Page 100 of Shadow Dance

I help Tristan and Evie carry quiche and salad over to the dining room table, and we catch up for the next couple of hours. Evie tells me about the latest additions she’s made to their property in Savannah—a greenhouse, of course—and what her gardens are yielding. She’s got an honest-to-God Eden down in Georgia, but her setup here isn’t too shabby. She has all sorts of herbs and veggies growing on their ginormous deck, one of the perks of being on the penthouse floor.

Meanwhile, Tristan’s got a jiu jitsu match coming up in New York City. He teaches kids to fight just like I teach them to dance, but also like me, he does it himself. Losing a local match recently really lit a fire underneath his ass—Evie’s words, not mine.

“’Cause I don’t lose,” he says with a scoff. “That was a fluke.”

Evie’s hazel eyes meet mine over the top of her wine glass, sparkling with mirth.

“Hey,” Tristan says, standing abruptly. Their cat Poppy jets off, startled by the screech of the chair. “I have something for you.”

I wipe my hands and sit a little straighter. “Okay?”

He and Evie share an indecipherable look that makes my stomach clench with anxiety. “Lucky wasn’t sure I should give it to you, but I think it’s time.”

“Give me what?” I ask with a nervous laugh. “Is it bad?”

Shaking his head, he walks over to the kitchen and pulls an envelopefrom the stack of mail on the counter. He hands it to me, running his hands through his hair until Evie tells him to sit.

I look down at the envelope. It’s addressed to Callaghan’s, the boxing club Tristan belongs to, withTristan Kellywritten beneath. Frowning, I peek inside. There’s another envelope with my name on it. I look at my brother.

“Go ahead,” he says, jerking his chin.

Pulling the smaller envelope out, I open it to find a postcard featuring a stunning white bridge surrounded by lush, green foliage.Puente Atirantado de Naranjito, Jesús Izcoa Moure.Puerto Rico. My throat closes. I stare at it for a long time, afraid to hope, before finally flipping it over with trembling fingers.

I think about you when I make cafecito.

I think about you all day long.

I held my breath when I crossed this bridge, but I hope you’re not holding your breath. I hope you’re living your life, that you’re finally happy.

Do you miss me? Because I really miss you.

I read it until my eyes blur, trying to reconcile what I thought I knew with what I’m reading. I have spent the past six months grieving the loss of someone who made a crater-sized impact in my heart in the most unlikely of times. What we had was beautiful in the midst of something awful, but it was temporary. Wasn’t it? I didn’t want it to be, but there was no space for us in the world. We didn’t evenlivein the same world. He belonged to the Feds and I belonged far, far away.

What is he saying? That we can be in the same world?

Wiping my eyes, I read the postcard one more time before putting it on my lap and looking up at Tristan. “How do you have this? How did he know …?”

“We met him,” he says, staring at his napkin as he fiddles with it. “Lucky and me. It was back in January or February, I think? One of the times we went with you.”

“I don’t understand.” I shake my head slowly. “How did you meet him? I thought his location and identity were under wraps.”

“They were.” He clears his throat. “He, uh, sent a message to the hotel, asking you to meet him in the lounge. Lucky got to it first, though, so we met up with him instead.”

“Of course, he did.” I scoff indignantly, trying to quell the rage bubbling through my veins. It doesn’t take much these days. Rage, sadness, anguish, anxiety—all ready to encroach on me at the drop of a hat. “Lucky had no fucking right to do that, and you know it.”

“It’s complicated, Mae.” Tristan sighs, glancing at Evie again. I know he’s caught between a rock and a hard place. Lucky is his brother, his best friend, and now his boss. The love and loyalty they share is off the charts. But what about me? Don’t I deserve love and loyalty, too? “You know he loves you. Everything he does is out of love. You weren’t in the best place back then, and he was worried you might?—”

“Love or control?” I ask. “Lucky might run Saoirse, but he doesn’t run me!”

“That’s not fair. He gave you plenty of space, Maeve. He knew you wanted to figure your own shit out, which is why we didn’t hound you while you were living out there. But it didn’t work out in the end, did it?” Tristan says loudly, I guess having had enough of my shit.

“So I get why Lucky was trying to protect you. You were a mess, okay? And that guy was a cop. But I could tell he was a good guy and after everything you told us about him, I didn’t think it was right to shut him out forever.”

I raise the postcard from my lap, gazing at the bridge. “Is this the first time he’s reached out to you?”

Tristan nods.

Emotion washes over me like a tidal wave. I don’t even know what I feel. Scared? Relieved? Hopeful? Rising from the table, I walk over to the doors leading to the deck and step outside. The sun is out, its light gentle, and a cool spring breeze blows by, ruffling the strands of hair that have escaped my bun. I stare at Evie’s plants, trying to get a grip on myself, but I can’t. I should be used to this by now, the crying.

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