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Kellan shuffled closer, joining the comfort fest with awkward pats on her shoulder. She almost shrieked out loud. They were taking the wrong side! Pushing their big, solacing shoulders at the wrong damn person! But even starting to envision their big dudes’ version of “Kleenex and Häagen-Dazs”, applied in force to her John, sent a high, hysterical giggle up her throat.
“We know it’s hard to believe,” Tait went on, “but you need to believe us. Under the hard-ass dragon, there really is a great guy with a huge heart and an incredible spirit.”
“What he said.” Kellan added a few more pats in emphasis. “Because I sure as hell can’t add anything to it.”
“We’d have you here all night if we started on the stories.” Though Tait’s step back was steady, his statement ended on a tremor. His tawny eyes gleamed with a discernible sheen. “I’d be a Skid Row bum with a shriveled liver right now if not for him.” He visibly swallowed. “Still mourning a hell of a lot of ghosts. But Franzen—John—he gave me back my life.”
“And because of that, gave me back my brother.” Kellan moved over, clapping his friend’s shoulder.
Tait’s nostrils flared. The soldier was so far out of his wise-cracking, surfer god comfort zone, it was almost cute. “So we hope you can understand…” he finally murmured. “We’re not here to ram anything down your throat. We just hope to help you understand…”
“He’s worth it,” Kellan filled in. “Really worth it. Trust us.”
Well.
That was that.
The rest of her soul’s kindling, fed by a rush of remorse, went up in three seconds.
I dreamed a dream in times gone by…
There was no point in fighting it.
When hope was high and life worth living…
No point in pretending she wouldn’t live another day without wanting him. Without remembering him.
He slept a summer by my side…
Without needing him.
He filled my days with endless wonder…
Her shoulders shuddered. Her throat constricted. The agony set in. The sobs spilled out.
But then…
For one perfect, crashing moment…
The impossible.
She wasn’t just the vessel for the emotion anymore. She was it. Blinded, obliterated, consumed. The fire swelled and pushed and screamed and stretched and filled, until even her grief became the exact miracle she was seeking.
She disappeared.
“Shit. Mrs. Rhodes…errr, Madame Vice President…are you—”
“Damn. I knew that margarita was too hefty.”
“Maybe you should get Franz.”
“No.” She thrust her brain back into her body. Even made it compel her arm up, a visual executive order. See John? I was listening.
Brand-new heartache found fresh kindling. How it was possible, she had no idea, but managed to grit back the breakdown long enough to speak again.
“C-can I just be alone now?”
A long moment went by. She glanced up long enough to watch the guys swap unsure glances. Kellan was the first to capitulate, sending his friend an erudite nod with one arched, knowing brow—
