Page 124 of Reckless

All of it.

“The families, the sponsors, everyone has already booked flights,” I whisper.

Sandy’s eyes glisten. “I get it.”

“They’ve taken leave from work.”

“They have.”

“They’re bringing their kids for fucks sake!”

Her mouth trembles. “I know, sweetheart.”

The paper slips from my fingers onto the desk. My hands have started shaking so badly, and for the first time since Unsilenced stopped being a dream scribbled in the margins of an old notebook, I can’t see a way to save it.

“This will ruin us, Sandy.”

She sniffs, pressing trembling fingers beneath her eyes before the tears can fall. She gives one small nod. “This will shut us down, Sage.”

The silence stretches between us, heavy and goddamn useless. No words are left that can fix this. No speech is waiting somewhere that makes the folder on the desk disappear or gives us three years of our lives back.

I push myself to my feet because sitting there any longer feels like admitting it’s already over.

Sandy is beside me before I reach the door. She wraps her arms around me, and for one impossible second, I almost let myself fall apart right there against her shoulder.

Instead, I swallow it. “I’ll… I’ll think of something,” I whisper, even though I don’t know if I’m trying to convince her or myself.

“I know you will.”

I nod, and by the time I step out of her office, the hallway feels impossibly ordinary.

Everyone is still working.

Jess is laughing with one of the volunteers over something on a clipboard. Michael is carrying three boxes toward the conference room. Someone calls out that the sponsor banners finally arrived.

Life keeps moving.

Unsilenced keeps breathing.

Only I know somebody has just slipped a knife between its ribs and twisted.

I smile when people look at me.

Or at least I think I do.

Nobody stops me.

Nobody knows they have just spent the morning planning an event that will never happen.

The automatic doors slide open, and heat rushes over me, the midday Nevada sun so bright it hurts my eyes.

My car sits exactly where I left it, and I fumble my keys, missing the lock. I try again, and the door finally clicks open. I yank it wider than I mean to, and it bounces back against the hinge with a sharp metallic crack that echoes through the empty parking lot. “Fuck!” The word tears out of me, and I slam the door shut.

It isn’t enough, so I wrench it open again, then slam it harder.

Again.

And again.