Page 101 of Savior

Mike had been standing in the yard, seemingly lost as he looked up and down the street. I saw the motorcycle the same time that he did, and when the others turned to follow, my only thought had been to get him into the vehicle.

Why had I run after him?

If I’d just waited even half a second more, he would’ve come. Instead, I put myself in harm’s way, forcing him to make a split-second decision.

His life… or mine.

After deciding on cremation, Lauren announced that there would be no funeral or memorial service, widening the ever-growing rift between her and Mike’s mother.

It was obvious that she was in denial, refusing to accept the fact that her husband was gone. It had also been made abundantly clear that I was the last person she wanted counseling her.

With Mike had gone our only chances of finding my father and ending the war. Any plans that had been in place withered and died on the vine.

Dakota returned to her job as store manager ofBella Beauty, while Zane, even with the knowledge that the department was corrupt, went back to wearing a badge.

In fact, the only reason we weren’t all sitting in jail for arson and homicide was because Jimmy had moved heaven and earth to make it seem as if we were never there.

When my weeping became hiccups, I lowered the towel and pressed the heel of my hands to my heated eyelids. My head ached from the force of my tears, and I knew, even without the mirror in front of me, that my face resembled that of a boxer who’d lost his big fight.

I let the back of my head rest against the lip of the bathtub while contemplating my next step. It was clear with my all night crying jags and days spent in a permanent fog of lightheadedness, that I was suffering from survivor’s guilt.

Why had I lived and Mike hadn’t?

Another sob tore from my throat, and I hurriedly brought the towel back up to muffle the sound.

“Katy?” There was a light tap against the door. “Babe, you okay?”

At some point, he’d dropped the girl, and I’d become just Katy. Mike had been the only other person to call me Katy, something I hadn’t remembered until he was screaming it to save my life. My mother said that when we were kids, he’d been insistent that everyone call me Katy just like everyone called him Mikey.

“I’m okay,” I blubbered unconvincingly, lowering the towel back to my lap.

The door opened, and Nate let his eyes adjust before coming over to kneel beside me. He brushed the hair off my sweaty forehead, and I realized his was sticking straight up on the right side of his head.

“Bad dream?” he asked, fighting a yawn.

I mashed my lips together and nodded. “I just keep going over it, picking apart every detail in my brain as if it’ll change things.”

Nate sighed and sank down onto the bathroom rug before taking my hand in his. “Babe, I think that’s pretty common after something like this—”

“I think I need professional help,” I interrupted. “I have a constant headache from crying all the time, and I’m tired, Nate. I’m so tired. It doesn’t matter how much sleep I get, it’s like I’m working in a fog.”

As if on cue, more tears began to leak from my eyes. “See?” I pointed. “I’m a wreck!”

He pulled me into his arms, dropping his chin to the top of my head. “You’re not a wreck, you’re grieving. And the exhaustion is just your body’s way of demanding a break.”

“I don’t think this is grief, Nate,” I mumbled against his chest. “It’s guilt, and I don’t feel like I deserve a break. There’s this part of me that believes I should have to live with the crying, headaches, fatigue, and dizzy spells because I’m the reason he’s not here anymore.”

Lauren herself had told me it wasn’t my fault, but it didn’t lessen the guilt any. I sniffled, waiting for a similar reiteration from Nate.

Instead, his muscles tightened beneath my cheek, and the hand rubbing my back froze mid-stroke. “How long have you been feeling like this?”

I tilted my head up toward his face to see if he was joking. “Um, since Mike died?”

He shook his head. “The fatigue and lightheadedness… how long have you been experiencing that?”

“Um…” I thought about it. “It’s gotten worse over the last week—”

Nate released me and flipped on the light before squatting down by the vanity. We both squinted, letting our eyes gradually adjust to the sudden brightness.

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