“I thought if I left, you’d be safe.”
His chest moves with a rough laugh. “Darlin’, I rode two thousand miles on a Harley after a woman who told me not to follow. Safe ain’t really my brand.”
I laugh against him.
Then I feel him go still.
Not a hard still.
A preparatory one.
Like he has put something heavy in his mouth and is deciding whether to let it fall.
I pull back enough to look up. “What?”
He doesn’t answer immediately.
The fire pops beside us. Music plays. A dirty song now that the kids are out of sight. Something about a woman named Sally. Hot Mama’s laugh rolls from near the picnic tables.
Derby’s eyes stay on mine.
“Oaks called before I got here.”
My stomach clenches. “Is something wrong in Kentucky?”
“Yes.”
The word is quiet. Too quiet.
“Lottie? She made it back okay?”
He nods.
“Derby.”
“Jeremy is dead.”
The world drops away. No sound. No fire. No music. No Queens. Only those three words.
Jeremy is dead.
My body doesn’t understand first.
My mind does.
Then my body catches up all at once.
Cold. Heat. Nausea. A strange floating lightness that makes me feel awful because part of me rises before the horror can push it down.
Dead.
Jeremy can’t call.
Can’t send packages.
Can’t file papers.
Can’t stand in a doorway and make my lungs forget how to work.