Page 1 of Life

Chapter One

Iwon’t cry. Ican’tcry. Showing pain would be a sign of weakness. I refuse to be seen as weak. Ten years ago, I was powerless, a product of my environment. Now, five years later, I’m a survivor. Confident and strong. I kicked my weakling side to the curb the day I chose to live.

On this day, in front of hundreds of mourners, my survival skills are ratcheting into high gear. For Tommy, I will prevail. Even though my heart is shattered, my mind is mush, and my body is a living, breathing bag of bones, tissue, and muscle functioning solely on autopilot… I have to. Tommy would want me to go on and live my life.

A life without him.

Grief is a sneaky bastard no one can hide from or abolish. It creeps like a ninja, night and day. It could even be considered an invisible monster that wraps its acid-dipped claws around a person’s heart in the dead of night. They’re dreaming of peace, but instead find themselves filled with devastation and gut-wrenching pain.

Pain is no stranger to me. Right now, I welcome its sharpened, lethal point. At least the dagger in my heart prevents me from drowning in the bubbled edges of numbness I want so badly to wrap myself in. The blessed relief of nothingness would be welcome during a time when everything around me is complete and utter chaos.

Everywhere I look, men in black suits and uniforms are piling into the church, their shiny badges glinting sparks of light in every direction from the midmorning sun’s rays. The red, white, and blue flag draped over the casket in front of me should make me proud. A hero has fallen, and the sea of men here to pay their respects should give me a sense of closure. It doesn’t. Tommy is dead because of me. Killed in the line of duty, protecting my best friend.

What’s worse is that I wouldn’t have it any other way. I believe in my heart that I had just started to fall for Tommy, but Gillian, my best friend, is the only family I’ve ever known. He knew that. If he hadn’t, I don’t believe he would have put himself right in the middle of the fray against a deranged killer. He saved my soul sister’s life, and in exchange, he gave his own.

How do I live with that? There is no book I can read that will absolve me of my heartache, my guilt. There is no prayer I can say that will change the fact that the man I had just begun to love, to believe could be the first man I could trust with my heart, is now gone.

Gillian squeezes my hand as she holds it tightly between hers. She sits at my left—my heart side. She and my two other soul sisters are the only reason that battered organ still beats. Bree sits at my right, her hand running up and down my thigh in a soothing, sisterly gesture of support. Her other hand lies calmly on her well-rounded belly. One life gone, one life soon to be born. A superstitious person might say that’s how these things work. The yin and yang. Life and death. I’d like to truck-punch thepinchazowho came up with that saying. Take away what he or she loves most and shove it in the face of that prick.

I stare down at my fingers—interlaced with those of my friend’s—and remember the one soul sister who can’t be here today. Kathleen. Still in the hospital. The other person I let down. If I had only gotten to her quicker, she might not have suffered such severe burns. Her lung might not have collapsed. She might be sitting here alongside us, sharing her support. Instead, she’s in a burn center, fighting for her life.

I run my tongue over the rough surface of my dry, cracked lips and consider that night. I should have been there. Even though I tried to kick through the boards around the theatre’s window to get to Kathleen, I was too late. Cuts along the bottoms of my feet itch inside the flat-soled boots I’m wearing. The discomfort is welcome. They still ache at night, and the gashes down my abdomen where I dived through the broken window to get to my friend haven’t completely healed either.

Three weeks have gone by since the fire in the theatre put Kat and me in the hospital. Two weeks since the man I loved was pushed through the windows of the historical tower where he fell two hundred feet to his death. From what I was told, even as he flew through the air, my Tommy went down while releasing a hailstorm of bullets, one of them catching the perpetrator straight through the neck, ending Daniel’s reign of terror and destruction once and for all.

A shiver trails through my body as I focus all my attention on the casket in front of me. Tommy’s parents are sitting on the other side of the aisle alongside members of his family. When I arrived, they hugged me as if they were my own parents—not that I really know what that feels like. His mother even whispered in my ear that I was always welcome in their family. His father led me up to the front pew where a wife would sit with the family, as if I had earned that honor. Not even close.

The priest approaches the altar, bringing me back to the here and now, and starts the funeral mass memorializing Thomas Redding, San Francisco Police Detective, son, brother…the man I never had the chance to tell him I loved him. He died never knowing the truth. And that knowledge I’ll have to live with for the rest of my days.

Ifeela warm hand on my shoulder coming from behind as I stare unmoving at the casket. I covet the stillness. I gather the entire place has been cleared out, everyone going to Thomas’s family’s estate for the reception.

“Maria,es hora de ir.” It’s time to go, Chase says in Spanish, my native language. I nod and stand, a shot of pain zipping up my legs from my feet where the cuts are bearing my weight. The doctor had issued me limited movement instructions for the better part of three to four weeks in order to let the damage to my feet heal. Unfortunately for him, I’m not a good patient, so the healing time is taking longer than anticipated.

“Can I have a few minutes alone?” I glance over my shoulder. Chase Davis is holding Gillian, my bestie, at his side. Tears track down her face in endless streams. I don’t think she’s stopped crying since the fire. Her skin is paler than normal, and there is an element of hollowness to her gaze. I glance down her body and take in her form. She’s gained a little of the weight she’d lost during the past few months of the psycho’s reign over our lives, but not much. For the most part, she’s skin and bones. Hell, besides Bree and her pregnancy, the rest of us are losing more weight than we can afford. Hard knocks will do that to you.

Chase has a hand over Gillian’s midsection. It’s a protective and odd gesture, but he’s an intensely possessive man. I learned that the hard way. Even with his faults, he’s still the best thing that’s ever happened to my best friend, and I’m happy they found each other. I’d hoped that all of us would live happily ever after, just like in the storybooks. Gillian with Chase. Bree with Phillip. Kat with Carson. And me with my Tommy. Not to be. I’m the loner in the crowd now.

Chase inhales and sighs. “Of course. We’ll wait outside the church.” He squeezes my shoulder, and I close my eyes.

Eventually, I make my way over to the casket. A life-size headshot of Tommy in his police uniform sits next to it. I place my hand over the top of the flag and hang my head.

“Tommy, I’m sorry. None of this was supposed to happen. It should have never been you,” I whisper, meaning every word down to the depths of my soul. The ache of his loss is agonizing, cutting me up from the inside out.

Tears finally swell and fall down my cheeks. I give in to them, not having a chance in hell at thwarting the grief. It has dug its vile claws into me and is taking over. Holding back has finally become too much. My body shakes with the strain and effort I’ve expended to stop myself from falling into a pit of despair. Each tear falls down my face and drips down my chin to the floor like scalding hot magma, burning me with every pea-sized drip that releases.

“If I could, I’d take your place.” I pat the casket, hoping that somewhere, somehow, my Tommy is listening.

“Ahhh, beautiful, now that would be a downright shame.” A rich, gravely, all-too-familiar voice from behind startles me.

I know that voice.

That voice has come to me in my dreams every night for the past two weeks. It’s the voice I hear inside my head, soothing me when the guilt and grief are excruciating. It’shim. Every hair on my arms and neck stands at attention. I swallow, attempting to remove the giant lump of cotton in my throat. Slowly, I inhale and close my eyes while I turn around.Please, God…

It’s not possible.

There’s just no way.

Could it be?

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