Chapter 22
Cora
My stomach turns when I roll over in bed, and with the slosh of alcohol in my stomach comes another wave of regret.
Sadie is gone, dead only a couple of days after I sent her away for the last time.
I feel responsible, even though, realistically, I know this could've been the outcome any one of the times she left with her greedy hands full.
I feel like a failure, as if I failed both of my parents and my brothers, even though nothing they did made her change her ways either. Maybe I feel more responsible because, as a sister, I should've been able to relate to her on a level they couldn't reach.
It's clear I'm in a hotel room, although the memory of getting here seems more like an out-of-reach dream, much like the way Sadie felt when I saw her in my sleep. She was always just beyond my grasp, taunting me for not being able to clasp her hand. If that isn't a depiction of how she led her actual life then I don't know what is.
Sadie always wanted people to show they cared until they called her actions into question. We were expected to love her unconditionally, no matter how many times she snapped and snarled at us. If only I had held off one more time, maybe I wouldn't feel like I'm being buried under so much grief that I can hardly breathe.
I sit up on the side of the bed, my head swimming for longer than it should, before my eyes regain focus.
I feel isolated and lonely, much like I imagined some of those students back at the college felt earlier in the day, but there's no sun for me to bask in. There's no place for me to seek refuge.
But there is, isn't there?
Eddie has to be nearby. He was on the plane with me, and if my shattered memories aren't mistaken, he brought me to this hotel room.
I stand from the bed, nearly tripping over the bag of belongings I packed in a rush so we could catch our flight out of Reagan.
I carry the bag to the bathroom, making sure to brush my teeth extra well before washing my face and changing into clothes better suited for sleep.
I know it's a very bad idea to bypass the bed and go seek out wherever Eddie may be, but that doesn't stop my feet from carrying me in his direction.
His room is as dark as the one I woke up in, the only light coming from above the stove in the tiny kitchenette.
The limited light is helpful enough that I can find the bed easily, stepping up to the side opposite of the lump his body forms.
Wordlessly, the blankets lift, an invite to join him, and my heart kicks up a notch as I climb into the bed. He stays silent as I shift my weight until I'm so close to him that I can feel the warmth of his body radiating outward toward mine. I find comfort in the heat, as if I've been searching for warmth my entire life and haven't had access to any until now.
I move my head closer, sharing his pillow, but I don't open my eyes. I can't take another rejection. Maybe he can sense that because when I curl my head forward, pressing against his chest, he doesn't tell me to keep my distance. He doesn't remind me that this can't happen .
He simply presses his lips to the crown of my head and drops his arm around my waist.
"I failed her," I whisper, tears running down my cheeks.
"There's nothing I can say right now that will make this better," he returns, and I hear in the way he says it that there's a chance he'd take it from me if he could. "I wish I could tell you that it'll get better, but I know it's going to get much worse before the healing can even begin. Sometimes, these things leave wounds that even time can't touch."
"I bet you've seen a lot of death in your time with ICE," I say, hoping for a distraction.
When he stays silent, I don't know if I should take it as agreement or rejection. I know there are things about his job he'd never tell me, and I can't be offended by that. I'm a job. Sadie's case wasn't handled by people who loved her, people who wanted her safe return, but I also know they didn't want this outcome. I just have to accept that this is another case for them. Of course, the best outcome would have been to find her alive. That's something to add to a portfolio for future clients. I hate the bitterness for the entire world that has somehow sunk its claws into my thoughts.
"My best friend, Noah, left Cerberus when I did," he begins. "I'd go so far as to say he left Cerberus because of me, although we both had our reasons. There are so many memories I have of the man. We went through the Marine Corps training together, on the buddy system, and even lucked out and were together for the entire time we were enlisted. I can still hear his voice, the way he bitched about sand in his ass two days after our boots hit the Middle East."
I shift my weight, not wanting to distract him, but needing to feel closer.
He shifts also, uncurling some so more of our bodies are lined up.
"Life was fun and games unless we were working. We worked hard and partied harder. When all the men at Cerberus started falling off like flies—"
"They died?" I gasp.
"No, not that kind of falling. One after the other, they fell in love. A woman would pop up and it was like they couldn't see anything else. Noah, Jax, Rob, and I vowed that we were never going to let a woman tie us down like that."
"But they did anyway," I predict.
His laughter shakes my entire body. "Jax and Rob kept their promises by falling for each other."
"Oh." Laughter escapes my lips. "And Noah?"
I feel his hesitancy in the way he shifts his body slightly, but he seems to settle when I press my palm to his chest.
"Noah fell in love with the wrong woman."
"She was bad?"
"Not bad, exactly," he begins, his hand running up and down my back in the most soothing way. "She was connected to bad people. She was raised differently than most. Nearly everyone is dedicated to family, but when there's fear of really bad things happening if that loyalty is questioned, it makes you approach things in a different way. She went about a situation the wrong way and it ended tragically."
"She died?"
I feel his answer in the deep inhale that expands his chest against my hand.
"And Noah, too?"
"Yeah," he says, pain in his tone. "And Noah, too."
My heart seizes for a man and woman I'll never have the chance to meet but I understand why he's telling me these things. He's not trying to one-up me. He isn't trying to tell me to suck it up, that life goes on despite our losses.
He's telling me he fully understands my loss. Noah was like a brother to him, and from his story, he was possibly much closer to that man than I've ever been to Sadie.
I inch in closer, taking comfort in the heat of his body as we just exist in each other's space.
I know lines are being blurred. I know I should probably be alone in my grief rather than focusing on his, but it feels as if he's helping to dull that deep ache inside of me.
"I don't think a day has gone by in the last ten years that I haven't wondered how different things could've been if we'd stayed in Cerberus, if he'd fallen for a woman there in New Mexico."
Regret fills his tone, proving his earlier words that there are some things that even time can't touch.
Regret is something I fully understand. I'm drowning in a sea of it right now, and I know it'll be a long time before I—if ever—allow myself a reprieve from it.
"I wonder if he would've had a happy, long, fulfilling life if I hadn't been a part of it at all."
This pondering makes me pull my face back so I can look up at him, but the room is too dark to see anything more than shadows across his face.
"You'd give up every happy memory?"
"In a heartbeat," he whispers.
I could easily argue that Noah made his own choices. His connection to Eddie had nothing to do with the outcome of his tragic death, but then I'd be a hypocrite. I'd have to acknowledge that Sadie's choices were her own and that I had nothing to do with her demise, but I'm not there yet.
"I'm so sorry for your loss," I tell him, lifting my hand to the side of his face, his beard tickling my palm.
I resist the urge to press my lips to his because he quickly shut that down earlier in the day, but this time it's him that leans forward and brushes his mouth on mine. It's his tongue seeking entrance. One swipe of his tongue across mine is all he allows before pulling back and pressing his lips to the top of my head. But it's enough to light something inside of me that feels stolen, as if it's something I shouldn't have but I'm tempted to take and hide away for later .
"Try to get some sleep, Cora," he urges, the rumble of his voice coming from deep in his chest. "Today was bad, but tomorrow is going to be much worse."