Moonshot
Page 61

Goodbye seemed too trivial of a word, so I only nodded, turning on my heel and walking out the door, Detective Thorpe pushing off the opposite wall, his eyes meeting mine.
“Do you have anything else for me?” I asked.
“Not that can’t be done tomorrow via phone. Take care of yourself, Mrs. Grant.” He held out his hand, and I took it, shaking it firmly.
“It’s Ty.” God, that last name haunted me. I would reclaim Rollins as soon as I could.
I think he understood, his kind smile the sort that spoke volumes. “Be safe, Ty. I’ll have a deputy escort you home.”
“That won’t be necessary.” I said the words without thinking, no ride set up, no one waiting outside. But the thought of a uniform, the thought of someone guarding me … it was stifling at a time when I only wanted freedom. And it was unimportant when the threat to my life was now behind bars. I smiled a goodbye and moved past him, down a long hall, then to an elevator, people everywhere despite the late hour. My hands trembled around the strap of my purse, my throat dry when I swallowed. I wanted to run, to kick off my shoes and sprint out the double doors. My steps quickened, a click clack along the concrete floor, the glass doors closer, closer, closer. Then I was through, the night air cool and clear, a shot of adrenaline zipping through me. I was free. I was alive.
Back home, my dad and Carla waited, expecting for me to ride home with Tobey. I had no idea where Chase was, my phone breaking in its tumble down the stairs, the touch screen useless, calls unanswerable. My frustration and elation warred, my desperation to see Chase competing with the need to hug my father, to tell him everything, to grab my bag and Titan, and get in my car and GO—out of the Grant world, out of the Yankee bubble.
My bags were already packed and tucked into the back of my closet. Monday, I would have our house manager pack my items and send them to the auction house. I had no need for the furs and gowns, the matching luggage sets and jewelry. They would bring a high price at auction, the proceeds sent to the Boys and Girls Club.
I looked down the street, the wind whipping between the tall buildings, the night alive with the smells of the city, trash competing with a food truck, cigarette smoke drifting over from a nearby group. There were no taxis in site, and I waited, wrapping my arms around myself and taking a deep breath. I was alive. It was a blessing easy to forget, in the rush of everyday life. How precious that simple gift was.
A navy sedan skidded to a stop beside me, and its door opening, Chase stepping out. He stood for just a second, looking at me as if testing his sight, and then everything inside of me broke open as he rushed forward.
“Oh Ty.” He clutched my face, his eyes searching over me, noticing the bandage, the bruises. “Fucking game traffic. I didn’t hear the news until I got home. Then I went to your house, and th—”
I shushed him, grabbing at the front of his T-shirt and lifting to my toes, pressing my lips to his. “Take me there?” I asked.
“I’ll take you anywhere.” He kissed my forehead so gently I wanted to cry. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
In his arms, in the back of the car, shuddering over potholes as it carried me to the house, I cried. I cried out every emotion left inside of me. And somewhere between the Bronx station and the security gates of my home, I found peace.
It was over.
All of it.
114
Six Months Later
“Let’s talk about your happiness.” My therapist’s favorite topic. I often wondered, hitting this stage of the appointment, if Tracy recycled the question with everyone in her life, every damn member of her family forced to prove, on an everyday basis, that their smiles and laughter were real.
“I’m happy.” I looked away from a wrinkle in her cleavage and to her eyes, sharp holes of black behind bright red glasses. “Everything is great.” It was. It was better than great. It was a painful happiness, the kind so precious that it scares, each moment filled with an edge of panic that it will all be lost. A person should not be this happy, our love should not be this strong—it just didn’t seem fair, seem possible, to be so blessed.
“How is the public handling your engagement?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure. I haven’t paid attention.” Probably not well. Yankee Nation hadn’t been pleased when their first lady had abandoned her post. They’d ignored the carefully worded press release that Tobey and I had given. The one that emphasized our continuing friendship, and the joint decision we had made to end our four-year marriage. The paparazzi had caught my climb onto the private jet, Chase behind me. They’d seen our kisses on the beach in Bali. Overnight, I’d been branded a cheater. I hadn’t cared, not when it had been the truth. I had cheated. There wasn’t really any getting around that. Besides, Tobey had been in the trenches right next to me, Dan’s mouth as loud in prison as it’d been outside of it. Everyone knew about his affairs, the media all but having a field day between the two of us. It was comical, though I seemed to be the only one seeing the humor in all of it.
“When is the wedding?”
I glanced down at my hand, at the simple band there. We’d skipped a diamond, Chase wanting something that could be worn under a glove. I preferred it, every giant rock reminding me of my first one, the stone that had seemed more like a shackle than a symbol of love. “In six months.” I wasn’t in a rush, though Chase seemed to be counting down the seconds, frantic to change my name and haul me off to his cave where he could properly claim me as his own.
“Anything else happen since our last session?”
“I visited Dan again.”
Her brows raised. “Why?”
I didn’t know. But she didn’t like answers like that. She liked to dissect, the process exhausting yet helpful. Every session, I told myself I wouldn’t come back. And every session, when I checked out and the perky receptionist asked if I wanted to book another appointment, I did. It was a cycle I wasn’t yet ready to stop. Like peeling chapped lips.
I slid my palms under my thighs, knuckles against jeans, and tried to work through her question. “I like seeing him. It makes me feel in control.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Love.”
“You know what I don’t understand?” I folded over the gum wrapper, my nail sliding across the edge, each bend in the foil drawing Dan’s eyes to it.