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Epilogue
David pulls the Mercedes in front of Skylar's brick building, a black SUV of security right behind us. It's not a building I like much. The dilapidated outside, with its crumbling mortar and casual graffiti on the corners, reminds me too much of the kinds of places I grew up before finding some peace and stability at the Petersens' house. Places where I was crammed into bunkbeds a foot too short for my legs. Places where sometimes I'd get the harsh end of a belt if I cried too hard or chewed too loud. Places where sometimes the older kids would try to touch me in ways I knew, even as a little kid, were wrong. Places where I learned to defend myself against just about anything.
I'm not sure what I'm doing here. I take out the white paper, creased again and again, first from being kept inside her stepfather's pockets, then Miranda's hands, then stuck in my jacket for the last several hours. It looks so harmless, but it's basically a hand grenade, considering what it just did to my life. To my heart.
I stare at the building while I pull my tie loose and unbutton my shirt collar. My jacket is on the seat beside me. It's hot, even for Boston in July, even for one in the morning. Fifteen years ago, in this mood? I'd have been picking a fight in a bar, maybe already been kicked out. But right now, I'd like to be back at my apartment, go for a dive in the rooftop pool for the penthouse residents. I'd like to turn on SportsCenter and watch Red Sox highlights until I pass out on my uncomfortable couch. I'd like to throw back a bottle of bourbon and pretend this night never happened.
But instead I'm here, and I couldn't tell you why. I should be done for the night. I made my announcement to a roomful of onlookers, satisfying Kieran and Ray and Susan and everyone else who expects me to do great things. Scariest fucking thing I ever did. And I did it without the one person who doesn't expect me to be anything but myself, the one person who has only ever wanted me for just me. I thought of her warm green eyes, her kissable smile the entire fucking time. I felt like my insides were turning to dust.
Then I walked back to that same conference room where my heart had just been pulverized and informed my soon-to-be ex-wife that she'll be signing our divorce papers tomorrow, or else I'll file the charges myself against her, Maurice, and Jared for conspiracy and extortion. Thank God for Kieran and her phone, is all I can say about that.
And now I'm here. To do what, I don't know. But Skylar's my magnet, my True North. Every time I close my eyes, all I can see is her face, the pain etched across her delicate skin that shows so beautifully every emotion she has. I don't know if I can forgive her for what she's done-––every time I think of it, my chest practically caves in. But I can't just walk away. I don't know if I ever could.
"Getting out, sir?"
David has opened my door and smiles at me with a kind face––the kind of expression I've always hoped to see from Ray, and once upon a time, my own father, who is still rotting in prison.
I shove the paper back in my pocket and get out.
The door to the building is hanging ajar again. It's something I've been wanting Skylar to take up with her landlord for a while. I don't like the idea of her staying in an unsecured building, especially with everything up in the air about her dad's issues.
I push open the door and enter the building, but I hesitate. Maybe I should wait. Tensions are high, and my chest still feels like I can't breathe. It might be better if I wait until tomorrow, until I've taken out my pain and frustration on my trainer, until I can approach the situation with a clearer head. Things are always better in the morning.
But then I see it: the small leather pouch that looks completely familiar, lying at the bottom of the big, cracked stairwell. The hair on the back of my neck stands up as I realize who it belongs to. Skylar.
Slowly, I crouch down to pick it up. It's missing its wallet, and one side of the strap has been torn from its stitching. I turn toward the glass entrance and beckon my security manager, Craig. Craig is former military and also a former cop. He knows his shit, which is why I hired him. He also has about as much warmth as a refrigerator.
"Sir?" he asks as he strides into the lobby. He takes one look at the purse in my hands and starts scanning the area for the same things I am: signs of struggle.
My whole body turns cold as I find what I'm looking for: a streak of blood on one of the stained white tiles. Craig sees it too. Immediately, he presses the button on his earpiece.
"We've got a two-oh-seven Adam with signs of struggle."
I'm already bounding up the stairs, stumbling as I see the clear blasts in the plaster walls, a few empty shells lying on the floor.
Her apartment door is open, its lock clearly broken. Skylar's phone is sitting on her desk, which tells me one thing: she never actually made it inside.
"Cardinal's absent from the scene," Craig says behind me. "Clear two-oh-seven."
But I can barely hear him. Now I can't think of anything else. Not a baby that never was. Not the fact that I just became a politician.
All I can think is: I gotta find my girl.
To Be Continued...
