Oh, please, let him be okay. He cannot be gone. He is
the center of my universe.
An involuntary sob escapes my throat, and I clutch my
hand to my mouth. No. I must be strong.
José is suddenly at my side, or has he been there a
while? I ha一ve no idea.
“Do you want to call your mom or dad?” he asks
gently.
No! I shake my head and clutch José’s hand. I cannot
speak, I know I will dissolve if I do, but the warmth and
gentle squeeze of his hand offers me no solace.
Oh, Mom. My lip trembles at the thought of my
mother. Should I call her? No. I couldn’t deal with her
reaction. Maybe Ray, he wouldn’t get emotional—he
never gets emotional, not even when the Mariners lose.
Grace rises to join the boys, distracting me. That must
be the longest she’s sat still. Mia comes to sit beside me
too and grabs my other hand.
“He will come back,” she says, her voice initially
determined but cracking on the last word. Her eyes are
wide and red-rimmed, her face pale and pinched from lack
of sleep.
I gaze up at Ethan, who is watching Mia and Elliot,
who has his arms around Grace. I glance at the clock. It’s
after eleven, heading toward midnight. Damn time! With
after eleven, heading toward midnight. Damn time! With
each passing hour, the clawing emptiness expands,
consuming me, choking me. I know deep down inside I
am preparing myself, preparing myself for the worst. I
close my eyes and offer up another silent prayer, clasping
both Mia and José’s hands.
Opening them again, I stare into the flames once more.
I can see his shy smile—my fa一vorite of all his expressions,
a glimpse of the real Christian, my real Christian. He is so
many people: control freak, CEO, stalker, sex god, Dom
—and at the same time—such a boy with his toys. I smile.
His car, his boat, his plane . . . Charlie Tango . . . no . . .
no . . . my lost boy, truly lost right now. My smile fades
and pain lances through me. I remember him in the
shower, wiping away the lipstick marks.
“I’m nothing, Anastasia. I’m a husk of a man.
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