Chapter 39
Willow
Memories of my brother laughing flew through my head as every other thought blinked out while I registered the stricken expression on Deacon’s face and leaned back against the truck. “What does it say?”
“Not much.” He seemed to reread it again anyway, his brow furrowed and the humor that always etched the lines and features on his face gone.
“But it’s…” I wanted to reach for his hand, but he gripped the phone so intently, I was frightened to distract him.
“Not good,” was all he said. “I don’t have any details.”
The dread that had crept along the edge of everything for weeks crowded into my head. “He didn’t say he’s dead, though?” I grabbed for him this time, his forearm, which felt like an anchor. “Right?”
He shook his head and reread the text. “Missing.”
The words did not warm the chill in my veins, and Deacon’s eyes narrowed as he tapped out a reply. I saw only a series of nonsense words and acronyms I assumed were a code. My brother was the only real family I had left. He had to be okay.
Deacon stared at his phone and then shoved it in his pocket when there was no immediate reply. “Missing,” he repeated, more to himself than to me as he stared somewhere over my shoulder. “Missing.”
“Deac,” I said, squeezing his arm because it felt like he’d gone somewhere else in his head. “What do we do?”
Deacon’s arm flexed under my touch, and he looked at me, meeting my gaze for the first time since he’d gotten the message.
The brown of his irises caught the light from the porch, in contrast to the tension in his features.
There was more he wasn’t saying—more he knew or assumed—and my hands started to shake.
“Deac?”
His big arms wrapped around me and pulled me into a tight hug, where the wall of his chest was solid under my cheek. “I don’t know,” he said near my ear, squeezing me just a little tighter, pulling me just a little closer. “But I’ve got you.”
“I’ve got you, too,” I said, wrapping my arms around his middle, and I meant it.
I knew I wasn’t clinging to him because I had to or because he was the only one I had; I was holding him the same way he was holding me.
I’d realized I could move on from Spencer.
But holding him now, sharing shock and grief with him…
this felt like the only place I was supposed to be and an impossible place to be all at the same time.
“I’ve got you, too,” I repeated against his chest, and his lips brushed against the side of my head.
“That can’t happen,” he mumbled, his voice just above a whisper, and I didn’t know if he was talking to me or himself.
Deacon let me go and took a big step back.
He glanced at his watch and seemed to make a decision.
He took two quick strides and unlocked the truck.
“I gotta go,” he said. “They should still be open.”
“What should be open?”
“I gotta try. I’m sorry. I can’t just stand here.”
“I know,” I said. “But there’s nothing we can do.”
“I can try.” He pulled open the driver’s side door, and the engine roared to life.
“Where are you going?” The look on Deacon’s face was the same one he’d had when we were riding bikes. This serious, focused expression transformed his face. This was determination, and he called out the window as he backed out of the driveway.
“Recruitment office.”