Page 127 of Falling Into Forever
“Sass?” Lena’s voice hits me from another direction.
What the hell?
I turn toward Grady’s voice because he sounds closer, and I spot him in the moonlight as he rounds the corner.
Even with the distance and nothing but moonlight, fear siphons the air from my lungs when his face comes into focus. Something’s very wrong. Lena runs from the opposite direction, and her tears sparkle on her cheeks like painful glitter.
They meet in the middle, then sprint toward me as one, and my lungs collapse before they get halfway. I sink to my knees while Blake attempts to hold me up. But I’m dead weight. I’ve seen those expressions before.
How many times can a person’s heart break before there’s nothing left to keep them alive?
* * *
“Have you gotten any updates?”Grady whispers from the front of the plane.
Poppy is tucked into his side, fast asleep, while Lena rests in the bedroom.
I’ve never been on a private plane before, but the Kingston jet is even nicer than something you’d see in the movies.
Why would they need a gold K in the center of everything, though? I bet it’s real gold too. I guess I never noticed how rich Blake was because he never acted rich.
What would acting rich even look like? A snort escapes my nose and tickles my throat, drawing worried expressions from the three musketeers.
Grady, Blake, and Ainsley stand with their heads together. They think they’re whispering, but they’re not. Poppy must be exhausted to sleep through their racket.
“Are they going to let her in?” Ainsley asks. “They won’t tell me anything because I’m not family.”
“I have an idea,” Blake says. He always had a lot of ideas—ideas for dinner, for movies, for day trips. He got creative because Shannon wouldn’t let him spend more than she could afford, even if he was paying for everything. Now I understand why she put limits on him. This plane is ridiculous.
I mentally laugh. But then, maybe everything’s in my head. I’m not sure I’ve spoken since the cemetery.
Ainsley catches me watching them and walks down the aisle with a blanket. I’m shaking, but I’m not cold. I don’t even feel it. I don’t actually feel anything at all.
“Sweetie, you’re in shock. Everything will be okay, though. I promise.”
She can’t promise that, but she says it anyway. Why do people always say that? And why do they sayI’m sorry for your loss? How do you respond to that?Thank youis messed up. Are we thanking them for our loss? Thanking them for acknowledging our loss? We’re aware that we had a loss. What does saying sorry after they’re dead do?
It’s a stupid thing to say.
You know what else is stupid? When people ask what we need in these situations. Like, bitch, I need them not to be dead. I need them to be here. I need to breathe, so stop asking stupid questions to fill the silence because it makesyouuncomfortable.
“Sassy?” My sister’s worried face lowers to mine. “Can I put an IV in you? My supervisor gave me supplies from the hospital to keep you hydrated. You’ve lost a lot of fluid, and you haven’t slept.”
I scan my arms and legs. Did I injure myself?
She lifts her palm to my cheek. “Your tears, Sass. You haven’t stopped crying, and you haven’t consumed anything in hours. You need fluids and nutrition.”
I haven’t? I lift both hands to my cheeks and pull the moisture away with my fingertips to inspect it.
Huh. So strange.
Ainsley pulls gently on my arm, and I hand it over. I watch as she deftly prepares my skin. I don’t particularly care for needles, but she’s so fast, I blink and it’s done.
She’s a good doctor.
Did Blake tell her that Shannon would be proud of her too? She needs that. I had a full-on meltdown after she died, but Ainsley did everything privately, quietly, lost in her own shadows.
“There, all done,” she says, fastening the last piece of medical tape. “It’ll make you feel better.” I stare at her blankly. “Well, not better, but it—it’ll help.”
