Page 80 of The Art of Dying

“It’s Mason that I hate,” I said, my voice low. I looked up, clearing my throat. “Okay. Okay, I understand, but… you have to let someone else do this, Kitsch. You have to come with us. What am I supposed to tell the kids? Something that doesn’t cause lifelong trauma and trust issues.”

“That I’m working in Heaven. That way if they happen to talk to anyone they won’t blow your cover. If we’re still working on this when they’re older, you can explain the story is for safety and teach them answers.”

I covered my mouth and closed my eyes tight.

“They’ll be okay. Me being gone is all they know.”

“That’s not true,” I said through my hand. “And not like this. We always knew when you were coming home.”

His expression was sad. “No, you didn’t, honey.”

My eyes popped open, feeling my lashes stick to the tears beneath them.

“You still trust me?” he asked.

When I didn’t speak or move—or breathe—Kitsch pulled me onto his lap. “Our family means more to me than anything. You know that, right? Every day I don’t spend with you and the kids is the worst day of my life. I need to hear you say you believe that.”

“I believe it,” I whispered.

“If there was another way…”

“I know. I know if there was, you would do it. The guilt is just,” I choked, “unbearable. I haven’t just ruined your life, but I brought kids into this nightmare and—”

Kitsch hugged me. “This is on Mason.” He held me at arm’s length. “Listen to me. You listening?” He wiped away a tear dripping from my jawline. “This is temporary and then we’ll never have to worry about that son-of-a-bitch again. I promise. I promise you, honey. I’m going to fix it. Permanently.”

I leaned into his chest, sobbing. Our lives were over. Mason had threatened to kill me many times, and he’d finally found a way to do it. Three innocent lives would suffer because of my catastrophically bad decisions. I knew Mason would never let me go. Kitsch probably believed Mason was the enemy, but I knew I was to blame.

“You’ll tell Trex and everyone the truth, right?” I asked.

“No, baby. No one can know.”

I gasped and sat up. “No. No, no, no, no, no, no. We can’t do that to Naomi. Caroline’s pregnant and already going through so much. We… we can’t do that to them, Kitsch, no.”

“We can’t risk it. For anyone or anything. If more people than necessary know, it increases the chances of a slip up, of someone being taken and forced to reveal your whereabouts. It’s more dangerous for them to know the truth.”

“I can’t casually call them over the next three days and tell them I love them?”

He shook his head.

“At least… at least we don’t have to worry about my parents.” I pulled my knees up to my chest and wept. Kitsch held me, rocking me gently back and forth.

I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. “Will I ever see you again?”

“You know me, Mack. This will end. In the meantime, I won’t see you as much as I want, but if it’s safe, I’ll make it happen when I can.”

I leaned into him again, feeling as exhausted as Kitsch looked earlier. Thoughts of how they’d fake our deaths, what bodies they’d use, the funeral, how I’d explain it to the kids, and what life would be like in Oklahoma all flipped through my mind like television channels, ending with a vision of two small caskets flanking an adult one surrounded by flowers and family photos.

“You won’t do it alone,” Kitsch whispered. “Grant and Gina are good people. They’re two of the best in the industry. You’ll be safe. The kids will be safe, and that’s all I care about right now.”

“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Kitsch?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Are you sure I have to go by Karen?”

He chuckled. “I love you,” Kitsch said. If I didn’t know him as well as I did, I wouldn’t have caught the tiny break in his voice.

“I love you, too,” I said.

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