Page 122 of Reaper
Chapter Fifty-Four
Reaper
I wake feeling like Sally from A Nightmare Before Christmas — detachable, parts of me held together by thread, and somewhere on the border between alive and dead.
“Oh, there he is,” comes Mayhem’s voice, penetrating the red-tinged fog that swells my brain. I open my eyes, an effort in itself, and look for the source. I’m in the back of an ambulance, surrounded by Tank, by Adriana, by an old paramedic and a young paramedic, with Diesel in the front passenger seat of the ambulance and Mayhem grinning at me madly.
I hate that my first sight as a living person is seeing his karaoke-loving ass.
“Fuck you,” I say.
“Love you, too, brother,” he replies.
“We all do,” Tank says. There’s a shifty look in his eyes and a color in his cheeks that tells me the feeling’s genuine, as feelings like that usually send him running for the hills.
“Especially me,” Adriana says. She gives my hand a squeeze and, when I’m able to draw my eyes away from her lovely, but blue-gray, face, I see a tube running from her arm to mine.
“What the fuck?” I say.
“She’s a universal donor,” the old paramedic says. “Be grateful for her. Without her, we’d be zipping you up in a body bag.”
“You saved me?” I say. “You gave me your blood? Why?”
“Because she learned the truth about you and Vanessa,” Tank says. I must flinch or roll my eyes or something — though I’m too out of it to recognize anything through my dulled senses — because he continues, “Not the self-loathing bullshit you tell yourself about getting her killed. The actual truth. About how she very much lived in that world and how she was still in Moretti’s orbit, and in Moretti’s sights. A son of a bitch like him never would’ve let her go.”
I want to protest, but Adriana cuts me off.
“You’re hurting,” she says, and she gives my hand a squeeze. “You’re hurting. But you’re loved. You’re loved, and I forgive you.”
The words hit me like a physical blow, but instead of pain, they bring something I haven't felt in so long I'd forgotten what it was like. Relief. Pure, overwhelming relief that crashes over me in waves, bringing with it everything I've been holding back for months. The love I've buried under guilt, the sadness that's been eating me alive, the grief that's defined every waking moment, the joy I thought I'd lost forever, and underneath it all—peace. Actual peace.
The tears come before I can stop them, streaming down my cheeks as my chest heaves with sobs I can't control. "Thank you," I choke out, squeezing her hand as tight as my weakened grip allows. "Thank you, Adriana. I love you, too. God, I love you so much."
She leans closer, her own eyes wet, and I see forgiveness there. Real forgiveness, not the kind I've been desperately trying to give myself.
The old paramedic clears his throat loudly, breaking the moment. "Uh, excuse me," he says, glancing between Tank and Mayhem. "Not to interrupt this touching reunion, but it's been more than a few hours now, and we really don't want to be hostages anymore. Could we maybe...?"
Tank nods, looking almost embarrassed. "Yeah, of course. Sorry about that."
"I'll be happy to take you guys anywhere you want to go," Mayhem chimes in cheerfully. "But I'm keeping the ambulance."
Tank raises an eyebrow at him. "Really?"
Mayhem shrugs, then sighs dramatically. "Fine, you can have the ambulance back too."
Adriana leans down and brushes her lips against mine, soft and gentle, tasting like hope and second chances. The kiss is brief, but it says everything we can't put into words right now.
The engine rumbles to life as Mayhem starts up the ambulance, and I close my eyes, letting myself believe that maybe, just maybe, I get to live after all.
Epilogue
Adriana
“Boise. Fucking Boise.”
Reaper’s words drift on the wind as we look at the shabby, weed-eaten park in front of us. Those words are a common refrain, something I’ve heard from both locals and visitors alike for each of the three days we’ve been here so far. Three days. It’s more than a lifetime’s worth as far as this city is concerned.
“Fucking Boise,” I echo.
