hit the hazard lights. Whatever Ryan needs to tell me, I need to focus. “What happened?” I demand, voice steady and low.
Ryan hesitates and stutters, something I’ve never heard the man do in all the time I’ve known him. “Aly … the staff, they …”
“Ryan, spit it out. Tell me what happened.”
I glance at the clock on my dash, the numbers glowing against the faded light of streetlamps filtering into the cab. It’s about dinnertime in California. Aly should be settling in at her new long-term-care facility. I’m sure the stress of the past week, the disruption to her routine, the change in her environment have been difficult for her.
“She’s gone. The staff went into her room to get her for dinner, and she was unresponsive. She—”
My heart slams in my chest. “She what?”
“She took her life,” he says, the words barely audible above the rushing of blood through my ears.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I yell. “How? How the fuck does a gravely ill, fragile fucking person on suicide watch complete that fucking task?”
“She left a letter for you.”
“Fuck that, I don’t want it.”
“Hold on,” Ryan says, the sounds of papers shifting and the squeak of an office chair filter through the phone.
“After everything I did, everything we worked for to keep her safe, out of prison, to get her the help she needed, she fucking killed herself. She fucking … What? Took the easy way out?” Nothing about this is easy.
He forges ahead, reading her final words to me, “ ‘I’m so sorry. Not being in my right mind at the time is no excuse for what I did. I took the life we created. Killed our baby. I can’t live with myself. I can’t live with what I did to us. Please, Miles, if you ever loved me, let me go. Just let me go.’ ”
“Ryan—”
“She was sick, Miles. Her judgment was so warped that there was no sense of reality. So broken that she couldn’t process right from wrong, didn’t get the consequences of her actions.”
“That’s why I fought so hard. That’s why I did everything I could to absolutely do right by her, to make sure she was safe, that she got treatment instead of j
ust being locked away for the rest of her life—or worse, released back into the world where she could hurt someone again. And, I still failed. Not even my best was good enough.”
“I assure you, there will be a full investigation into this. We will find where the breakdown was, and the responsible person will be held accountable.” Conviction rings through Ryan’s words.
His speech is lovely. Award-winning. But the fact is, it doesn’t even matter.
What was it I said to Mark about this? That I thought there was some lesson I was supposed to learn from this? I don’t see a lesson. There is nothing to indicate that education, advancement, understanding, or adaptation is happening in any way from this shit.
The only thing getting hammered into me—yet again—is that I don’t deserve the privilege of caring for others.
My heart burst with pride the day I held my daughter in my arms, thrilled that she had come a little early, as eager to meet me as I was to meet her before my team’s next mission launched.
My heart seized when the coppery tinge of blood slapped me into a new reality as I stepped through the door to find Aly catatonic, clutching a bloody butcher knife.
My heart was ripped to shreds when, at the end of the blood trail, I saw my baby girl, lifeless in her bassinet.
Now, all that’s left is anger.
“I’ve got to go, Ryan. Thank you for everything you’ve done to try and help. I appreciate it. I’m sure Aly’s family appreciates it.”
“I’ll let you know what they uncover. Miles, I’m so sorry.” And he is. It’s evident, but I just can’t do this anymore.
“Thanks. I’ll talk to you later.” I put my truck in gear and slam on the gas, throwing my phone across the cab. It sails through the open window, bouncing before the wheels of a semi send it to its grave.
I drive straight to my apartment. Leaving my bag up in the truck, I go inside. It’s dark, and the air is stale. I don’t bother with any lights. I go directly to my liquor cabinet and turn a full bottle of whiskey upright. The burn is a welcome punishment as I swallow down gulp after gulp.
By the time the whiskey is nothing but a dribble of backwash in the bottom of the bottle, my heart is finally numb.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chloe
Sunlight slashes bright across my eyes. But it’s the tongue on my neck that really pulls me from sleep. Unfortunately, the tongue is attached to seventy pounds of hunting dog instead of the man I fell asleep waiting for. I lift one hand, shielding my eyes until I can adjust to the light intrusion, and wrap the other around Bronson’s head. Sometimes, it’s easier to stop the assault by pulling him in closer than by pushing him away.
The scrape of a spoon against a bowl and the slurp of milk are clear indicators that I’m not alone.
“Why’d you sleep on the couch?” Jake asks around a mouthful of cereal.
“Why are you sitting in the cozy chair with a bowl full of milk about to spill?” I push myself up to sitting and rub the sleep from my eyes. Sure that I’m sporting a stellar smudge of mascara, I pull the collar of my shirt up and swipe underneath. Lord, I feel like I got hit with a freight train.
I check the time on my phone and see there’s nothing from Miles. Not a message. Not a missed call. Nothing. What I do see is that my alarm didn’t go off, and if I don’t get my ass in gear, I’m going to be late for work.
“When you’re done, make sure you rinse out your bowl and put it in the dishwasher.”
I drag myself upstairs, tying my hair back as I go, and take a quick shower. It helps but not nearly enough. After a swipe of makeup with sound appreciation for the fact that curly hair can make for the cutest updo without a whole lot of effort, I dress casual and comfy. Perfect for a Friday and an end-of-section review day at school.
“Did you feed the dog?” I ask as I hop off the stairs and round the corner.
Jake is standing at the back door, dressed for school, his backpack on the kitchen table and a cup of coffee ready for me in my favorite to-go cup. “Yep. And he pooped.”
Bronson proudly trots back in and goes straight to the end of the couch, where he spends the bulk of his day while we’re gone.
“Thanks.”
I’m in awe. Jake is such a different kid from the one who fought the move down here. Not different so much as better. Back to the one I knew was in there.
“I didn’t know what you wanted for breakfast, so I just made you coffee,” he says, his brows lowered in concern. “Does it taste right?”
Expecting a foul version of coffee, I gingerly take a sip. And another. I’m nothing short of pleasantly surprised. “It’s perfect. When did you learn to make coffee?” I ask. I pull a protein bar from the pantry and drop it in my bag for later.
“Miles showed me. He said it was part of the rules of manliness—to know how to make a good cup of coffee.” Without another word, Jake checks the lock on the back door and throws his backpack over his shoulder.
And when he walks to the door, holding it open for me to pass through first, I have to admit, I. Am. Shook.
Bits and pieces of this elusive list have been discussed in my presence, but I’m sure I don’t know nearly enough about it.
We climb into the car, and I set off to drop Jake off at school.
On the way to Cox High, I call Miles. His voice mail picks up immediately. “Hey, I crashed on the couch last night. Hope I didn’t miss you. I kind of thought you were coming straight over from the airport. I’m pulling into school, so I’ll talk to you later.” I hesitate, catching myself before love you trips off my tongue. “Bye.”
Maybe I should be shocked by the realization that the thought was so natural. That the feeling of loving Miles doesn’t scare me the way I thought it would. I didn’t expect it to happen again. I thought Dallas was my one and only, that love like that didn’t happen twice in a lifetime. Once was a privilege. Twice is a damn gift.
* * *
Each time I text Miles, my phone shows the message as Sent, never switching to Read or even Delivered. I’m sure he’s drained after from whatever dragged him to California. He was dreading the trip.
To get out faster at the end of the day, I have my last class flip chairs and clean the whiteboards, so we can all bolt for freedom together when the bell rings. I should have taken my time. The line of cars waiting to get out of the school parking lot is ridiculous.
Music blares, and brakes squeal as more than one car has to stop short because somebody wasn’t paying attention the way they needed to. I should probably be scared, surrounded by new drivers who are more eager to leave school and start their weekend than usual. The semester is winding down, and the sun is shining. It’s a perfect day to be young and dumb.
Except it’s not. Worry niggles at the back of my brain. I just don’t understand where Miles is. If his flight had been delayed, he would’ve called. Even if he had gotten tied up in a meeting, he would’ve sent a quick message. This complete and utter lack of anything isn’t like him.
I bypass the turn for Jake’s school and go straight to Miles’s apartment. Both of his trucks are there, but as I park next to Maggie, I realize I’ve never been here with him. I’ve come to the parking lot to swap one truck for the other, but I don’t have any idea which apartment is his.
When my call is pushed straight to voice mail again, I hesitate for only a heartbeat and call Natalie.
“Hey, you,” she trills, drawing each word out like she’s expecting some juicy news.
I hope she’s got some news instead. “Nat, have you seen Miles today? He messaged me yesterday that he’d be home last night, and I can’t seem to get ahold of him.” I chew on my thumbnail while watching the open stairwell closest to where his trucks are parked. Inwardly, I shudder, knowing I sound like a clingy, insecure girlfriend. Is that what I am? My stomach rolls at the thought that I’ve misread what we have. I don’t think I have.
“He called before his flight left yesterday and debriefed me. But I don’t expec
t to see him in the office until next week. He told me he had something to take care of. I kind of assumed …” Her sentence trails off, but I think I know where she was headed because I’m pretty sure I assumed the same thing. “Don’t worry, Chloe. He probably crashed hard from the adrenaline dump. They do that,” she adds.
And I do know that. It was frustrating and hard as hell to deal with it when Dallas did that. And trying to explain to a toddler, who was equal parts excited and scared about his daddy being home … I don’t even want to think about it.
“Yeah, you’re right,” I mumble. A shift in the blinds on a second-story window draws my attention, but the movement is so quick, so slight, that I’m not convinced I actually saw it. “His phone is just going straight to voice mail, not ringing at all.”
Silence can sometimes be deafening, and Natalie’s is screaming into the void.
I nod, though she certainly can’t see me. “Okay, well, thanks. I guess … I’ll talk to you later.”
Natalie and I have become good friends. But she’s known Miles longer; she works with him every day, poring over data and statistics. Making mission plans, extraction plans. The kind of work that requires a team to be tight and trust to be absolute.
“Chloe—”
If she knows something, there’s no doubt where her loyalty lies.
“Gotta run.” I disconnect and send a message to Miles.
Chloe: Missed you today. I’m going to order Chinese for dinner if you want to come over.
I glance up at the window where I thought I saw movement, but there’s nothing. Not even the hint of a shadow.
* * *
Rock, Paper, Scissors for the extra egg roll was probably a huge mistake last night. Or maybe the General Tso’s chicken was a bad idea. Either way, dinner didn’t sit well with me, and I feel icky. Because it certainly can’t be nerves over going to the last rugby game of the season.