Page 92 of The Savior

“I don’t know what to say.”

“That you won’t give up,” he said.

She wouldn’t. The pages blurred, but she didn’t want to cry. Instead, she tried to take a quick breath then, with the most delicate touch possible, turned to the first page.The dedication page.Heartache sliced as her fingertips drifted over the jagged, repaired rips.

“Dedicated to best friends.Life is a journey, not a destination.Ralph Waldo Emerson.” He cleared his throat. “You two nailed it.”

The tears Chelsea had been holding back slipped free, and she turned the page.

A LETTER FROM THE AUTHORS

She and Julia had written several drafts in which they’d explained how their friendship came years before their books, but the understanding of their friendship had grown with each passing revision. They discussed how real life could seem stranger than fiction, and books were needed to make real life palatable.

Chelsea laughed at a memory. Their first version had read “Real life can seem stranger than fiction, and fiction is needed to make real life palatable.” But their editor pointed out that they wrote nonfiction. They’d all had a good laugh.

Their letter from the authors hadn’t been finished. After the funeral, Chelsea sat down with a pad of paper and cried as she penned the end of their letter. Liam had taped the crumbled page together.

The end of the letter is signed by the both of us—but we hadn’t finished before Julia died.

Yesterday, I buried my best friend. We will never put out another book together. She will never see the end of our hunt for Zee Zee Mars. But none of that matters.

Nothing Julia and I worked on ended the way we expected. That was a hallmark of our beautiful friendship. For every problem, we grew—even if we didn’t understand why.

Our first book should’ve been a standalone title. But Zee Zee Mars remained at large. I couldn’t understand how Mars could predict our moves and outwit the Marshals, the FBI, and me, yet a second book was born.

I can’t understand Julia’s murder. It’s given me a fear of the future. But I know I can’t hide from each day. There’s a “yet…” that will one day come.

So with that belief, I’ll share the mantras I now chant: Keep going. Keep growing. Strength will come in ways that are impossible to believe.

Chelsea wiped away the tears. She hadn’t read her note since she rushed to put the words on paper. She’d turned it in to her editor, and it wasn’t until months later, that she saw it bound in their draft.

Liam put his arm around her shoulder, and she wondered if this was her ‘yet’ that had been still to come. “Thank you.”

He nodded solemnly. Chelsea threw her arms around him. He had no idea the extent to which what he’d done mattered. When she was sure the tears wouldn’t come back, she eased away.

“Why did you destroy it?” he asked.

The overwhelming sense of loss had hurt more than she knew how to handle. “Because I couldn’t keep going.”

She closed the book and vowed to start again where she’d left off. Liam tucked her close on the couch. His strength ensconced her, and even his familiar scent helped to fortify her tumultuous insides. She closed her eyes and hid, protected from the rest of the world when he pulled her close.

“Next time…” His lips pressed to the side of her head. “Just lean on me.”

He was strength, in an impossible-to-believe form. Chelsea tilted her chin up. He held her gaze. “Promise?”

Goose bumps raced across her skin. “I promise.”

Then he kissed her lips. Sweet and chaste. Chelsea spun as if she’d floated into a kaleidoscope of colors.

Maybe this was what it felt like to fall in love.

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