Chapter Fifty-Two

Eight months later . . .

"

W hat's he going on about now?" Marissa asks, sliding the register closed with her hip. I glance over my shoulder to see she's looking up at the TV before turning to warm up the coffee of the man sitting at the counter. "Will there be anything else?"

"No. Thank you," he says, failing to catch my eye as I lay down his check. It's his third time coming in this week. He's handsome, but I know better. I'm nowhere near ready—one day.

One day.

Maybe.

The second time I left Triple Falls, I gained something I never thought I'd have again, faith.

It's contradictory to love in the way it doesn't destroy you. You can have a little of it or a lot, but it can't tie you up in knots. Faith is a healer, and it gives birth to hope. And hope is my next step, but I rest easy in faith.

"Cee, two sunny," Travis, our short order cook calls as I retrieve the plate and deliver it to the older man propped on the stool. He nods toward the television, unwrapping his silverware. "Turn that up, will you?"

I glance at the TV to see it's another presidential address. The second in the last week from our new elect last fall. He was sworn in as the youngest president ever to take office.

"Jesus, it's like 2008 all over again; our money isn't safe anywhere," the man says, shaking his head.

I grab the remote and turn up the TV before I cash Mr. Handsome out, laying his change and receipt on the counter. Briefly, I think of Selma, and a smile crosses my face. Except I don't bother to steal from this owner; it's my name on the paychecks.

Oh, the irony.

"Just more bullshit. More promises that won't be kept."

Billy, a grumpy regular who's tapping ketchup on his scrambled eggs, grunts out his agreement. "I don't like the look of him. I can tell he's a crook."

Laughter erupts from me. "Is it his suit, his haircut?"

Billy looks at me like I've grown an extra head, and I shake my laughter away and refill his coffee as he thumps his sugar packet with his finger, one, two, three times. I swallow the sting it causes and speak up as I pour, "You know, we're still a young country, as in two-hundred-and forty-plus years young versus others a thousand or more years old. Maybe, one day, we'll get it together."

Mr. Handsome nods, eyeing me reflectively. "Never thought of it like that."

"Yeah, well, I'm just a messenger," I whisper, mostly to myself.

"He's a quack," Marissa says, and this time I do burst into roaring laughter. She gives me the side-eye. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing."

I glance up at the TV at the new president discussing the newest shitstorm on US soil. In the past six months, unbreakable banks have gone under, federal judges have been fired, and President Monroe has cleaned out his entire cabinet and replaced ninety percent of the White House staff. In essence, he cleaned house, and nobody likes change. I like to keep an open mind. Briefly, I read his assurances in closed caption. It's much of the same, of how our country will survive, band together, overcome our odds, and come out stronger.

It's the words that everyone needs to hear, but words that are equally as deceiving. But as I look closer at his surroundings, it's the man to the right of him who gives me pause before that pause gives way to electric shock.

I pick up the remote and hit rewind.

" Hey , I was watching that," Billy protests.

"Sorry," I whisper faintly. "Sorry, just a second. It'll playback."

When I've gone back a few seconds with a clear view, I hit pause and cover my mouth.

"Oh my God." I would know that face anywhere, that hair, those eyes, and if he were smiling, that dimple.

Tyler.

Marissa rounds the corner, eyeing me. "Cecelia? What? What is it?"

I drink Tyler in amongst the line of a few standing guard behind our President and scan him from head to foot; his posture tight, his eyes are drawn sharp, watchful, his face stoic. The man standing guard doesn't much at all resemble the jokester I know and love. But it's him. It's Tyler.

Tyler is guarding the President.

I can't even form words as everyone at the counter stares at me with odd looks. I give myself a second, and then another.

I clear my throat and shrug. "Nothing, I swear, I thought I saw a ghost. Sorry y'all." I hit play and barely hear Marissa. "He's okay-looking, I guess, but he could use a tan."

Hand visibly trembling, I manage to set down the coffee pot, shaking in revelation.

They're everywhere. The banks, the stock market. All of it. It was them.

They've infiltrated the fucking White House.

I don't know why it surprises me, but the sight of Tyler standing in such an esteemed position has me utterly astonished. Palms sweating, I try to gather my wits and fail.

They've done it.

They're still doing it.

And it comforts me so much. I feel safer knowing whatever agenda they have. It's the right one. A pride-filled tear threatens, and I haul ass through the service doors to the kitchen and tuck myself in a corner near the baker's rack.

"You sons of bitches," I whisper, covering my mouth, my smile widening as I shake my head and tears fall freely down my cheeks. Inside I feel hysterical.

After a few minutes and a few deep inhales, I school my expression and walk back out into the cafe addressing Marissa.

"The deposit is on my desk—could you possibly take it today?"

"Sure, love, you okay?" Concern covers her features.

"Fine. I...just want to get home early and let my dog out. There's a storm coming and he's afraid of them."

"No problem. See you in the morning, sweetheart."

Sweetheart.

It's odd how that word can be used as a weapon or term of endearment. Dominic used it once or twice. But I don't look back anymore with resentment. It's pride I feel now when I remember my time in my parents' life choice purgatory. It's not the hard times I think of. It's hiking with Sean or watching Dominic read, or sipping wine while gazing at fireflies underneath the night sky with Tobias.

It's love I had, and love I took with me.

And it's my greatest strength. It's my true superpower.

Feeling the rumble of thunder, I exit the café and make it halfway to my car when I feel the air still. I search the parking lot and come up empty before giving myself a second to rationalize the static is nothing but the coming storm. I bat away the part of me that wants to mourn in disappointment. I've done enough of that. My tears have long since dried up.

I'm living the life I chose—day by day. No expectations, little responsibility. No ambitious quest, no fight with my conscience. Simple. Uncomplicated. A life I refuse to waste looking in the rearview. I took a monotonous role not to pay penance, but for peace of mind and the ability to think about what I want moving forward. I want to be okay with simplicity, the kind that entails honest work and aching feet. It's humbling if anything, and for the first time, it makes sense to me. I want to smile while doing it.

And some days—most days—I do.

I don't begrudge my past anymore for the future I have. It's wide open, but for now I'm keeping it simple until I come up with a different plan. Purse strapped over my shoulder, I take strides toward my car and climb in. Buckling in, I frown when I see the window on the passenger side is rolled down. I don't remember leaving it that way. Thankful I missed the storm, I turn the engine over. I jump back in my seat when "K." by Cigarettes After Sex bursts through the speakers.

I haven't heard it in years, not since the day I blasted it out in the woods...

I jump out of the Camaro and do a three-sixty, scanning the parking lot.

"Only one other has a key to this car, and it won't ever be used."

No. No. No.

The haunting melody drifts through the window of the idling car, bringing me back to a day where my life forever changed.

Frantically, I search the parking lot again and come up empty. I did not and would not have had that song playing. I peek in to see it's connected to Bluetooth and pull out my phone furiously, closing out my apps, but the song continues to play. It's not my phone it's connected to. I press my hands to the hood. Warm.

Is this another game?

I can't stomach anymore.

I laid us to rest—the past. I left. I did what he asked. What the hell is the point of this? I scan the small shopping center again, and it's then I spot Tobias stepping out of the A sheets of rain beat down on the windshield when I pull up to the main road and click my signal.

I turn to Tobias as he eyes the water pounding on the hood and looks back to me. We share an ironic smile.

We most definitely aren't riding off into the sunset.

He shrugs. "First of many. Merde, c'est nous." Fuck it, it's us.

"It's not a storm, Tobias," I say, looking up at the sky. "It's a blessing."