Page 132 of From Air

Her forehead wrinkles while she stares at my chest. “I’m so”—she pauses, pressing her lips together for a beat—“sorrythat you’ve felt unworthy of love. Of family. Of a full and beautiful life.” She lifts her gaze to mine. “You’ve done nothing wrong—just the opposite. You’ve done everything right. Never forget that you areworthyof everyone who chooses to love you.”

“Jaymes.” I frame her face, not expecting her tears. But in a single blink, they escape, and I wipe them away one by one. “Baby, no. Don’t cry.”

It’s not just tears. She sobs.

“No.” I deposit endless kisses all over her face. “I love you. I love you. I love you. And I should have just said it a long time ago.”

“D-don’t say that,” she manages to blurt out, losing all control. “I-I t-thought I could w-wait.”

I hug her, wrapping my arms so tightly around her that I fear I’ll squeeze her to death because I need her tofeelmy love. “Wait for what?”Panicking is not my thing. I don’t panic. But I can’t help but wonder what happened. Christ, did she fall in love with another man?

She couldn’t wait for what? Me?

“I can’t hold it in any longer.” Her words cut through the nonexistent space between us—a gut-wrenching confession.

Then it all comes out at once. A long sentence with no pauses, no breaths. “The patient who thought I was his daughter and then I thought was my uncle is not my uncle. My mom was not my mom. She was my aunt who tried to protect me from my father, Dwight Keane—the man who started the fire that killed your family. And I’m so sorry, Fitz.”

With a gasping inhale, she steps away from me and cups a hand over her mouth. Eyes painfully red and filled with endless tears. “I’msovery sorry,” she whispers past her held breath.

I hear her, but the words haven’t fallen into place yet. They’re still jostling in my head, like in the Boggle game I used to play with my grandma. Some of the letter cubes are on their sides, waiting to be shaken into their respective slots. Then I can see everything and connect the pieces.

Slowly shaking my head, I murmur, “That’s impossible.”

She presses the back of her hand to her runny nose and sniffles. “I wish it were.”

I continue to shake my head. “You’re from Florida. You’ve lived there your whole life. He was a park ranger in California.”

She hiccups and sniffles again. “My mom—my aunt—lied to protect me.” She wipes her face, but her eyes are far from dry. “She changed her name. She changed my name. And she did it all for me.” Wringing her hands in front of her, she stares at the floor between us. “And I ...,” she whispers. “I’m trying to figure out what kind of cruel god would let me move here, of all the places in the world. And of all the men in the world, I meet you.”

Her face scrunches. “And fall in love with you. Then, out of all the jobs I could have taken, I ended up at the hospital where my father’s apatient.” She laughs with a painful grunt. “But not just anyone’s patient.Mypatient.”

Not since the day I found out my parents and sister died have I felt this numb.

This speechless.

This confused.

This angry at the world.

“Say something,” she whispers, lifting her gaze to mine.

I havenoidea what she expects me to say. Was there a question in that mind fuck of a confession? But she’s waiting for my response, bleeding desperation. So I respond without thinking. I say the only thing that I feel right now.

“I hate that he’s still alive. I hope he dies an awful death. I hope he tries to kill himself a hundred times and fails each time with maximum suffering until his miserable fucking soul leaves his body toburnin hell for eternity.”

Jamie swallows hard, releasing a new round of tears, lips quivering until she hides them behind her shaky hand as if I’ve offended her. I don’t think there’s anything more offensive than murder. Surely she has to see that.

Something in her eyes dies, as if a part of her has left her body, leaving a vacant hole. And she pivots, taking even, unhurried steps to the stairway. Seconds later, she descends the stairs with her suitcase in hand, dons her jacket and boots, and opens the door.

I open my mouth to stop her, but nothing comes out.

Click.

I stare at the door and the space she’s left on this side of it. The space she’s left in my heart.

Chapter Forty-Three

Another white lie.

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