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“I liked him because he pushed you to see what everyone else saw in you. I liked the confidence he brought out in you, the way he took what was important to you and made it important to him. And Ireallylike the way he told you—no,showedyou—that you were worthy of love.”
I liked all those things about him too. In fact, I loved them.
He stands, smacking his head on the bottom edge of the overhead cabinet. This RV is fine for me, but it’s not really suitable for men of his stature. I try to contain my snicker while he rubs at his sore spot. “I like him a helluva lot more than that dickhead Dean.”
“Stop,” I warn.
He rolls his eyes. And he sure as hell doesn’t stop as requested. “That Dean fucker used you, cheated on you, treated you like shit, and made you feel less-than. But hey…” His shoulders lift with a shrug. “If you can forgive him, maybe Holden will forgive you.”
“It’s not the same,” I’m too quick to answer.
“No?” He shoves his hands deep in his pockets and raises a single eyebrow. “Then my question remains… whynowis this puzzle so important to you?”
I pause a beat, contemplating how much he needs to know. “He asked if I’d ever completed it,” I mumble, my entire body deflating. It feels pathetic to say the words out loud—as if Holden has the power to control so much of me with that one interaction.
“And…?”
“And what?”
“Have you?”
I crane my neck to look up atThe Man Who Saved Us. “No.”
Zeke contemplates this a moment. “Hmm.”
“Hmm?” I repeat, annoyance mixed with confusion filling my insides. “What doeshmmmean?”
His smile is slow.Knowing. “Go do your puzzle,” he says, ruffling my hair as he moves past me. “Make sure you take breaks. Eat. Sleep.” He opens the door, bringing sunlight into the small space. “Text me if you need anything.”
I mock-salute him. “Yes, sir.”
* * *
For the next three days, I live and breathe and drown in puzzle pieces. I inspect, sort, place. Over and over. Again and again. I temper my frustrations and bask in any minor victories just to stay sane. I eat when Zeke forces me to, sleep when I can no longer keep my eyes open. I don’t sleep long—a couple of hours at most. And when I wake, I go right back to it.
Twenty-three years I’ve existed in this fucked-up world, and I’ve never, ever, been so determined.
I spend minutes, maybe even hours, doing nothing but scanning the unused pile, watching it lessen at glacial speed—another tiny victory.
I’ve never been high in my life, but that’s what it feels like when I get to the last dozen pieces. The rush of adrenaline is intoxicating—as if I’m about to open up the gates of enlightenment, and behind those golden gates is nothing but pure tranquility. Then, finally, I get down to five pieces. To four. To three. To two…
And that paradise, that ecstasy I was climbing toward dies in my chest, takes my breath hostage. My vision blurs. My mind goes numb. My body aches with fatigue. Everything inside me weakens, and I feel like I’m sitting out on Dean’s balcony again, and I’ve forgotten what I’m fighting for. “No,” I whisper, staring at the incomplete image. Panic kicks at my ribs, right over my heart, kick-starting my pulse again. “No, no, no.”
I stand for the first time in hours and search. Everywhere. Anywhere. Below the table. On the seat. On the bed. Between the covers. In the trash. I go through every item of clothing, searching through pockets and creases.
Nothing.
The cool night air hits my nostrils as I step foot outside the RV for the first time in days, and I march on unsteady legs into the diner, stopping only inches away from Zeke. “I need to get into the safe!”
Zeke’s slow to turn his head and motion with his eyes toward the customers whose order he’d been taking—as if they’re more important than my existential crisis.
“It’s missing a piece!”
His tone is calm, even. “Give me a minute, Jameson.”
Oh great. He’s pulling out theJamesonlike the disappointed father figure he is to me.
I cross my arms, shrink into myself. I may have gone mad in three days. Isolation is a form of torture. So is neglect. So is abuse. Andhello, random childhood trauma. Thanks for showing up unannounced… now fuck off.“Sorry,” I mumble, taking a step back.
