Page 88 of Holiday Hostage
Red rimmed his eyes and he scrubbed at them with the back of his hand.
I barely recognized the words. I’d expected them, needed to hear them, but now that they were out in the world, I wished I’d waited to ask.
“They’re gone. All gone.” He punched the dash. “My son is dead.”
Because of me.
I wrapped both arms over my stomach and rocked.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
It was supposed to be soothing.
It did nothing except make the nausea worse.
Great, wracking sobs shook my entire body. I covered my face with my hands and let the tears carry me away.
Nothing could ease the pain their deaths brought.
A crushing sense of loss took me.
I tried to breathe, but the air stuck in my throat, coming out in a harsh exhale that ended in a gasping sob.
Tears and snot mingled, and I didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore.
Tucker pressed a handkerchief into my lap and patted my knee. “You’ll be home soon. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s my fault.” I tried to look at him, to convey my sorrow. “I’m sorry, Tucker. He died because of me.”
“He died taking care of someone he loved. There is no greater honor for men like my Reed. He’d do it all again if it meant you made it out.” He concentrated on the road. Silent tears slipped down his cheeks. He stopped trying to scrub them away and let them fall.
We mourned together, our shared grief so profound we created our own world of pain.
Tucker turned the wheel and drove into what looked to be an abandoned parking lot.
A single light shone from behind a low brick building painted as gray as the world around us.
Tucker headed toward it. He’d stopped crying and dried his face on his sleeve, giving me a watery smile as we rounded the corner of the building and Dad’s plane came into view.
Dad stepped out of the building. Hands in his suit pockets, his hair perfectly groomed, he looked like he was headed to a board meeting.
Tucker stopped the car and stepped out. “Afternoon, Mr. Rivers.”
Dad’s expression tightened. “Who are you?”
“I’m Reed’s father.” He took a few steps forward, hands up in a way that made Dad’s tense posture relax. “I would have called to update you on the change in plans, but we hit an unexpected hurdle.”
“Dad.” I climbed out of the car and rushed forward.
My legs were stiff from being in the car so long with them bent at odd angles.
Every thudding step sent pain spiking into my head.
It radiated into my eyes and my limbs trembled. Shock.
I’d never experienced it, but I’d read up on it before leaving for Alaska.
