“Ew.” I chuckle, then I pluck a few tissues up to give to her.
She wipes under her eyes, taking off some of her eyeliner in the process.
Two months ago, I would’ve carefully dabbed my cheeks so I didn’t ruin my makeup. I don’t have to worry about that now.
“You know what the plus side to not wearing makeup is?” I wave my own tissues. “There’s no mascara to run when I cry.”
“Why don’t you put on makeup?” Bridgette asks curiously. “You own so much of it. If you don’t know how to use it, I can teach you.”
“That’s okay,” I decline her offer.
“Really, I’d love to help.”
“No. It reminds me of—” I stop, realizing I’m about to start talking about Preston.
“Reminds you of…?” Dr. Fairmont asks patiently.
Well, fuck it. I’m already crying. Might as well go big today.
Through a series of sobs, I talk about Jessa. My friend from the card game. How close we became. But really, it was just a ploy Preston had invented to learn when I was leaving so he could be there to help me.
Since I’m already on a roll, I tell them how I’d been watching Preston from my room. The feelings he stirred inside me.
Then I get into our days on the run together.
How every minute felt like this forbidden, high-stakes game because we weren’t supposed to be together. For a lot of reasons. He was older than me. He was hired by my father to find me, not fall in love with me. We were hiding from so many people.
But damn if I didn’t want him to be mine forever. Certainly longer than a few days.
“I just miss him.” I hiccup. “My childhood was stolen from me. Now my future has been taken, too.”
“You could make another future,” Dr. Fairmont says optimistically.
“I hate the idea of that,” I state honestly. “No life I could make for myself will ever feel right without Preston in it. I guess it sounds bad, but I don’t care about my education or a career. It doesn’t matter where I’m living. He’s the one who made life good. The circumstances were secondary.”
“You felt like you could handle anything as long as he was by your side.”
“Yeah. That’s exactly it.”
“Have you made any plans going forward?”
“Not really.” I glance at Bridgette. “But I know Preston would’ve wanted me to do all the things I’ve always dreamed of. Maybe we could start by getting some more college pamphlets.”
It pains me to say it—it hurts to even think about planning out a future without Preston, but I owe it to myself to try.
Dr. Fairmont smiles at me. “This is wonderful. It’s a breakthrough.”
My eyebrows go up. “It is?”
She nods. “Not only are you talking about Preston, but you’re including your family in your decisions. You’re opening up and accepting help. Are you still taking your medicine?”
I pat my fanny pack where I keep my cell phone. “Yeah. I have a daily timer so I don’t miss it.”
The doctor’s smile grows, then she grins at Bridgette. “I think she’s ready.”
“Ready for what?” I look back and forth between them.
Bridgette’s eyes are shining with unshed wetness, and Dr. Fairmont types something out on her phone. A second later, the door opens with a quiet click.
And Jen Harding comes into the room, with her spiffy clothes and combat boots.
What’s happening here?
Jen takes a seat in a leather chair next to Dr. Fairmont. The flames blaze in the fireplace behind them, making them look like heroes dashing out of an explosion to save me.
Keeping her eyes on me, Jen leans forward with her elbows on her knees. “Donovan Vogel, AKA Donovan Fowler, was caught three weeks ago. He was apprehended at the Mexican border.”
“You got Preston’s killer? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” This whole time, I’ve imagined Donovan running around on a beach somewhere, sipping icy alcoholic drinks.
“We were just trying to focus on you,” Dr. Fairmont provides.
“Well, it might’ve helped me to know…” I feel my old temper rising, but I push it down. Because I do trust Dr. Fairmont. If she felt it was best for me to learn this news at a later time, she’s probably right. “Yeah, okay.” I blink a few times, processing what this means. Justice. “Well, good. I hope Donovan gets beaten to death in jail.”
“Melo—Rosa—that’s a terrible thing to say,” Bridgette hisses, her cheeks red with embarrassment at my brutal outburst.
I just hike a shoulder. I haven’t completely changed. Sure, I have better control over my emotions, but I’m not a saint like Bridgette. Endless patience and forgiveness are traits I don’t possess.
Unaffected by my ire, Jen shrugs. “Right now they’ve got him in solitary. Donovan’s a high-profile case because he’s wanted in four countries for assassination. He’s a killer for hire, and one of the men he murdered was an important government official. So, witnesses are crucial to his conviction.”
“I’m a witness,” I say flatly.
She nods. “Yes, you are.”
“Is this the part where you tell me you’re whisking me away into witness protection?” I joke.
No one laughs.
“Oh, shit,” I breathe out. “That’s what’s happening here?”
“Not exactly,” Jen replies. “You wouldn’t have to go away forever. We just need to keep you somewhere safe until the trial is over. Keeping a protective detail on you twenty-four-seven isn’t ideal.”
“The vans outside our house.” I gape at Jen. “That’s the FBI?”
“Only one of them. The rest really are reporters, and their presence has actually been quite helpful. No one’s going to come after you when there are cameras around.”
I turn to Bridgette. “So you’re sending me away? Is that why you brought up online classes and studying abroad?”
She tries to smile, but she looks sad. “I don’t want you to go, but I want you to be safe. This is your choice.” She reaches over to pat my hand. “You don’t have to testify if you don’t want to, but I think it would be good—”
“Of course I’m going to testify,” I say a little too sharply. I lower my voice and look to Jen. “Do you have any other witnesses?”
“We do,” she answers. “The responsibility won’t rest solely on your shoulders. We’ve been building a case against Mr. Fowler for a while, and you’ll have company where you’re staying in the meantime.”
“Company?”
Maybe I’m seeing things that aren’t there, but I swear I detect a twinkle in Jen’s eye.
Preston might be alive. He might be in the same witness protection-ish plan, and my heart lifts.
My imagination starts to run wild in the second it takes her to clarify.
“Ivan,” she says with a smile, utterly destroying the glimmer of my dreams coming back to life. “He’s been staying at his residence in The Maldives, and he’d love to have you there with him.”
“Right.” I can’t help sounding disappointed.