Page 55 of Embers

And I cry because it’s what I’ve always wanted and never believed I’d actually get.

After a few minutes, when I fall quiet, he loosens his arms enough for me to pull back and see his face. “Sorry for the breakdown.”

He smiles and kisses my messy face. “You got nothin’ to be sorry for.”

“Maybe we can talk more tomorrow. I feel like I’m going to collapse now.”

“Then collapse. Go to sleep, baby.” He kisses my hair and settles me against him. I close my eyes and relax, feeling safe and satisfied and taken care of.

Loved.

As if he read my mind, he nuzzles my hair again. “In case you didn’t already know and in case you ever doubt it, I love you too. I always will.”

* * *

The next morning, I wake up in bed alone.

It’s strange. Takes me a couple of minutes to orient myself about when and where I am. I can’t even remember the last time I woke and Cal wasn’t somewhere nearby. Even if he wakes up before me, the motion of his getting out of bed will usually wake me up too.

But he’s not in bed with me this morning. He’s not here at all. It’s still pretty dark, but I’d feel him if he was in the room. His presence is unmistakable.

I’m confused since he doesn’t normally take off in the mornings without touching base with me. We either do things together or we know exactly where the other is. It’s always been that way. But I’m not particularly worried.

Not until I heft myself out of bed and notice that his pack is gone from where he put it in the corner near the washbasin.

His pack shouldn’t be gone. Not for any reason.

My heart starting to hammer, I push open the plain curtain on the window. It’s still early. Just a little past dawn. There’s enough light coming in from outside to see details in the room now.

His pack hasn’t gotten accidentally pushed somewhere else. It’s not here. His shoes aren’t here. His extra shirt and underwear aren’t here. His guns aren’t here.

His toothbrush isn’t here.

There’s nothing left of him in this room.

My stomach starts to churn. I’m so terrified now I can’t take a full breath.

I try to talk myself out of the rising panic. There might be an explanation for the disappearance of his stuff. After all, he told me he loved me last night. He was completely vulnerable with me for the very first time.

That means something. To him as much as me.

I’m not going to jump immediately to the very worst conclusions. Even if I already know at my deepest core that they’re the truth.

I throw on some clothes and hurry outside. The motorcycle that I’ve been riding a lot lately—especially when there’s a perimeter to protect as we help people travel—is still parked where I left it last week. Not far from the outbuilding where we’ve been staying.

It’s quiet out here right now. There’s some motion from the garden—a few people having gotten up early to work before it gets hot—and some soft voices from the barn. But there’s not a lot of activity yet.

No one notices me at all.

I know where I should head first, but I’m too terrified. Literally too terrified. I try to turn my body in the direction where we parked our pickup truck, and I can’t. I can’t do it.

So instead, I walk to the barn. Jackson’s there and a couple of other New Haven folks. Doing their normal morning chores.

No Cal.

I wave briefly in response to their greeting and keep walking, continuing on toward the stables. Cal sometimes likes to hang around and talk to the horses, rub their muzzles. A tiny hope is buzzing in my head as I approach. Maybe he’ll be there this morning.

But I get there. Glance inside. One of the horses whinnies at me excitedly.

---