2001, Six Months Later
Somewhere in Louisiana
He didn’t know how long he’d been riding. He barely remembered the roads, the little towns he passed through, the crummy diners, the dilapidated old motels. He shook his head. The motels.
Memories pierced and taunted his heart. Big brown eyes, an innocent stare, tears, laughter, passion, love. The passion. There had been a lot of passion. The love. There had been even more love.
He shook his head as he tried to reason with himself. He tried to remember why he’d done the things he had. Nothing, not even fifteen years in prison or the near-death experience he’d had on the lethal injection table, had prepared him for the emptiness, the hollowness of a soul that didn’t love. Or worse yet, a soul that didn’t think it could love again, found it with Kit, only to lose it.
Lose it by his own stupidity.
Twenty-five years ago, he’d seen a spark of light. He lived in the radiance of that light for ten years. He hadn’t realized how bright that light truly was until he had to live without it while he was stuck in that prison. And then he’d actually died on that table and saw what darkness was like. Real darkness.
Kit had tried to share her faith with him for so many years. To introduce him to a God he was certain didn’t exist. He had been wrong. He now knew Kit’s God existed, because he was pulled from what he was certain was the pit of hell. If hell was real, and he now knew it was, then heaven had to be real, too.
But he was certain it wasn’t there for the likes of him.
He remembered at his execution motioning to Kit to show him her ring tattoo. He couldn’t see his name, but he knew it was still there, and that was all he needed to see. He knew they, he, had permanently removed her from his life, but they couldn’t remove him from her heart. She could’ve had that tattoo removed years ago, especially when he’d told her she had to move on with her life and leave him behind. She had finally fallen in love with Grunt, had a child with him.
But she didn’t have Grizz’s name removed. As small a consolation as that was, it was all he had gotten and more than he deserved.
He’d fucked up big time in more ways than he cared to admit. Regret, an emotion he rarely admitted to, pierced his conscience, and as hard as he tried to bury it, it was there all the same. He’d had no way of knowing all those years ago he would fall in love with her. He didn’t care about people back then and he certainly didn’t love. Especially after Ruthie.
But all of that changed after he’d had her brought to the motel.
And what the hell was he even doing in Louisiana? He knew he was looking for some connection to the woman who’d been torn from her home as an infant and forced to live under an assumed name by her foolish mother. He hadn’t seen Delia’s note from Kit’s Bible since the day Guido had showed it to him all those years ago. But he thought he remembered the city on Kit’s real birth certificate. The certificate Delia had tracked down. So, he mused, Kit had been seventeen when he took her, not fifteen. He should have felt some relief at knowing she was slightly older back then, but honestly, he didn’t care. Her age was never a factor in his decision to take her.
He couldn’t remember the name of the hospital but found one he thought could’ve been where she was born. He sat on his bike and stared at it. Idiot. He didn’t even know if he was remembering the city right, so the chance he was sitting in front of the hospital where she was born was slim to none. What had he been hoping to find here, anyway? Nothing, really. He knew there was nothing to find. It was just his last feeble attempt at grabbing onto something that was part of her.
Two days later, he was still wandering the back roads, slowly taking him away from what he thought might be his last connection to her. Clinging to the speck of hope that she might one day need him. For someone who’d thought he was so smart, he was actually a stupid motherfucker.
He slowed down and squinted to see if the little diner he was approaching was open. Nope. Another locally owned business that had sunk under the weight of trying to make a living in a small town. A small town in this country. He scoffed to himself as he thought about what was really going on with this country. With this world, actually. Restaurants were tough. It wasn’t like they could sell off their inventory. When the customers didn’t come, the food eventually rotted. As did dark souls who thought they could be rehabilitated.
He’d felt tricked by fate.
His mind drifted back to a good memory. He didn’t like to remember good things because it made it all the more painful when the memory was over and he was brought back to the bleak reality that had become his life. Riding worn and pitted roads, staying off of their radar, just in case. Staying off the world’s radar and mourning the life he’d carelessly let be taken from him.
He smiled at this memory. He might even let himself laugh at how adorable she’d been. He’d been patiently waiting to introduce her to oral sex. He’d been driven mad by the smell of her, and not going down on her had been pure torture. His smile widened when he remembered her scooting down the bed. How she’d thought she was being subtle while dodging his attempts. He had known all along she’d been avoiding it and had let her have her space.
His hands gripped the bike tighter when he remembered she’d told him she needed to save something of herself for her future husband. He’d been stunned when he realized she hadn’t seen him in her future. That she was going to save something of herself for the man she would marry “one day.” Fuck that, he’d thought then. There was never a question in his mind. Never an instant where he had to think about marrying her. She’d fallen asleep in his arms that night and he reflected on what had been so special about her. What had drawn him to her like a moth to a flame.
It had started out as nothing more than repaying a kindness to an obviously neglected child. When she’d walked out of that convenience store and handed him a box of bandages, he’d been overcome with an unfamiliar feeling. What was it then? Was he grateful that he’d seen a spark of kindness, even if it was from a child? Maybe that was it, but he couldn’t remember for sure, and he really didn’t see himself as anything more than a silent partner in her care and protection. It was all Mavis. Yes, he was responsible for putting Mavis there, but he really didn’t do anything other than shell out some money for necessities.
He had to admit that when he’d found out about her quest to bring down a prominent businessman and local political figure, that Marcus fucker, he’d started to admire her. And that was rare. As a rule, Grizz admired no one but himself. He’d prided himself on being a self-made and successful businessman. He shook his head. No, he wasn’t a businessman. He was a thug who’d used the excuse of his childhood to inflict terror and wreak havoc wherever he went.
It hadn’t started out that way. He really believed early on he’d been ridding the world of filth. He didn’t remember when he’d invisibly crossed over that threshold himself. When he’d started becoming the filth. Eventually, he allowed himself to think he was entitled to whatever he wanted. He’d told himself he’d not only outsmarted the government, but he had the real power players by the balls. He’d gotten cocky and slack, and it’d cost him Kit.
Maybe he’d fooled himself. Maybe she was never really his to begin with.
The first wrong move he’d made was abducting her because he saw Matthew Rockman kiss her. He wasn’t in love with her then. How could he be? He didn’t know her. Besides, he didn’t love back then. But witnessing that kiss had unnerved him in a way he hadn’t expected and couldn’t explain. He hadn’t entertained thoughts of kissing her himself, but he couldn’t ignore the twist in his gut when he saw Rockman do it. Rockman. That fuck.
He remembered the first glimmer of light in his soul the night she was brought to the motel. The night she’d first seen him and looked up at him from the lawn chair with those wide, innocent brown eyes. Even though he’d seen her from afar over the years, he wasn’t prepared for the jolt he received when their eyes met. The fear she’d tried to replace with false bravado. The smell of her. Oh, fuck, the smell of her when she passed by him as Moe led her to number four. He’d never been close enough to inhale her essence before. It permeated his very being that night and never left. It was there now, in his mind, torturing him.
Another smile as he remembered her defiance when he told her she would never use her real name again. That ridiculously, beautiful name that had been branded on his soul. Guinevere Love Lemon. Of course, he hadn’t even known then that that wasn’t her real name. Delia had been clever at covering her tracks. It didn’t matter, anyway. She would always be his Kitten.
He thought more than once what it would’ve come to when she was recognized so many years ago in the vet’s office. What if she admitted to her high school acquaintance that, yes, she was Ginny Lemon? He’d told her then that he would’ve grabbed her and run, and he would have.
Would it have turned out any different if that had happened?
His second mistake was marrying her. Not because he didn’t want to marry her. He wanted to marry her with a desperation that riled him to his core. To make sure that there would be no other man in her future.
But he’d fucked that up, too. The mistake was in letting them see he cared. He’d made himself vulnerable.
He’d only ever loved two people. The first was Ruthie. The second was Kit. He loved Kit, and his actions showed it, and they knew it and used it against him. And that’s where he went wrong. He should’ve given it up then. Given them what they wanted in exchange for a new life with her away from South Florida.
A few things stopped him from doing that. One, his ego. He was Grizz. He could have it all. He had been wrong. Two, he’d become complacent; let himself forget they were still out there. He told himself that the “powers that be” had died off or gone away. Even after they had told him to get rid of Candy he hadn’t heard from them again for years.
And, third, there were no guarantees that instead of relocating them with new identities, they wouldn’t just have had them eliminated. There was still no guarantee, but he’d stayed around long enough to be pretty sure they’d kept their word. He knew they’d listened closely in those last few weeks to everything happening in Grunt and Kit’s home. They were certain the couple who had been so tightlipped for years about Grizz would finally slip up and talk about what they knew. There was nothing to know.
He’d been with them that day, listening to snippets of the last conversations between Grunt and Kit. Grunt was smart to throw the journal in the garbage. He knew they’d be listening and would need to make certain nothing important was in it. Grunt knew they would retrieve it from the trash, and of course they had.
He was also glad Grunt never revealed the truth behind Moe’s suicide. According to the two agents, Moe had felt guilty for inadvertently helping someone named Wendy set up Kit’s rape and attempted murder. This was old news to Grizz. He never did find Wendy. It was probably Willow tricking Moe from a phone. Isn’t that what Willow had told him? That someone named Wendy with a Southern accent had called her too? He'd never believed that story. It had to be Willow all along. He remembered the agent’s smug attitude as they sat there listening to the tapes.
“So, looks like your son is still lying to her. Never told her someone named Wendy was behind her attack,” the younger of the two agents said. He had a baby face and a head full of wavy, black hair. “What a fucked up mess you left, Talbot, or whatever the fuck your real name is.”
It took all the strength that Grizz possessed not to beat the shit out of the man right then and there. He’d been sitting in an isolated office behind a small pool supply store somewhere in Tallahassee. It was the agreed meeting spot. He gave them the documents, pictures, and money plates, and they were to give him his life and Grunt and Kit their freedom from the NNG’s inexcusable invasion of their privacy.
There were no guarantees that the electronic versions of what Grizz was turning over wouldn’t go viral, but they didn’t care about that anymore. Hadn’t cared about it for a while. Anybody can pretty much do anything they want on the Internet. It was the hard documents they wanted. Grizz surmised that with the advances in forensic technology, even though so many years had passed, there was a way to pull DNA and fingerprints from those documents, pictures, and metal plates. Of course, Grizz’s would be on them as well, but it wasn’t Grizz’s that concerned them. Somebody powerful wanted all of it back.
He was certain the two agents took sadistic pleasure in letting him listen to some of the tapes. He tried not to wince when he listened to them making love. He tried not to breathe a sigh of relief when Kit confessed that Grizz had been a true love and a soul mate to her. He needed to hear that. To have that validation. He even felt a stab of pity for Grunt when he heard her tell him her love for Grizz had been real and she wouldn’t deny it.
His hands gripped the bike’s handlebars tighter as he remembered their confirmation, that his suspicions were correct about Matthew Rockman using Jan and Froggy. Rockman hadn’t been working for or with the NNG. He had taken Grizz on all by himself without knowing he was helping them out. They could’ve helped Grizz find Jan a lot sooner than Blue did. But they didn’t.
Grizz could admit he’d been an egotistical ass, priding himself on being two steps ahead of everyone and everything. He didn’t find it exhausting. He found it invigorating. And yet he’d fucked up royally. Then they’d fucked with him over the years while he was in prison. He knew only they could pull off a fake execution with lethal injection. Yet they made sure the bills in place to legalize lethal injection in the Florida prison system continued to get vetoed, furthering his stay on death row.
He lied to Grunt that day in the prison yard. There was no new person in charge who didn’t care if he exposed them. In fact, it was the opposite.
Someone new had been moved up the ranks within the NNG, and almost immediately lethal injection had been legalized. Someone was finally ready to play ball. And after thinking about what he’d seen in those documents and realizing what would be happening later this year, he could understand why. It was something that would bring this country to its knees.
The men who sat before him allowed him one last parting gift. They hadn’t interfered in Blue’s set-up to get rid of Jan and frame Rockman. He felt a pang of conscience. After having a near-death experience, he was almost sorry he’d had Jan murdered and Rockman framed for it.
“You should probably know that the last thing Blue handled for you has been thwarted. You’re not going to find your money in that offshore account. You’re stone-cold broke.”
The younger of the two men practically spat this last comment at Grizz. The second guy was older with a ruddy complexion, thin lips, and a comb-over that consisted of maybe ten strands of gray hair. The older agent sat silently with a tightlipped smile as the younger agent informed Talbot of this latest information.
Good, Grizz thought to himself. They had followed the trail he and Blue set and thought they’d found his money and were going to prevent him from getting it. Let the fuckers think it. At least this told him something. He would be walking out of here. He already had proof they’d pulled surveillance from Kit and Grunt’s home. He’d had his own reliable contact who was able to confirm they were telling the truth about that. The same contact who’d had the kitten delivered. They thought he was walking out of here a beaten and broken man. They thought they’d consigned him to a fate worse than death.
Unbeknownst to them, he still had a lot of money so he wasn’t broke, but he was still broken. He no longer had her.
Their business was concluded. Grizz got up and started to leave, but as he turned, he asked one last question. “This journal. This journal that they keep talking about. It was Moe’s, right?”
“Miriam Parker? The girl you maimed? Yeah, it was hers. Rhonda Bailey had it. Why?”
“What are you going to do with it?” he asked them.
“Toss it. There’s nothing in it, Talbot. You want it? Kind of like a keepsake or something?” Mr. Comb-Over asked.
“Yeah. I want it.”
That was almost six months ago. He’d finally given them what they wanted and walked out of that meeting not certain if he would be getting a bullet in his back. But, they gave him the journal and let him go. They were certain he’d find himself in trouble again soon and would meet his own demise. They had what they wanted and he would no longer have their protection. His death would no longer expose them.
He still hadn’t read Moe’s journal. He wasn’t ready. Besides, he was certain it was full of nonsensical ramblings from someone who’d hated his guts. Could he blame her?
Grunt thought he was dead. Blue thought he was dead. They all thought he was dead. Everybody except for Carter and Bill. He should’ve let Kit think it, too, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t walk away without letting her know he would always be there for her. He waited until after she renewed her vows with Grunt to make himself known by taking his bike. And by leaving and not facing her, he took away any turmoil he might’ve caused by forcing her to choose.
What would he have expected? That she would leave her family for him, or leave her husband and take her children to start a life over with him somewhere? Neither option would’ve been a good one for her, and he loved her enough to know that.
He scowled to himself when he realized something else he had done. He hadn’t meant to. He had told Grunt the truth behind the NNG, and yet Grunt couldn’t share it with Kit. Then, he had let Kit know he was still alive—and knew she wouldn’t tell Grunt. She wouldn’t want to hurt him or let him think Grizz would show up one day and try to reclaim her.
Without even realizing it, he’d forced the couple into keeping more secrets from each other. He shook his head as he drove. He realized he hadn’t consciously done it, but it had turned out that way. Maybe he really didn’t know how to be anything other than a first-class rotten son-of-a-bitch.
Her Bible. He had completely forgotten about it until Guido got a message to him before his execution asking what should be done with it. He’d given instructions for Guido to have it delivered to Carter’s after his death.
He was startled from his thoughts when a cat ran in front of the road and he had to swerve. Pulling off the road then, he gazed around. Where the fuck am I?
He noticed a restaurant up ahead. His stomach growled as if answering an unspoken question. Gotta eat. Hope it’s open.
He pulled in and noticed one car in front. It was a small restaurant with a tidy exterior. Though an older building, it had what looked like a fresh coat of white paint. There were three steps leading up to a front porch that spanned the width of the front. The building’s window trim and porch railings were painted an avocado green. That’s when he noticed the sign. The Green Bean. Okay, not avocado green, he smirked. Green bean green. What the fuck did he know?
He chuckled to himself as he parked and got off his bike. He was stretching when a sign on the front porch railing caught his eye: “Bikers not welcome.”
This surprised him. He scratched his jaw. We’ll see about that.
His heavy boots resounded off the wooden deck steps as if the loud bike pipes wouldn’t have already announced his visit. He noticed the restaurant entrance was a screen door. No doubt they’d heard the bike. Maybe they would be waiting inside with a shotgun. He hoped so. They’d be doing him a favor, he thought to himself as he swung the screen door open and went inside, letting it slam shut behind him.
He immediately caught the scent of a savory aroma and had an instant déjà vu of coming home to one of Kit’s home-cooked meals.
Before he could adjust to his surroundings, his ear caught a familiar tune. He immediately zeroed in on an old-fashioned jukebox in the far corner. It looked like one he’d had in his bars back in the seventies. “Don’t Look Back” by Boston was playing. It wasn’t loud. It was actually kind of quiet, but it taunted him. He was never a fan of Kit’s music, but he’d heard enough of it over the years to recognize it. Where was the person with the shotgun? He’d like one healthy blast to the chest, please.
Just then he heard her.
“Another fucking biker with shit for brains. Can’t you fucking read, Granddad? The sign says ‘Bikers not welcome.’ I heard you pull up, you dirty-arse piece of shit biker with bollocks for brains!”
He didn’t know what shocked him more: Being referred to as Granddad or the voice that said it. Yeah, he was old enough to be a grandfather, but so what? He took a quick glance to his right and checked himself out in the mirror behind the cash register. His hair was dirty blonde and the few streaks of gray were barely noticeable. He subconsciously swiped his hand through his hair and wondered if it was time for a shave. Kit liked him when he was clean-shaven.
Would he ever be able to not think about her?
But it was the voice that assaulted his senses even more than the Boston song and the smell of food. It was a voice he knew. A voice that had been implanted in his brain. A voice he would never, could never forget. One he’d heard twenty-five years ago when Kit talked in a British accent to the girl that recognized her at the vet’s office.
He smiled to himself when he remembered her awkward and totally adorable attempt at dirty talk in that same accent.
He swung around to see where the voice had come from and he almost stumbled backwards. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t move. He sure as heck couldn’t speak. He was certain that he looked like an oversized ape with his arms dangling at his sides and his mouth open.
“Don’t you hear? Are your ears filled up with piss or something? You and your kind aren’t welcome. Get your big, tattooed, hairy face out of my restaurant. You get back on your bloody bike and keep going.”
She stood there with her hands on her hips and looked up at him with a defiant tilt to her chin. A defiant chin that he knew. He was looking at a blonde, blue-eyed version of Kit. He could tell her blue eyes were too bright, almost exaggerated, and he realized she was probably wearing those colored-contact things they made nowadays. He had to forcibly stop himself from reaching out to caress her cheek, run his hand down her jaw. He could picture himself tilting that jaw up toward his face to kiss her lips. He’d done it a thousand times before. He shook the thought from his head.
This isn’t Kit. But other than the hair and eyes, it looks exactly like her.
He slowly scanned her, from what had to be bleached blonde hair down to her painted pink toenails. He knew every inch of this body. He’d sucked on those toes. No tattoos and no piercings. He blurted out the first thing that popped into his head.
“You afraid of needles? They make you faint?”
She hadn’t expected this, and he could see in her expression he’d caught her off guard with his comment. She quickly regained her composure.
“Oh, so you’re the amazing fucking Zoron? What the fuck would you know about what makes me faint or not? You bloody, cocky shit. You’re all alike. Dicks for brains.”
He looked at her questioningly at the Zoron comment.
“He’s a fuckwit that read minds for a living back in the seventies.” She rolled her eyes. “Fucking American men. You’ve never ever heard of the Amazing Zoron? You know, Zoron, rhymes with moron! You’ve been living with your head up your arse?”
Without waiting for him to answer, she pointed to the door.
He started to walk toward her. She didn’t back away and instead appeared to adapt a more forceful posture, folding her arms now. Like she was ready for the challenge. “Don’t let the door hit you in the arse on your way out.”
Just then, he heard another voice coming from behind the lunch counter. “Don’t be so mean to the guy, Cricket. He doesn’t look like he wants any trouble and he’s by himself.”
Grizz looked up and saw an older woman peering through the pass-through from the kitchen to the counter area.
“Yeah, he’s by himself. Probably sucks his own dick all day long. You can wait on this balls for brains, Edna. I’ll be in the back doing my paperwork.”
Kit’s lookalike huffed her way past him toward the back of the small diner. He watched her pass through two swinging doors. Actually, he watched her ass. It was an ass he knew intimately.
He had no doubt he was looking at Kit’s twin. Kit’s twin who was supposed to be dead. Not living in the back country of Louisiana with a British accent and a vocabulary that would make a sailor blush.
He’d read the note from Delia. He knew she’d tried to find her other daughter and found a death certificate instead. What was her name? He vaguely remembered the nickname Cricket from the note, but he couldn’t remember her real name. What had Delia written? Joanie, Jenny, Jeanie? No. They weren’t ringing any bells. He couldn’t even remember Kit’s real name. Just that they both started with a J.
He decided against a table and took a seat at the counter. Edna had come out from the kitchen and handed him a menu. Without looking at it, he asked her, “Got any specials?”
She nodded. “Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans.”
“Yeah, that and a large water.”
Before she could turn around, he nodded toward the swinging doors that led back to the kitchen. “What’s her beef with bikers?”
“Oh, don’t let Cricket bother you. We’ve had some trouble with them in the past, is all. She’s really a good person.”
“Cricket? What kind of name is Cricket?”
Edna smiled. “It’s Jodi. She’s gone by Cricket since she was a baby, though. I’ve always known her as Cricket.”
“You’ve known her since she was a baby?” he asked, and before she could answer, added, “Her accent isn’t from around here. Yours is.”
Edna set his water down in front of him. “I was friends with her mother. We’d worked together at a hospital. She was a nurse and I worked in the cafeteria. She went back to England when Cricket was a baby. She was raised over there. Her mother and I stayed in touch over the years. When she died, I asked Cricket to come here and help me with my diner. I think she was missing her mother or maybe having some trouble of her own over there. She’s been here a year and has taken on the role of self-appointed watchdog of me and my restaurant. It’s hers now. She bought it from me. She’s not a bad girl, really. Well, she’s obviously not a girl, but you know what I mean.”
Grizz didn’t reply and Edna headed back through the swinging doors. He could see her in the kitchen fixing his plate. He would like to pick Edna’s brain some more.
He sipped his water and thought about the blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman who had spoken to him like nobody, nobody ever had before. A foul mouthed, British version of Kit with a boulder-sized chip on her shoulder.
No, she was not his sweet little kitten. She was more like a tiger. A dirty-mouthed, obnoxious, nasty tiger, and if he hadn’t been certain he was looking at Kit’s twin, he’d have shut her up instantly. He’d actually had a moment when he almost grabbed her by the throat, but stopped himself because he kept seeing Kit’s face in spite of the blue contacts and blonde hair.
He would have to think about what to do with this information. Should the twins meet? Should they know about each other? And if so, how the hell would he arrange it? He smiled when he thought about how much fun it would be to drag her ass back to Florida and drop her on Blue’s doorstep. Blue had confessed he was attracted to Dicky because of her dislike for him. If that was true, then this one would certainly have his dick hopping all over the place.
His thoughts were interrupted when Edna set a plate in front of him.
“What’s today’s date?” he asked her.
After she told him, he motioned to the TV in the corner. “Does that thing work?” he asked before taking a bite of his food.
She grabbed a remote and pressed the “on” button.
“Want to watch anything in particular?”
“How about national news?”
She switched it to a national news station and laid the remote down next to his plate.
He ate his food and listened with half an ear as the newscaster talked about snow in the North, the search for a sailboat lost in the Caribbean with a famous actor’s fiancé on board, and the latest stock statistics.
“We now return to a tragic story we brought you yesterday,” the newscaster droned on. “A married father of two in South Florida is still in critical condition and barely clinging to life after police believe he tried to intervene in a convenience store robbery that left the store clerk dead and the perpetrator still at large. Witnesses told police they saw the forty-one-year-old architect from Fort Lauderdale—”
Grizz’s head snapped around to face the TV and he grabbed the remote to turn up the volume. He saw a convenience store with crime tape and several police cars on the scene.
The newscaster continued in a voice laced with concern. “In an ironic coincidence, the surviving victim is slated to testify later this year in the trial of prominent South Florida defense attorney Matthew Rockman. Rockman is expected to go on trial for last summer’s murder of a woman he’d placed in the Witness Protection Program over fifteen years ago. It’s not clear whether or not this shooting is related to the trial, or whether the victim was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. We’ll bring you more as we follow the investigation.”
He felt a sadness that he couldn’t identify with. Grunt was near death and he was sorry for that. His shoulders sagged. He realized he was genuinely sorry, and the revelation surprised him. He hadn’t allowed himself to love his son all those years, but he’d cared for him, and couldn’t deny their connection. He’d always had a soft spot for the kid, even if he did want to put him in the ground a time or two.
He reached for the pager on his waist. He knew everybody carried a cell phone now, but that wasn’t his way. He was still stuck on old technology. One person knew the pager number. Carter. He placed it on the counter and felt the last spark of hope leave his soul. Grunt had been shot yesterday and was in the hospital clinging to life and yet there had been no page. If he had to think of a time when Kit might need him, he would’ve thought it would be now.
But he guessed not. She had really moved on. She was surrounded by friends who loved her and would see her through this. She had accepted that he was gone and he couldn’t blame her one bit. Still, the realization brought a crushing weight to his soul. He could feel the darkness creeping back in. Would he fight it or allow it to consume him?
He stared at the pager on the counter, and something caught his eye. He squinted and noticed the light wasn’t on. That was strange. It was always on. He reached for it and looked closely. He must have flipped it off accidentally when clipping and unclipping it to his belt. How long had it been off?
His gigantic fingers fumbled with the tiny “on” button. When the light went on he set it back on the counter and stared at it. Nothing.
He started to take another bite of food and realized he’d lost his appetite. He was going to ask Edna for his check when a loud buzzing caught his attention, and the pager practically hopped across the counter.
He picked it back up and read the message. Three words were digitally displayed in red: She needs you.
He was going home. To her. It was about fucking time.