Page 107 of Eight Years Gone

She looked up at him with shattered blue eyes that destroyed him. “It’s not the same, but it’s nice. It’s just what I need.” Her chin quivered. “I’m so glad you’re here, Jagger.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He kissed her. “We’ll call Aunt Mags and Asa when you’re feeling up to it. More family.”

She blinked back tears. “I can’t— Everything feels so— I don’t know what to do.”

He’d never seen her so vulnerable. He’d never wanted to protect her more. “You stay right here in my arms, and we’ll figure out the rest together. Later.”

She settled back against him. “How did you know, Jagger—that I needed you to come home?”

He twirled a lock of her soft hair around his finger, finding himself unable to explain how he’d known even before he’d accepted his assignment in The Democratic Republic of the Congo that it would be his last—that he’d felt it in his bones that his next flight would be back to the United States and to Grace.

Somehow, her soul had called to his, and he’d been incapable of fighting it any longer. “I told myself I was ready to be stateside again. Eight years gone was long enough. But mostly, I couldn’t be without you for another second.”

He kissed the top of her head. “I hope this works for you—us—because I’m never letting you go.”

She sighed as she rested her hand against his heart. “It works just fine.”

He held her for a long time, staring out the window, watching the sunrise, listening to her breathing steady out as she finally slept again.

Phone calls needed to be made. Aunt Mags and Christy would want to know as soon as possible. But he also wanted to talk to the police—to know everything they knew before the media storm.

Steve was gone now, but Grace still had a long life to live. She needed all the answers to heal and slowly move on.

Twenty-Five

The wind blew chilly in the overcast sky while Grace held Jagger’s hand by her father’s burial site. The priest spoke of everlasting life as Grace stared at the casket not far from where her mother and brother lay.

Soon her entire family would rest here—the people who had been her whole world as a thriving, happy girl. Now they were gone, and she would be forced to pick up the pieces all over again.

She leaned closer to Jagger—into his steady strength—even as well over two hundred people surrounded them in the solidarity of mourning.

The last five days had passed in a blur of condolences and media coverage—as the sports world and Doctor Steven Evans’ famous patients and colleagues reeled from the shocking news of his tragic but heroic death.

The police had finished their investigation, not ticketing the driver who had clipped the bike rider or Betty Myers, the sixty-three-year-old grandmother of four who had accidentally taken her father’s life.

The DA had decided against any charges when it was determined that Betty hadn’t been speeding. Drugs and alcohol hadn’t been factors either. Everything about that night had been brought about by a series of misfortunes and a cruel twist of fate.

Grace came to attention as the priest spoke his final words.

“Ready?” Jagger asked her, dressed in a black suit and tie and a long gray coat.

She nodded, walking with him to the casket in her simple black dress and peacoat, settling a white rose on top as Jagger did.

Stepping away from his gentle hold, she blinked back tears as she kissed the cold wood where her father lay. “Goodbye, Dad. I love you.”

She closed her eyes, letting her cheek rest against the smooth surface as she struggled with another wave of regret. There was so much more she wanted to say—so much more she needed to—but it was too late. It still hurt her heart to know there would never be a chance to apologize. There would never be an opportunity to start fresh.

“Gracie.” Jagger’s hand slid up and down her back before he reached out to her.

She grabbed hold, preparing herself for the onslaught of people wanting to share a final word with her.

She caught Aunt Maggie’s eye, nodding as she and Asa walked toward their car with Bea and her son close by. Christy, Mike, and Ben sent her a quick wave as they followed.

Thankful they understood that all of this had been too much, she tried to smile as Doctor Brianna Kimball walked her way with her NFL running back brother hobbling close by on his crutches.

“Grace.” Brianna stopped in front of her, hugging her. “I’m so sorry. Steve was such a good, good man.”

Grace returned Brianna’s embrace. Brianna had always been stunning with her shiny dark-brown hair, bold green eyes, and quick smiles. Today her flawless skin was damp with tears. “Thank you.”

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