Chapter 53 Going Home Without Him
GOING HOME WITHOUT HIM
ASHLEY
Istand frozen, my carry-on at my feet, two boys clinging to my sides.
I don’t know what to do. What do I do?
With nothing else to see, the people behind us have grown impatient.
Luna is suddenly in front of me, hands on my arms, eyes wide and searching. She pulls me aside. My mom is there, frowning. And Tay. They’re all asking questions.
So many questions.
“What happened?”
“What did they say?”
“Ashley—what’s going on?” my mom asks in a hushed tone, like she’s trying to protect me from the shame of it.
I’m not embarrassed, though. I don’t have the bandwidth to be embarrassed.
Noah is there too, but he’s glancing around, his jaw set in a take-charge way that says he’s switching gears. “I’m gonna find someone who’ll give us some answers.” Then, to Luna, “Go with Ashley and the kids to the airport,” he adds gently. “I’ll meet you at the gate.”
Luna presses a quick kiss to Noah’s cheek, then turns back to me, already ushering me and the boys forward while her brand-new husband vanishes into the sea of people.
They’re supposed to leave on their honeymoon tomorrow morning.
Behind us, Tay and Simon have fallen into an urgent huddle, heads close, voices low and clipped. My mom’s voice cuts through the noise—too loud, too sharp—and Babs moves instantly, wrapping her in a firm, practiced hug, murmuring something meant to steady her before she can spiral.
I barely register any of it.
They put cuffs on my husband.
The cab ride is a blur—heat pressing in through open windows, exhaust, the city rushing past—I barely can focus on the boys to listen to their questions.
“Why did they take Dad?”
“Is Dad gonna meet us at the airport?”
“Were those real handcuffs?”
Then Max, sounding angry. “They can’t take him to jail, he’s our dad!”
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out. No air. No words. Just panic clawing up my throat.
Luna takes over.
“He’ll be fine, guys. Your dad’s a good guy. Cops get things wrong sometimes.”
Only… what if the cops didn’t get it wrong?
I meet Luna’s eyes and she must see right through to my fears because she reaches across the seat and squeezes my hand. Tight.
The drive from the port somehow takes forever and no time at all. Then we’re at the airport—fluorescent lights, rolling suitcases, the normalcy of it all so wrong it makes me dizzy.
I follow Luna through the automatic doors but when we get in line for security, I get a second wind. At least, it feels like that.
“I can’t just leave him,” I hear myself say. “I need to find out where he is. He’s gonna need me.”
Luna’s saved from answering when her phone rings.
“It’s Noah.”
I manage to keep still while she listens. Nods once. Twice.
My heart is beating so hard I feel like it’s gonna jump out of my chest.
“He’s sure?” she asks quietly.
I freeze, hanging everything on the next ten seconds. This is where someone says Beckett’s on the way to the airport. That he’ll meet us…
This is the moment I find out none of it is real.
“Okay,” Luna says finally. Her eyes lift to mine. “Right. I’ll tell her.” Then, softer, “Love you too. Don’t take too long to get here.”
I grab her arm. “What did he say?”
“They’re taking Beckett back to Boston,” she says carefully. “That’s what Rocky’s friend says.”
“Who?”
“An old buddy from the Navy. He’s in the FBI, apparently.”
“They’re taking Beckett back to Boston?”
“Most likely.”
“Most—?” I can’t finish. The ground feels unsteady beneath my feet. “When?”
Luna just winces a little. “That’s all he could find out. Nothing specific.”
“So what do I do?”
For a split second, she looks just as lost as I feel.
Then she straightens, looking past me—at my boys, standing too close together, not getting in trouble. Not arguing or pretending they’re little avengers.
And when she looks back at me, her voice is steady. Firm. Older, somehow.
“You do what you always do,” she says. “You hold it together. For them.”
I swallow hard.
By now she’s squeezed my hands so many times I’ll probably have bruises.
I’ve probably left bruises on hers too, though.
“Noah and Rocky are working on answers. You just need to be Mom right now, okay? Babs is taking care of Mom, and I… I’ve got you.”
I nod, even though my chest feels like it’s caving in.
“Okay,” I whisper. Then again, stronger. “Okay.”
I don’t know how I’m going to do this.
But I do know one thing.
So I paste on the smile I’ve gotten too good at faking.
I shift into motion.
Backpacks in the bins. Shoes off. Arms around shoulders, steering little bodies through security.
I answer every question with a calm I don’t feel.
"No, Dad’s not coming on this flight," "Yes, we’ll see him soon," "No, we don’t need to be scared.
" I crouch to tie a shoelace. I help Mom find her boarding pass. I double check every bag. Every detail.
I only glitch a little when we reach the gate—just a stutter in my breath when they call our group number. Because going home, like this? Feels wrong.
But then I’m back in it.
Buckling seatbelts. Adjusting headphones. Unwrapping granola bars. Getting the boys settled with their iPads and their favorite shows.
Beckett always handled the snacks.
Across the aisle, Luna catches my eye. She gives me the smallest nod—not a smile exactly, more like quiet approval. Reassurance.
Noah slips into his seat just before the plane pulls away from the gate, a little out of breath. He shakes his head once. No news.
The seatbelt chime sounds. The engines wind from a thin, high whine into a steady roar. The plane begins to move.
And just like that, we’re leaving.
I stare straight ahead, jaw tight, hands folded in my lap, holding myself together for the boys—because I don’t have a choice.
I’m going home without him.
We hit cruising altitude. Tray tables down. The boys are knee-deep in a cartoon chase scene when Luna leans toward me, voice soft.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” she says. “But I’m here, Ash.”
I stare into my ginger ale, bubbles rising in slow spirals.
“I don’t even know where to start,” I whisper.
Undeterred, she tells me, “Start with why Beckett hasn’t been home for a month.”
I jerk my head toward her. Blink.
“You knew about that?”
Her brow lifts. “Ash. Come on. You think I wouldn’t notice something like that? You’re my sister.”
And just like that, it all starts to spill.
The bonuses falling off a cliff. That awful night.
The separation. How we agreed to fake it for the cruise—how I thought it would be simple, compartmentalized.
But then it wasn’t. We stopped pretending.
Mostly. Because even when things felt real again—soft and good and familiar—I still knew something was off.
Knew he wasn’t telling me everything. And whatever it was…
it had to be bad. Really bad. Or he would have told me.
But for a while… things were good again. Or I thought they were.
I wanted to believe they were.
Luna listens in silence. First disbelieving. Then horrified. And finally, just quiet—sympathetic, but with that tiny pinch of disappointment only a sister can get away with.
“You didn’t tell me any of this?” she says, barely above a whisper. “Ash… you should have told me.”
“I know. But I didn’t want… It was your wedding.”
She swallows. “Did he know? That agents would be waiting for him? That it was coming?”
“I…” I start but then pause, considering. I picture Beckett as he was this morning, on the balcony. His voice low, tense. His eyes bright with something that looked like regret—or maybe resignation.
I fucked up. Last year. I can’t tell you yet.
I nod slowly.
“I think… yeah. I think he did.”
And for the first time, truly for the first time, I understand something terrifying:
This isn’t something that’s happening to him, it’s happening… because of him.