—Amelia
A sob rips through me.
Parker catches me when my knees buckle, and I fall against his chest, stunned and sucker-punched. This can’t be. This can’t be.
“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs, his arms wrapping me up in a tight hold. One arm releases me to fish through his pockets, and then his voice mingles with my grief, my wails of incredulity. “I need to report a possible death. A suicide, I think. I don’t fucking know…”
His words trail off as I sink into a dark hole, my face and tears buried in his chest, and Parker’s fierce grip around my waist is the only thing that keeps me from drowning in the abyss. I weep and wilt while he strokes my hair, his nails gently dragging along my scalp, trying to melt the ice that is settling into my bones.
We’re storytellers, you and me.
Oh, Amelia.
If only she knew… she had so many stories left to tell.