Page 30 of Before Now

She jerks around, and the absolute heartbreak on her face shreds deep, through the armor and into my marrow.

“My dad’s card. Foster?—”

I miss anything else, already dodging around her, case dropped, and forcing my way through the crowd.

People are fucking everywhere, shouts and laughs and more music. I weave around who I can and shoulder-check the rest, following glimpses of denim and the bag anytime he lifts it higher to squeeze through.

He clears a slight path by knocking bodies out of the way for me. I narrow his lead enough that I’m only a few seconds behind when he cuts a hard right. I breach the herd of tourists and sprint down a mostly empty alley after him.

The dude glances over his shoulder to check on me, and as he turns back, his foot slips on the wet cobblestone. It slides out from under him, and he barely saves his ass from hitting the ground before I catch up, gripping the collar of his jacket. I yank him toward the nearest wall and shove him against it, hand around his throat to keep him there.

“Wrong. Fucking. Bag,” I bite out.

“No, no, no.” His panicked gaze darts to the side at someone else running toward us. “Take the bag. Take it.”

I rip it out of his hands, releasing him at the same time Colton pushes between us. The guy scrambles away, nearly falling again, and Colt turns on me, jaw hard and eyes murderous.

“What the actual fuck?” His nostrils flare, his breaths heightened like mine while he crowds me.

“Sorry,” I say, distracted by the strap I have fisted.

“You’resorry?” Colt huffs an unamused laugh. “You tore off after a thief who could have fucking stabbed you or worse. All for a fuckingcamera?”

But that’s not what I retrieved.

The racing of my heart lowers along with me to a crouch so I can unzip the camera bag. Colt sets off on a rant about how it would kill him if anything happens to me, but it barely registers.

My eyes scan inside. Black fabric and dividers, Remi’s camera and cords and equipment. I drag the zipper across for the side pocket, then I let my fingers finish the search for me. The second they connect with velvet, I swallow and slowly pull out the dark red pouch. I can feel the hard plastic square through the fabric before I open the top of the bag. At the bottom lies the SD card.

A relic Remi cherishes above all else. Resentful dick or not, I’d never let her lose it without a fight.

Having it in my possession now, knowing without a doubt this part of us was true … it further disturbs our remains.

I have no idea if it changes anything or only intensifies the grief over what I lost.

10

REMI

Before…

A cool breezekisses my skin. Looking up at the orange and red leaves dancing in the trees above, I almost forget where I am. Finished wood presses into my palms, braced behind me while I lean back and stare skyward. It could belong to the top of a picnic table anywhere with an autumn. My legs could be dangling over the edge near a lake in Switzerland. The wind traversing Kyoto, Japan.

I blindly feel for my phone beside me, refusing to lose the view. I wait for the perfect moment. A gust wraps through the towering trees, and I snap a picture. I lie back the rest of the way, and shortly after, a text comes through. I bring my phone over my face to see the screen and smile at the picture.

An unfamiliar but similar sky peeks through branches covered in different oranges and reds.

The leaves floating toward me could be falling in Prague.

A video chat pops up. I close my eyes and bite down on my lower lip. All of me turns way too fluttery at Foster’s name and the picture of his reflection in a shop window, phone in front of his face.

I fight it every time. Deny the warm tingle beneath my skin is anything other than a hormonal response to a sexy voice. Refuse to believe we share anything but a mutual appreciation of art. Ignore the uptick in my pulse at eachWanderernotification, and pretend every message outside the app and the video chats mean nothing more.

I just want to see the world, and he wants to share it.

The first text came a day after the video failed during our tour last month. He sent a picture of Le Mur in Oberkampf, where a street artist splatter-painted a neon lion on the wall. Then a video of people passing an outdoor café, his espresso in the corner while his fingers kept time on the cup. More followed, all a peek at the city. Of beautiful things. Right before leaving Paris, he returned to Le Mur, to the wide-eyed man panicked over a utility bill that covered the lion—the murals ever changing.

Since then, betweenWanderertours of museums and art, Foster’s taken me all over Amsterdam, Brussels, and Vienna. A hidden medieval courtyard, the cat sanctuary floating on a canal, Jardin du Petit Sablon, a baroque library. Whenever he explores, he lets me see the world through his eyes.

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