Page 119 of Take Hold of Me

The sudden need to move, to do something, overwhelms me. I need to get out of here. Go. Anywhere.

No, not anywhere. I need to be near Ems. Traffic on the freeway remains at a standstill so there’s no use in trying to get to the airport. I rub my hands on the steering wheel.Think.

A lightbulb goes off in my brain. I throw the Jeep in drive and speed off toward her house. As I pull into the driveway and hit the button to open the gate—thankfully, I programmed it into my Jeep—I remember the first time she practiced parking here. How proud she was of her small accomplishment. A smile tries to break free, which I squash.This can’t be happening. Again.

Once parked in the carport, I head out of my Jeep and walk up the stone pathway. Even though it seems pointless, when I reach her front door, I knock. She doesn’t answer. As I insert my key into the lock, the first of the paparazzi arrive. Vultures circling. Ignoring the truck, I let myself into her house and slam the door shut.

“Ems! Are you here?”

The cold, utter stillness of an empty house greets me.

This can’t be happening.

Screeching tires out front announce another vulture is taking up residence. I give them the finger before shutting the curtains to all of the windows facing the street.

I need to know what’s going on. Dreading what I may find, I turn on her television. An aerial view of LAX shows an airplane off the side of the runway, fire engines coating it with foam. The breaking news alert shouts, “PLANE FROM PARIS CRASHES AT LAX. MULTIPLE FATALITIES POSSIBLE. SUPERMODEL EMILIE DUBOIS CONFIRMED ON PASSENGER LIST.”

My entire being revolts, and I cover my mouth with my hand as a dry heave shudders through my body. No, no, no. Not again. Not my Ems.

Haven’t I lost enough?

Turning my back on the unbelievable scene unfolding on the TV, I leave the living room and head toward the kitchen. Cole and Rose’s wedding invitation sits on the counter. Shaking my head, I change course and find myself outside her bedroom. I take a couple of steps into the room, my eyes landing on her bed. Some discarded pieces of clothing are on it. I pick up her t-shirt and crumple it to my face, inhaling her lavender scent.

Suddenly, the walls close in on me. I race out of her bedroom, through the French doors and out onto the patio, collapsing down onto the chaise, her t-shirt still in my hands.

An unknown sensation pricks the back of my eyes. My vision becomes so cloudy that the pool swims in front of me. Wetness splashes onto my cheek.

“Emilie.”

“Ems.”

“Angel.”

“God, I need you. You can’t be gone. I haven’t told you that I love you yet.”

I swipe the first tears I’ve ever shed off my cheeks, only to have them replaced with more. I close my eyes and let grief wrack my body.

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