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Though I don’t get along with Sharon, I let her move into my apartment—with her three children. Before they occupy my house, I pack my clothes and move out of my place. I’m all about helping her, but I don’t care to coexist with her. I’m not a fan of kids.
I’m currently living in one of the junior suites in the Merkel Hotel downtown while searching for a contract.
One of my contacts suggests a few sites where I can work without the middleman. I sign up for an underground forum that’s a lot like Reddit but for mercenaries. I find a list of jobs, benefits for veterans, and even technical support. And surprisingly, I find all the jobs that my other contacts mentioned without having to deal with them.
The extraction in Russia is a suicide mission. I don’t give it a second thought. The little prince is a brat. If I wanted to deal with children, I would stay home to help my sister with her brood.
The Zamudio job is in Panama. It sounds promising. It’s a three-to-twelve-month contract. The pay is a lot better than what Bennett Crawford offered me. I could use it to finance my sister’s divorce lawyer. I can’t believe my father didn’t give her a fucking trust—because she’s a woman—nor that he’s willing to pay for her current expenses or legal issues.
If I was a better person, I would use my money, but after all, I’m an asshole, just like my father.
Zamudio provides the basic information about his adoptive son, Travis. He turned twenty only a few months ago and was in a freak accident that left him in a coma. I would love to learn more about the accident, but that’s all he shares on the post.
Travis woke up less than a month ago and needs help relearning everything—eating, walking, and even shitting. Well, he didn’t add the latter in the description, but it sounds like he might have a permanent brain injury.
I can help him for the next three to six months and then recommend a good long-term facility for the kid.
An hour after I send my résumé—with a fake name—Ricardo Zamudio and his doctor call me for an interview. They both agree I would be a good fit for Travis. Another great feature of that forum is that my employer can pay me without releasing my real name to Zamudio. Once I receive the twenty percent up front to work with them, I begin to plan my trip.
ChapterTwelve
Piper,
How are you doing, baby?
Are you taking care of yourself?
I don’t know how this afterlife works, but if I’m allowed to see you, I’ll be watching you—but not in a creepy, stalker way. I promise.
Don’t wallow for long, okay? If I were the one who lost you, I’d be devastated, but I also know you’d hate it if I stopped being myself because I missed you too much.
Remember, this isn’t the end of the world. We have plans, and it’s your job to make them happen.
I promise you, there’s a future after me, just as I can assure you that we’ll meet again—because we’re soulmates.
When we do, I want you to tell me that you lived an incredible life.
You might not see me, but I’ll find a way to be right beside you.
Do you know what this reminds me of?
That summer vacation when you were going to the private island, and I was going camping with your uncle and Seth.
Fuck, I can’t believe I’ve been avoiding my family since I was eight. Do you think they’ve noticed? I hope not. It’s not like I don’t love them, but my parents aren’t as fun as Seth’s parents. Once Kingston was old enough to take us on trips, our vacations were fun, and I spent more time with my brothers.
Can you remind my family that I loved them?
Back to this memory. I was fourteen. While my family was somewhere in Europe, I chose to camp with Seth, Beacon, his friends, and even my cousin Byron. Your uncle Mason and a couple of his friends were taking us on a two-week survival expedition.
Though I knew I would enjoy it, I wish I had gone with you to the island. Not that I would’ve asked my parents. They didn’t like us to be together when they weren’t in town. As soon as I turned twelve, their concern that I would do something stupid with you increased. What if I got you pregnant?
How could that have happened when we weren’t old enough or even dating?
We didn’t go steady until you turned fourteen. Not that I ever dated other people. I knew you were it for me since the first day we met.
My parents didn’t understand my relationship with you or my timelines. Dad gave me the sex talk at twelve, and after that, he repeated it constantly. He gave me condoms daily. I handed them to Myles and King, who were pretty active during high school.
My father didn’t want to understand that we wouldn’t have sex until we were mature enough—and I at least had my pilot license.
