39. Thirty-nine Kaleb
Thirty-nine: Kaleb
S ixty days. Sixty fucking days without seeing or talking to Freya.
My heart felt like it was going to explode, and my head throbbed from lack of sleep and dehydration. She’d been taken to the hospital the evening of the incident, but after that, she’d immediately moved in with Hannah. I understood why she felt like she couldn’t see me. I hadn’t been honest with her, and I'd almost shot her father. Almost.
In that moment, I couldn’t think, but the thought of Will killing Freya… terror had torn through me. Would I have actually shot her father? I wasn't sure. I liked to think I wouldn't have and was just trying to stall Will, but it was impossible to place myself back in the situation.
I’d sent Freya a couple of texts, but she hadn’t responded. I didn't want to crowd her, though. She'd talk to me when she was ready—if that feeling ever came. Each passing day without her felt like a bulldozer was agonisingly crushing my body to the ground over and over again, rendering me helpless.
Freya’s mother had moved out too—to a cute little apartment not far from the house—and after a week away, Freya had joined her.
She was all I could think about; it was eating me from the inside out.
What was worse than dying? Feeling like I was dying, but knowing it was just my mind playing tricks on me and I wasn't going to eventually succumb to the pain. My body was completely healthy—it was my mind that wasn't. Without her, I was lost. Nothing. A shell of a man.
This was fucked.
The beat of the booming music irritated me, and I leaned back against the booth and scanned the crowd, seeing nothing but wildly drunk people singing and dancing.
I wanted to stick forks in my eyes. It’d beat being at a club.
I sipped on my ice-cold water, grinding my teeth and rolling my eyes when a smiling brunette slipped into the seat opposite me, blocking my view. I was here for one reason and for one reason only, and it didn’t involve the chipper girl.
“How come you’re sitting here all alone?” she questioned, leaning forward, and I glanced at her for a brief second, praying that my irritation was evident in my tired eyes.
I was in uniform. Was she blind? Did the bulky bulletproof vest not give it away?
“Working,” I responded, looking past her shoulder at my client, a big smile plastered on her face as she twirled around on the VIP dance floor with her friends.
“Oh.” The girl in front of me raised her eyebrows. “Are you a bartender here?”
“No.”
She hummed, her hand brushing against mine, and I pulled away before she could continue her unnecessary touching.
“What’s your name?”
“Respectfully, I’m going to need you to go away. I have no interest in you or what you’re offering.”
The brunette’s teeth clicked shut, and she swallowed, shooting me a sour look before rushing off.
Some people just couldn’t take rejection.
My phone vibrated from my pocket, and I pulled it out at record speed, my face dropping when Brent’s name flashed across the screen. I wasn’t supposed to take personal calls when on the job, but I hadn’t spoken to Brent for just over a week.
“Hey,” I said loudly over the music, plugging my other ear with my finger.
“Hi. Man, where the hell are you? It’s loud!”
“At some shitty club,” I said. “How’s base?”
Brent had been moved to a base in Colorado and rarely had time to talk. Apparently, he was swamped with cases.
“It’s fine. Kaylee’s visiting next weekend, so I’m looking forward to that.” He paused. “Still heard nothing from Freya?”
I stiffened at his question. I avoided talking about her, and when my mom would bring her up, I’d cut the conversation short. Even just hearing her name sent my thoughts into a spiral of bleakness and despair.
“Nothing,” I said, my tone sharp.
Brent sighed. “Listen, Kaleb, I love the girl. She’s great, but is she worth this? I just want to make sure you’re making the right decision for you.”
My tongue skated across the front of my teeth. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind. “She’s worth it.”
“Okay, that’s all I needed to hear.”
I hummed in response, scanning the crowd for any sign of danger. Nothing—unless overpriced shooters and confetti were threatening.
Brent and I talked for about five minutes, and we planned to meet sometime soon. I’d been so used to seeing him every day that it felt alien to have him in another state, hours away and not easily accessible.
My chest felt hollow, my gun poking into my ribcage. It wasn’t painful—more uncomfortable—but I didn’t bother to adjust it. The ache was distracting me from her. Somewhat.
Running my hands through my hair, I yanked out my wallet, deciding I was going to torture myself for the hundredth time tonight. Pulling out the crumpled piece of paper, I unfolded it, huffing.
It’d been wrong of me to do so, but I'd stolen the sketch from Freya’s pad a while ago. It was my favourite piece she’d ever done.
A striking bluebird—its wings drawn as it soared through the sky, feathering so detailed it looked like it could be a photograph. Each stroke of the pencil was done with passion and love, shading so detailed I noticed something new about the creature every time I looked at it. My stomach lurched whenever I did so, but it also filled me with comfort, remembering what I used to have.
I’d had the honour of meeting Freya Henderson. Not only that, but loving her.
It was something I wanted to remember for the rest of my life, even if she didn’t.