Page 133 of Fated

To find Aaron. Right now. To go. This very moment.

The quiet of the study crackles with suppressed, breath-held energy.

And then something catches my eye. An article I missed before, buried at the bottom of the page.

The last article on the screen.

The very last article.

Buried, shrouded, and hidden beneath all the records and accolades and life.

A chill creeps over me, down my arms, over my limbs, until even the center of me is numb.

I stare at the words, unable to make sense of them. But then they coalesce, the black letters coming together in an irrevocable sentence that cannot be undone. Can’t be unread.

He’s alive, I’d said.

He’s real.

He’s alive.

I touch the warm glow of the computer, feeling the vibration of my fingertips against the screen, trying to wipe away the words.

They stay.

And the breath that the world was holding—the breath I didn’t realize I was holding—it tears out of me in a pained, jagged exhale as I read?—

Aaron James McCormick, 33, World Record Holding Marathon Swimmer, Dead.

Dead and gone.

47

I clutchthe gold pocket watch in my hand. The metal sides dig painfully into my skin. I wind the watch, my breath tight as the gold second hand springs to life. The ticking lurches forward, jarring the timepiece out of its hibernation.

Four months.

I left Aaron for four months.

And now he’s gone.

It’s worse than that though. Worse than I ever could have imagined.

A numbness seeps through me, as if I’ve been left out in the ice and the snow and the cold has traveled into my bones and settled deep in my marrow.

I remember the night my dad died. Daniel called, and as soon as he spoke the words a wave of shock struck me and jarred me out of myself. The pain was too much. It was so much that I couldn’t feel it at all. It’s like when you touch a hot pan and you can’t decide whether it’s burning hot or icy cold. For days I was numb. Just a walking, talking human with blood pumping in my veins, a heart beating in my chest, and no way to let myself cry. No way to let myself fall apart.

The numbness held me like the deepest grip of winter.

The same happened when Joel told me he was married.

And the same happened when my mum left me, just dropped me on my dad’s front steps, and didn’t look back.

I know this numbness, this shockwave of despair, so deep that your mind can’t accept it. I’ve felt it before.

But I can’t accept the despair. Because if I do he’ll be gone—they’ll be gone. Everything. Even me.

I huddle in the center of my bed, my bedroom as dark as a tomb, the moonlight shrouded by a veil of black clouds. I breathe in the faded scent of lavender, as worn as dried flowers forgotten and crumbled into dust.

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