Uncharted(49)

“Don’t.” My head shakes swiftly. “Don’t say anything kind. I can’t bear it.”

He’s silent for a long moment. “Are you ready?”

My brows lift.

“To say goodbye.”

I suck in a sharp gulp of air. “No. But I’ll never be, so we might as well get it over with now.”

His gaze is searching. “Do you want to say something?”

“I don’t really believe in anything specific,” I whisper. “I don’t know if Ian did, either. We didn’t talk about religion.”

“I don’t think it matters,” Beck murmurs. “Whatever words you choose… it’s the meaning behind them that carries true weight.”

I stare at the patch of disrupted earth, thinking about what Ian would want me to say if he were here. Nothing sounds right inside my head. Probably because saying goodbye to him feels so utterly wrong. In the end, I simply speak from the heart and hope it’s enough.

“I knew the moment we met that you’d be a friend for life,” I murmur. “I just didn’t realize that life would be cut so short. I wish I had words eloquent enough to convey how much I’ll miss your bad jokes and constant smiles. I wish you were here to make fun of me one more time. But I know you had to go.” My voice breaks. “I’ll miss you so much, Ian. I hope, wherever you are, you’re at peace now. If there is a heaven up above, I’m certain you’re already in it, making the angels laugh.”

I close my eyes, feeling the first true sunbeams of the day break over the horizon and bask me in warmth. I might not be totally sold on the existence of a higher power or an afterlife… but in my heart, I’d like to believe those rays of light are Ian, shining down on me.

One final farewell.

Beck clears his throat. “Ian. I hope you’re somewhere with plenty of steak, endless margaritas, and zero pain.” His tone turns somber. “You were a better man than I’ll ever be. You brought so much heart to this place. You faced the end with the kind of courage I’ve only ever seen from soldiers on a battlefield. You were a fighter. A warrior, fearless right till the end. It won’t be easy, filling the shoes you’ve left behind.” He pauses. “Of course, if you were here, you’d say the shoe, Beck, singular and we’d all have a good laugh.”

A snort-sob catches in my throat. “You’re right. He totally would say that.”

“He was one of a kind.”

I nod, unable to speak.

“It won’t be the same here without him.”

My eyes move to Beck’s face, still streaked with dirt from digging Ian’s grave. He looks impossibly young in the weak morning light. More boy than man, shaken and sad. I’m stunned to see tears glossing over his eyes.

Beck Underwood, stone pillar of masculinity, unshakable mountain of a man… crying.

I dig my fingernails into my palms, trying to get myself under control, but it’s no use. I’ve always seen Beck as indestructible; watching him begin to unravel is simply too much to bear. My own seams begin to come apart.

“Violet.”

It’s a plea and a promise. A benediction and a burning wish. We move at the same time. I think we both need it desperately — the connection of skin against skin. The heat of his firm chest seeps into me like a drug. After this seemingly unending ordeal, I crave contact like a junkie in need of her fix. It’s the only reminder that I’m still alive, that I haven’t disappeared into thin air never to be seen again, a balloon without a string.

His arms loop behind my shoulders, grounding me unquestionably in reality. I’m crushed so tight to his chest it’s difficult to draw breath, but I don’t mind because that feeling — the one that I might float away — begins to dissipate as soon as my arms wind around his back.

You’re still here.

You matter.

I’ve got you.

I cling to him as he buries his face in my hair. After a moment, I feel the distinct smattering of his tears against the strands near the crown of my head. My own eyes leak onto the bare skin of his chest, turning the dirt and dust clinging there to a muddy paste. I can feel it smearing against my cheeks, dripping down my neck in rivulets, but I don’t care. I’m already filthy after two weeks without a proper bath. In this instant nothing in the world, especially not a bit of dirt, could convince me to shift out of Beck’s embrace.

We stand together on the cliff for a small eternity, until the sun has ascended far past the water’s edge. The tears have stopped, but still we cling. I wonder if he’s as terrified to let go as I am.

What if we never touch again?

What if we can’t ever stop?

Both alternatives shake me to my core.

We both know things are going to change, now that Ian’s gone… whether we want them to or not. There will be no more third party to break the tension with quick quips, no buffer zone between the two opposing hurricanes raging within Beck and me, on an indisputable collision course for a natural disaster.

Change is coming. I can feel it in my bones, sense it in the air. I’m just not sure if it will be for better or worse.

Intertwined, we lend each other strength until I feel my legs begin to tremble. It’s been weeks since I’ve properly slept; longer since I’ve eaten a full meal. Without Ian here, there’s no longer a need to keep up the illusion of composure I’ve been maintaining for so long. My body officially hits its breaking point when my knees buckle completely.