Hard Beat(102)

I shove through the exterior doors to an empty courtyard. I must make it only a few yards away from the exit before I drop my bags without thought and fall to my knees as the emotion catches up to me and hits me like a sledgehammer to the heart.

My huge gulps for air turn into body-racking sobs as the tears that I thought had dried up come out in a temper tantrum of visible emotion. Shoulders heaving, head falling forward, and mind accepting that my reality has just changed forever and I didn’t get to have a f*cking goddamn say in it.

I was so worried about protecting her that it never once crossed my mind that she was protecting me. And the idea that I could have suspected any of it is ludicrous at best, but it doesn’t make the notion sting any less. Through blurred vision, I look at my hands and know that even though she’s gone, her hands will always hold my heart.

“I’m sorry, Beaux,” I sob out loud because I am so sorry, sorry I didn’t go back to her house that day. Maybe if I had, she would have confessed, never gone on this ill-fated mission, and would still be alive. And then of course the idea of the mission takes hold, and the images of the press briefing flash through my mind. The notion becomes a reality that somewhere in that twisting metal and demolished building was my once-in-a-lifetime.

I’m a man falling apart amid the hustle and bustle of life around me – the click of high heels, the ring of a cell phone, someone’s laughter – but time stopped for me in the devastating blink of an eye.





Chapter 30





S

omehow I make it back to the airport.

Make it to the one place I’ve always relied on to escape everything. To the one place that I knew would take me away after Stella died, back into the thrill of the pursuit, the adrenaline rush of being first to report a story. But right now as I stand before the departure board, how I got here is all a blur I don’t even recall because I was too busy keeping my shit together. I can’t remember ever feeling so lost in my life.

I just need to get on the plane, do my job, and then get back home and figure out the life that eight hours ago seemed crystal clear but now is a f*cking shattered mess of glass.

And then it dawns on me that I can’t get on the plane because deplaning means that I’m going to be rushing to and reporting on the story that took Beaux’s life. If I feel paralyzed now, seeing the devastation in person, knowing her blood has been spilled somewhere in the rubble, would make it more real than I can fathom.

Even if I could gather myself to do the report, use the numbness to get the story out before the journalistic fourth wall crumbles, I don’t want to. I can’t face it.

I’m done.

The buzz I’ve lived my life by is gone. I don’t feel a single zap of it, and the last time I did was telling Rylee that I was going to fight for what was mine. For Beaux. The inexplicable draw to the hard beat has died for me. I stare at the electronic boards, a man who finally found what was missing in his life only to lose it before he could fully recognize it. The destinations blur before my eyes, running together, and I have no idea where I’m going, what I’m doing, but there is one thing that is crystal clear.

It takes me a second to realize my cell is still turned off, that I was so fixated on getting to the meeting and then with the aftermath that I never turned it on. When I do, texts from Rafe come in a flurry, and I know that he’s found out somehow about Beaux’s death. As much as I don’t want to talk to him, don’t want to share my misery, I dial and wait for him to pick up.

“Jesus Christ, Tanner. I had no idea,” he answers. But his words aren’t enough for me. What did he have no idea about? That she was killed in the embassy bombing or that she was a spy?

“Did you know?” I grit the question out, needing to know more than ever if he knew about the setup, was in on it. When silence hangs on the line, my instinct tells me that he doesn’t. He’s not a good enough liar to play me that well, and if he was, he’s not going to tell me anyway. He remains silent for a moment. “Put Pauly on the story.”

“What… what’s going —”

“Pauly deserves it. Give him a shot to make the headline.”

“Talk to me, Tanner. What are you —”

“Thank you,” I say, cutting him off again, my eyes still trying to focus on the digitized cities on the screen in front of me. I don’t know where I’m going, but the only caveat is that there won’t be a desert. “This time it’s for real.”

“What is? What are you talking about?”

“I quit.”





Chapter 31





One week later


S

he’s so beautiful, it hurts sometimes to look at her.

I glance up from the bed to see Beaux standing at the edge of it, hair down, eyes on me, a soft smile on her face.

“Tanner,” she whispers as she sits down beside me. The mattress springs squeak, and we both laugh at the memory. She leans over, her hair tickles my face as it falls down to my chest, but I forget all about it the minute her lips brush mine. Her kiss tastes like her, like everything I’ve ever wanted, like forever.

I startle awake from the dream. Just like I do every morning, every night. Every time I close my eyes. And the vivid imagery of it and the way it leaves me feeling is so real, so tangible, that it takes me a minute to remember she’s gone.