Isighed and ran a hand over my face, desperately in need of a good trim, andsaid, “I have a concussion. Doctors say it’s a miracle Ididnaehave a brain bleed, with how hard he bashed me in the head. I also neededfifteen stitches.” I laid a hand gingerly over the wound to the back of myskull. “Hurts like a fucker, too. He broke my leg and bruised a few of my ribs,as well, but really, the worst of it is in my head.”
Rosieclosed her eyes and laid her head against the pillow. Her face took on a painedexpression as she said, “I’m so sorry, Alec.”
“Yehavenothin’ to be sorry for.”
“Yes,I do.”
“Then,tell me,” I said. “What exactly is it that ye think ye should beapologizin’ about?”
IfI had known that question would insight a hysterical sob from the woman’s lips,I never would have asked. But that’s exactly what happened. It was as if weeksof pain had suddenly been given permission to leave her body, as she began tocry, and all I could do was listen.
“Alec,”she began, laying one of her bandaged hands over her eyes, as if to hide thetears so obviously pouring from her eyes, “none of this ever would havehappened if it weren’t for me. I’m the one who told Gracie to go to Scotlandfor her honeymoon. I’m the one who insisted she go anyway, even after herfiancé cheated on her. I’m the one who convinced her to talk to that guy. I’mthe one who came here and got wrapped up inall ofthis shit. If it weren’t for me, Gracie would bealive. Finley would bealive.And you and Rick never would have gotten hurt.”
Islowly shook my head and reached out to take her hand, fearing that she mightpull away. But I was relieved to find that she didn’t.
“Rosie,if it weren’t foryerinsistence, this might neverhave been solved. Stirling could still be on the streets,killin’unsuspectin’ women. You helped to end a life of rapeand murder, and for that, ye should be verra proud.”
“Howam I supposed to feel anything, when my sister is dead?” she asked, her tearsquickening. “Oh, God, Alec. My sister is fuckingdead. She’s gone, andhow the hell am I supposed to go on with my life without ever hearing her voiceagain? I-I don’t know how to do this. How the hell do I do this?”
Griefis a strange and unpredictable beast. If you dare to tame it, you’re likely toget yourself killed. I watched in a helpless stupor as Rosie finally unleashedweeks’ worth of emotional torment. At last, without the distraction of catchingher sister’s killer, all of Rosie’s anger and sadness was released in the formof tears and gut-wrenching sobs. Her wails drowned out the surroundingmachines, every beep letting us know that she was the surviving sister.
Then,after moments of being unable to do anything but watch, I finally found it inme to react and be more than just Inspector Brodie and be the man who kissedher just days ago. I climbed onto the bed beside her, injuries be damned, andwrapped her tightly in my arms until my shirt was soaked through with hertears.
Catchingher breath, she wiped her face and lifted her head from my shoulder. “I’ll beokay,” she said, dismissing her emotions with sudden nonchalance. “I just needto go home and get back to my life.”
“Yewill be okay,” I agreed, stroking the hair from her forehead. “But it’s allright to admit that, right now, ye’re not.”
“Butit doesn’t make a difference either way.”
“Whatdo ye mean?”
Sheturned to face me, and as her eyes met mine, the world of hospital beds andmedical equipment disappeared. I heard nothing else, saw nothing else, but thewhisper of her breath and the pain in her eyes. In those few seconds, I longedfor the power to make it better, to take her pain away, and as she laid herhand against my cheek and gently moved her parched lips to mine, I sensed shewished for the very same thing.
Then,she said, “It doesn’t make a difference because Grace is still gone, and I’mstill leaving. Allowing myself to acknowledge the pain changes nothing abouteither of those facts, so the best thing to do is just push forward.”
“Idinnaewant ye to leave,” I heard myself saying, as Ilaid my hand over hers, as if that alone could keep her here.
Rosiesmiled and kissed me again, harder than before. Her tears wet my face and Ilicked them from her lips, wishing that somewhere amidst the grief, we couldfind a place where we could stay together. But then, as she pulled away andwinced fromall ofthe physical pain she had endured,I realized that a place that lovely and wonderful would also require a perfectworld and that was something we didn’t have.
“Youknow,” she said, lacing her fingers together with mine and holding on tightly,“when Grace was found and I was told that she was dead, the first thing I thoughtwas that I didn’t want her to become just another memory, because they fade.Even now, I find myself struggling to remember the way she said certain thingsor the way she smelled or the way she looked when she smiled in the sunlight.It’s so stupid how badly I want to rememberall ofthese little things that never mattered before but all of a sudden matter somuch, and I know the fight is pointless because there’s no way I can rememberall of it. There’s no way I ever could. I-I didn’t take enough pictures, Ididn’t take enough videos, I didn’t do any of these things I had never thoughtto do because I was so busy spending time with her, and now, it’s too late. Atsome point in life, it isalwaystoo late.”
Iclosed my eyes to the sight of our hands, interlocked against the coarseblanket, and tipped my head against hers. Her skin moved like silk through myfingers, soft and delicate, and as she spoke, I hoped I could manage toremember this, even if I forgot everything else. If I could only remember thesefew moments of pain and loss, I’d know that that at one point in my life, I hadheld something so wonderful it felt impossible to let go.
“Iam so terrified of becoming just another memory,” she whispered, as her voicecaught jagged in her throat. “I am so afraid that one day, you’ll be withsomeoneelseand they’ll do something that reminds youof me, and you’ll think about that one time you had a thing for the sister of adead American woman. I hate the thought of that, and I hate even more that Ican’t do a damn thing about it.”
“Christ,Rosie,” I answered, as I wondered how there evercould besomeoneelse.
“We’llbe fine, though,” she said, once again yielding strength in her tone. “You’llfind your place again in your office, and I’ll get back to being a mom and anaide to theMayor. And hopefully, one day, I’ll stophaving nightmares and they’ll be replaced with happy dreams about everything wecould’ve been.”
Wedidn’t say as much but it was our goodbye. With one last kiss to her lips andthen her cheek, I climbed from the bed and told her to get some rest. Shelaughed with a joke about all the drugs that were finally making her sleep andhoping they sent her home with some. I grabbed my crutch and hobbled toward thedoor, before turning to lift my hand in a subtle wave, only to find she’dalready fallen asleep. Perhaps she was just pretending, to shield her eyes fromthe sight of me walking away, and I decided that was for the best. If all I wasto be wasa memory, that wasn’t the one I’d wish forher to have, either.
Iclosed the door and limped past Tom with a smile and a wave. Then, as I limpedmy way to the lift, I whispered a final goodbye to the woman down the hall,realizing that she was right.
Thefear of being nothing more than a memory is a torturous thing, knowing you’realready beginning to fade the moment you walk away.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
ROSIE
