Page 18 of Distress Signal
Mytwinwasdead.
Someone had taken her from me, left me completely alone in this world.
Pain like nothing I had ever experienced before arced through my chest, doubling me over. Curling myself into the smallest ball I could manage, I shattered.
The waves of grief crashed and crashed and crashed, pulling me under over and over, leaving me gasping for air. Every time I thought I was coming out on the other side, like the surface was within reach, the realization that the worst was yet to come dragged me down again.
Goddesses, how the fuck was I supposed to get on a plane across the country knowing at the end of it, I’d have to look into my sister’s dead face? How could I make myself go there knowing I would see her but never be able to speak to her again?
How was I supposed to handle this alone? Lainey had always been my rock. Through every moment since birth, I had walked this world knowing even if I had nothing else, I had her.
And now, that one constant had been ripped away from me.
A few hiccups escaped as I calmed at last, wiping the tears off my face and rising to blow my nose, my body creaky from disuse. I’d finally come out on the other side of the flu only to be punched in the gut again.
Desperate to not be alone, there was only one person I could call right now. I picked up my phone and dialed before I could fully think it through.
He answered on the second ring.
“Hey, stranger.”
“Tr-oy,” I croaked, my voice cracking his name in half. Damnit, I thought I’d gotten myself composed enough for this.
“Baby, what’s wrong?”
We weren’t together anymore, but I didn’t admonish him for using the pet name.
My ex having delusions about our reconciliation was the least of my worries.
Though I tried to get the words out, nothing escaped but another sob.
“I’m on my way.”
Forgetting he couldn’t see me, I nodded then hung up.
That was the thing about Troy: he was so good atanticipatingmy needs or understanding my moods, yet so horrible atdealingwith them.
He’d come because I called, but he wouldn’t know what to say.
And in truth, there wasn’t anything hecouldsay, no magic combination of words in any language that would make this pain go away.
Besides, I didn’t need reassurances or empty platitudes tonight. I didn’t need someone to serve as a sounding board while I talked my feelings out.
I only needed to be held.Thathe could handle without difficulty—even if inviting him back in had the potential to be a slippery slope.
I knew he’d be confused that I called, that I was sending mixed signals, but I wasn’t exactly in my right mind.
Troy lived in Knoxville, about an hour north of our small town near Tennessee’s borders with Georgia and North Carolina. He didn’t bother to knock when he arrived, only came inside, found me in the fetal position on the couch, wrapped me in his arms, and held me as I once again fell apart.
Sometime later, I’d managed to collect myself enough to put some distance between us, though he kept a tight grip on my hand. Anchoring me.
“What happened?” he asked softly.
“Lainey is dead.”
The words were flat, but they still struck Troy like a punch. He reared back, blinking rapidly, mouth gaping.
“What?” he asked dumbly.
