Chapter Eleven
Saint
The constant thrum of the engines is the only thing I hear, which makes my thoughts seem louder and harder to ignore. I sit in one of the fancy leather seats on the Grants’ private jet and stare at the clouds while the world moves beneath us.
Presley sits across from me, and she knows me well enough to know she doesn’t need to fill the silence with conversation. But she’s here.
My hands start to ache, and I notice I’m holding on to the arms of the chair so tightly that my knuckles are turning white.
I didn’t even realize I had grabbed on because time seems to have collapsed.
Everything before going up to Mr. Grant’s office seems like it happened in another life.
And everything now feels like I’m in a stranger’s body.
I just can’t come to terms with the fact that my sister is dead. It just seems like the reality is floating somewhere in my mind, then disappears, leaving me numb.
Maybe it’s a survival instinct. An ability I probably learned at a young age. Keep moving and focus on what needs to happen next. Because if I allow myself to get swallowed by the truth, I might not make it out.
My focus now is the kids. Getting to Remy and Rhyan. God, having to tell them their parents are gone is going to be brutal. I can tell Remy is trying to figure out what’s wrong. He’s a curious and perceptive kid.
He just doesn’t know that his parents aren’t coming home from Hawaii. That the last time he saw them, over a week ago, was the last.
My stomach rolls at the thought. I lean back in my seat, dragging a hand down my face.
I have to think about the logistics of how this is all going to work.
With me being their guardian, they can’t stay in North Carolina—at least not permanently because of my job, and even after I retire, I plan to stay in New Jersey.
So, I need to think about finding good schools nearby and preferably not too far from the facility.
And I want to try to keep their routine as normal and structured as I can.
So, with Remy playing hockey right now, I need to find a good program for him.
And Rhyan. Jesus. She’s still a baby in my mind, but I’ll need to find a preschool or something. She might be too old to stay in the nursery at work. I can find out when we get back. Though she’s almost ready for kindergarten.
I need to get a meeting scheduled with Savannah and Chris’s lawyer to review the will, even though I know what it says. But we need to make sure everything is in place for me to assume guardianship and take them out of the state.
“I need to call her lawyer,” I say, still looking out the window.
Presley looks up immediately. “Okay, when we land, you can take care of that,” she says gently.
I nod and clear my throat. “They have a will,” I add, looking down at my hands. “They made a will after Remy was born.”
Every word that comes out of my mouth feels strange.
“They appointed me as guardian”—I close my eyes—“if something should happen to them.” I let out a short, humorless laugh. “When I said yes, I never thought in a million years that it would actually happen.”
Silence fills the space between us again, but Presley stands and crosses the small aisle. She takes the seat beside me, close enough that our shoulders and thighs are touching. But I don’t look at her.
She takes my hand in hers. “Hey, I’m here, okay?”
I nod again because I know she is. It’s the only thing I can feel when everything else around me feels like it’s slipping.
“Saint,” she says, her voice gentle but firm.
I turn my head slightly to look at her. She’s watching me like she’s studying me.
“You need to let it out,” she says.
I frown. “What?”
“Before we get there,” she says, squeezing my hand. “Before you see them.”
I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“I can’t.”
Her eyes don’t move from mine. “You have to.”
“I said I can’t,” I snap, sharper than intended.
But she doesn’t flinch or pull back.
“If you don’t,” she says, “it’s going to come out when you’re with them.”
I know she’s right. But it’s not easy for me.
“They need you right now more than ever,” she continues. “They need you to be steady and grounding. They need to feel like they’re safe, and they are going to take cues from you.”
“I know,” I say roughly.
“Then you can’t go into that house like this.”
“What do you mean? Like what?”
“You’re in your head, which is totally understandable,” she says. “But you can’t ignore it and hold it in like it’s not there.”
“Oh, it’s there,” I say, my voice cracking. “I just … ”
Her expression softens, and she waits for me to speak.
“I just can’t start if that makes sense,” I say.
She nods. “Because if you do, you might not stop?”
The truth about her words lands between us, raw and honest.
“If I let myself feel it—really feel it—I’m not sure I’ll be able to get it under control.”
Presley rests her head on my shoulder.
“You don’t have to control it, Saint.” She turns her head into my shirt. “You do need to let some of it out though.”
I stare at our hands and the way hers fits with mine. The steadiness she gives me without asking for anything in return.
“I just can’t wrap my head around how this could happen.” The words slip out.
She lifts her head again to look at me.
“I don’t understand,” I continue. “They were on vacation. It was the first time since before Remy was born that they’ve gone away like this.”
“I know,” she sighs.
“They were driving, probably enjoying their day,” I say. “Just driving.”
I shake my head.
“A flash flood?” I tip my head back onto the headrest. “That doesn’t just happen.”
“It can,” she says.
I turn my head to look at her.
“How?” I ask.
She holds my stare for a second because she knows what I’m asking.
“Flash floods in tropical areas like that can happen fast,” she says carefully. “The water builds, creating mud shifts, and in an elevated space like a mountain, it has nowhere to go but down. So, if the vehicle was below it …” She stops.
“Say it.”
“It would have been sudden,” she says. “Violent. The force alone, combined with the impact,” she swallows.
“Blunt force trauma in that kind of scenario would mean catastrophic injuries,” she says. “Likely to the head and chest.”
My stomach twists.
“Saint, as severe as it sounds,” she adds quickly. “They likely didn’t suffer because it would have been immediate.”
Immediate.
I nod slowly.
I’m not sure if it helps knowing that, but I can’t think about her suffering.
“Until we see the autopsy reports, I won’t know the specifics.”
I lean back and close my eyes.
Savannah and Chris, gone, in a second.
My chest tightens, and I exhale sharply through my nose.
“Next steps,” Presley says, gently.
I open my eyes, hearing the shift in her voice.
“You’ll need their death certificates as soon as possible,” she says. “We can coordinate with the local authorities for that.”
We. Because she’s here with me.
“The bodies will need to be transported back to North Carolina,” she continues. “I’ll help arrange that. My father has offered to help with the logistics and whatever needs to be expedited.”
I’ll need to review their wishes for the funeral.
“Once you speak with the attorney,” she says, “you’ll need to start the process, but I’m sure you already know that.”
“Yeah, I do,” I say. “I remember some of it from when my dad died and I became Savannah’s guardian.”
“Okay, but just remember, you aren’t doing this alone.”
I look at her.
“I’m with you every step,” she says.
No doubt or hesitation.
“And my family will help in any way you need,” she adds. “Whatever you need.”
Something in my chest finally cracks, and tears spring to my eyes.
“Thank you,” I say gruffly.
The words feel inadequate and small.
She threads her fingers through mine.
“You don’t have to thank me,” she says.
The rest of the flight passes in fragments. Tears finally flow while I talk about my sister and share stories from when we were young.
And the whole time, Presley stays close. Our hands together the whole time.
She doesn’t pull away, not even once.
When we land, everything moves fast. There’s a car already on the tarmac, arranged by Mr. Grant. The driver opens the doors for us before we even reach the car.
“I got it,” I tell him, and he nods and walks back to the driver’s side.
I hold the door as Presley slides in, then get it behind her.
We don’t talk much on the way to the Harts’. It’s dark outside, and everything seems peaceful.
When we pull up in front of their house, the lights are glowing from inside. From here, it looks nice and warm. Normal.
We step out of the car, and the cold air hits my face sharply, but I barely feel it. My eyes are locked on the house, on the front window, where I can see movement inside.
I turn and hold my hand out for Presley as she gets out of the car. Our fingers twine together, and I keep her hand in mine as we walk toward the door.
As we get closer, I can see Remy through the window. Rhyan is beside him, curled up on the couch, with something bright reflecting off their faces.
They look … normal. Like nothing in their world has changed.
My chest caves in, and I pause.
“I’m not sure I can do this,” I say.
Presley comes to stand in front of me.
“Yes, you can,” she says, stronger than I feel.
“I can’t go in there,” I choke out. “I can’t … be the one to tell them.”
Because the truth of this is, “I’m about to blow their world apart.”
Presley’s hands grip my arms.
“You aren’t blowing up their world. You’re here to show them that they’re safe,” she says gently.
“They’re just sitting there watching TV like everything’s fine, and I’m about to walk in and tell them they’ll never see their parents again.”
Presley’s grip tightens.
“You’re here to help them process everything. You’re so strong, Saint,” she says, squeezing.
The pain hits hard and fast because I don’t feel strong right now.
Her hands slide up to my face.
“Saint,” she starts, but I interrupt.
“She asked me to watch them for her, but I said no because of playoffs. I should have been here with them.” I shake my head.
“You couldn’t have stopped this,” she says.
“I know, but I should have been here.”
Her eyes fill, but she’s steady.
“You didn’t cause this,” she says.
It doesn’t matter though. Not now. Because guilt doesn’t care about logic.
I look back in the window at Remy and Rhyan.
“Saint, look at me,” she demands.
I lower my head and rest my forehead on hers.
“You are going to take care of them in every way possible. All kids need is to feel safe, secure, and loved. And you are one of the most loving and selfless people I know. You will get through this, and we’ll do it together.”
I let out a shaky breath.
“You will. I promise you that.”
I know she’s right. Because I do love them and I’ll do everything I can to protect them and keep them safe for the rest of my life.
“And I’ll be right here with you, okay?” she says. “Every second.”
I nod. “Okay.”
I pull back and turn toward the door.
To change their world.
And this time, I don’t stop.