Page 68 of The Other Side of Apart
“He’s dead.” Chang’s words drop between us, lifeless on the floor. Final. Surprising after all.
“What?” My question comes out in a whisper.
“He was murdered. Nick put a hit out on him, no doubt. There’s not enough evidence to prove it was him, but we’re working to find it. It will take more time.” Chang shakes his head. “I’m so sorry.”
The escaping tears are painful, laced with meaning. It’s not true. There’s no way. Chaz was always untouchable.
“Are you sure it was Chaz?”
Chang nods. “His body was identified.”
“How did he die?” My voice trembles, and I wipe tears from my cheeks.
“He washed ashore in Jamaica. A bullet in his head.”
Everything goes static. The room dims to a dull grey, like someone’s trying to shut off the world and leave me trapped in it.
“Also…” Chang rotates a ring on his middle finger, watching it circle. “Because we suspect Nick of ordering Chaz’s death, we have reason to believe he knows about you being here. And that he’ll put a hit out on you, too, if he hasn’t already.”
I watch his face for clues about whether I should be scared, but his eyes are gentle, like a soft place I can land if the world falls out from under me. “What does that mean for me going home? What happens now?”
Chang stands, steps toward me. “It means…you’re safe here. I feel confident we’ll find Nick. I promised you I would help get you back to the States, and I will. We just need a little more time to make sure he never hurts you again.”
Chaz is dead. I could be next. I’m not going home.
I glance down at my clenched hands and the heaviness of the information presses on me, holding me in this place. All I want to do is rewind every step that brought me here. I need to get back to Marcus. I need him to know why I’m here. But nownothing is as straightforward as it was supposed to be, and Chaz, the barrier between Nick and me, is gone. I can’t go anywhere until Nick is locked up. But I don’t have time to wait for that. I left my note to Marcus purposely vague so he wouldn’t stop me from coming here, but he’ll think I’m never coming back. There’s no way I can call him, and even if I could, how would I explain my reasoning? How would I explain that his worst fear—me leaving—came true?
My throat tightens, and my heart pounds. Maybe I should call despite Chang’s warning. But if I do, and Marcus finds out where I am, he’ll be on the next plane here. And Nick could find him.
Chang shifts and a bag rustles. I jerk my attention to him, disoriented. “I, uhh, got what you asked for,” he says, handing me a paper bag.
Blinking, I focus on it in my hands, and it sucks away all thoughts of calling Marcus. Avoiding Chang’s eyes I say, “Thank you.”
He nods. “Yeah. No problem. And before I go…I don’t know what brought you here or what you’re going through, but…I’m here to help in any way you need. I don’t have to know the circumstances, how or who. Whatever the results of that,” he says, nodding toward the bag and what’s inside it, “I’m here for you, and I’ll make sure you’re safe and have whatever you need.”
My heartbeat fills my ears while tears fill my eyes, but I blink them away. “Thank you. Really.”
“I’m sorry to leave you after all this news, but I have to get back to the station. I’ll stop by on my way home, though. Anything else you need, let me know, okay?”
“Yeah. Sure.” I give him a weak smile, and he disappears through the door.
My breath catches in my throat, and I stare into the emptiness that’s now swirling with new fears and questions. But I have bigger questions that began days ago.
I stand, hands trembling, and brace myself on the back of the sofa before walking to the bathroom, paper bag crinkling in my hand—the only answer I can actually get right now.
Breathing like I just ran around the room a dozen times, I turn on the bathroom light and close the door behind me, trapping myself inside with my emotions. I pull a box from the bag and set them both on the counter. I stare at the pregnancy test, unsure how to approach it now that I’m alone with it.
After a few heavy seconds, I undo the box flaps, slide out the foil package, and tear it open.
Three minutes…
In San Francisco, we were used to earthquakes, but when they hit, ten seconds always felt like ten hours.
The package in my hands is an earthquake that could level my world, and three minutes is a lifetime.
I sit on the toilet.
Three minutes is months full of memories and places andhim. Like the time we were eating at McDonalds, discussing the percentage of real beef in our burgers. “It’s probably donkey,” Marcus said. “And I’d know the difference since I grew up on a donkey farm.”
