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He’d been done for over a week.
“Mitchell...“ I said, unsure of what to say.
He knew exactly what I was thinking. “I have to go anyway, Winona. I’ve always had to go.”
“I’m happy for you, congratulations.”
He nodded, but he didn’t look proud of himself in the least. He looked more in pain than he did that day when he dropped himself in the pool.
“Is there something else?” I asked, my heart twisting hard.
He looked at me intently, and suddenly, I didn’t want to know. It didn’t matter—he was going, I was staying, that’s all there was to it.
So I smiled, and took his hand. “It’s okay, Mitch,” I said softly. “We’ve got the whole night ahead of us.”
He laughed, with no humor, his dark green eyes seeming to roll like thunder. “And tomorrow’s a million years away.”
Chapter 8
Mitchell
I’d gotten the text during dinner.
SAL: Zynstyr needs to see you in person tomorrow. We’ve held them off for weeks, but they’re serious this time. Let me know how you’d like to proceed.
This time, tomorrow wasn’t a million miles away. This time, tomorrow was a week shorter than we’d had, and we’d hardly had any time to begin with.
Thank God for the spectacle of Arthit and the chopper. And thank God for Winona herself and her soft vanilla scent; her smooth skin; her Newfoundland lilt I could listen to for hours. When we were making love, I didn’t have to think about it.
But now, as we lay on the couch catching our breath, the text came back like a grenade.
“Mitch?” She looked up at me, her eyes looking darker than they had before. She wasn’t smiling now. It was like the answer to that question was critical to know right this moment. Did she know? Could she sense what was going on?
“I’m gut-foundered,” Winona said as she lay splayed across me, our chests still heaving. “Aren’t you?”
Relief shot through me, at least for a few seconds.
“Yeah.” I smiled at her, my heart suddenly pinching. “I could eat.”
I wasn’t hungry at all. But all I wanted to do was make her happy. She was so beautiful to me right now, like this. It hurt me to look at her. But I didn’t need to look at her to name all the pieces of her. She had a scar that interrupted her left eyebrow. One tooth, slightly smaller than the rest. Hair that dried wild when she got out of the pool. And a smile that made my chest ache. She was passionate about everything she talked about, but especially about Heartbreaker Trades, and all things Newfoundland. She hummed while she brushed her hair, like a Disney princess, and she did this thing when she was reading where her tongue stuck out of her teeth. I’d known her for twelve days. Twelve days, seven hours, and maybe… thirty-five minutes. And that time had changed my whole fucking life.
And now it was all about to end.
She was quiet, and I think, somehow, she must have known. Earlier, when she texted me that she was coming over, I’d told her not to drive, that I’d get Anita to send a car for her. Then I met her just inside the gate. “I wanted a walk with you,” I’d told her as we crunched over increasingly thickening fallen leaves, back toward the house. There was a new chill in the damp soil-scented air. “We’ve never taken a walk together,” I said, holding her possessively against me.
“We’ve never done a lot of things together,” she’d said.
The logical thought attached to that sentence—that we never would—seemed to settle on us thicker than the chill.
Neither of us spoke again until we reached the front door, and then it was me, suddenly desperate. Knowing this would be the last time.
“I need you, Winona. I need you more than air.”
Then I’d buried my face between her legs, making her cry my name over and over, wishing I could bottle the sound.
Now, as we hunted around for our strewn clothes, I thought once again of the texts that had followed, when I’d asked Sal if they could wait. For the love of God, could they give us the week I’d been counting on? Leaning on, like crutches.
I don’t think so, Sal’s follow-up said. Zynstyr’s getting cold feet. Not all of them, but a few key players. They refuse to continue with the deal if you’re not there. They think you’re dead, Mitchell. They won’t take anything but proof of life. Real, in the flesh proof.
