Page 103 of Eight Years Gone

“There’s no change, Ms. Evans.”

“Thank you.” Grace hung up as she stood by the window in their hotel room, clutching her phone as she stared at her dad’s building five or six blocks in the distance—his living space lit up as if he were home instead of fighting for his life in the hospital across the river.

“What’s the word?” Jagger asked as he opened the lid on the to-go container of soup du jour he’d bought at the hotel restaurant as the place was closing up.

“There is no word. Nothing’s changed.”

He walked to where she stood, taking her phone, shoving it in his back pocket, then captured her hands in his. “‘No change’ isn’t them telling you he’s worse. He’s been through a lot, Grace. It’s going to take time. Probably a lot of time.”

She nodded, knowing that everything Jagger said was true. “He’s resting—sleeping to heal. I understand that. But seeing him like that… What if I don’t get a chance to fix things? What if the last things I said to him were all I get to say? They were awful, Jagger. Awful.”

“Nothing about that time was easy.”

This was also true, but it didn’t seem to matter. “I told him he was selfish.”

“He was selfish.”

She felt her brow furrow as she held his gaze.

“All of this is complicated, Grace. What’s happening right now doesn’t erase the past.”

She closed her eyes as she shook her head because Jagger’s logic didn’t make her any less ashamed. “I told him Logan died because of him—that it was his fault Logan turned to the pills. To some degree, I think that’s true, but I never should have said it.”

Jagger sighed as he stared at her with compassion-filled eyes. “It’s complicated,” he repeated.

Her eyes filled as trickles of grief broke through the fog. “Those can’t be the last words.”

He wiped away the tear trailing down her cheek, cradling her face. “I’m sure they won’t be.”

She settled her hands around his forearms, clinging to his strength. “But we don’t know.”

He shook his head. “We don’t.”

“I hate this feeling,” she shuddered out. “Powerlessness. There’s nothing I can do to make this better.”

“You can take care of yourself.” He kissed her forehead. “Have something to eat.”

She wrinkled her nose at the idea, finding her stomach no less jittery as the hours passed.

“A couple bites of the soup.”

She shook her head. “I’m not hungry, Jagger.”

“All right. Let’s at least warm you up. Your hands are freezing. How about a shower?”

The idea of feeling warm again and being clean was slightly more appealing. “Okay.”

He pulled her phone from his pocket. “I’ll keep this here with me so you can try to relax for a few minutes.”

She nodded, even when they both knew relaxing wasn’t in the cards.

Walking to the bathroom, she kept the door ajar to listen for the phone as she stared at the massive glass shower stall for several seconds, unable to make herself move. Undressing, opening the door, turning on the faucet—they all felt like too much work.

“Gracie?”

“Hmm?”

Jagger peeked his head in. “Are you okay in here?”

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