Page 62 of Last Destination

The muscle memory of moving my limbs was a slow process, and I struggled to a seated position before holding out my arms in offering. She crawled forward and snuggled into my chest. For the most magnificent moment, I breathed her in, the soft scent of her soap and the heat of her skin calming the sharp ache in my skull to a dull throb.

We breathed together, our chests rising and falling with the same rhythm, until her tears dried and she grew quiet. Holding her as if she were mine to cherish, I allowed myself the brief pleasure, hope ballooning in my very soul this would be where we’d end up one day.

That she would choose me. She would choose us.

When my baby girl pressed two palms against my chest, I released her at once, mourning her loss. Her brilliant green gaze held me completely captive, even while I felt the blow of her next words.

“Is this” — she waved at my clearly disheveled and distraught appearance — “a result of the crash, or something more? I’m worried about you,” she hurried to add when my eyebrows rose at the phrasing.

“Am I a drunk from trauma or a drunk from upbringing, you mean?” The admission burned my tongue with its bitterness. I turned away from the haunted, prying eyes that saw the man I’d long buried beneath a bottle. It was only fair. I’d cycled through her darkest moments on a computer screen. Of course, she would see through into mine when I was only holding myself together with fermented barley and misplaced optimism.

“No! I would never say that!” She shuffled back into the pillow and picked at a rogue thread at the edge of the duvet seam. “I just — I want to support you, Nik. I wouldn’t have made it out alive at the end without you four getting me to safety. I would never forgive myself if I abandoned you when you needed it most.”

Of course, she wouldn’t. This was my Marley — the savior and saint who couldn’t let Diaz die, let alone anyone of merit.

My hands reached up of their own accord and cupped her chin. “You would never abandon anyone. It may be your only weakness, baby girl. Some people should be abandoned.”

“Not you.” The vehemence in her tone was so cutting, I felt its sting even though it was meant to be a bandage. “And you’re wrong. Abandoning Charlie made me see her for the rest of my life.”

She shook off my hands with an abrupt bob of her chin and brought her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around herself in what I was learning was her protective stance.

I pushed upright and pressed my back into the headrest alongside her, staring ahead at the waves in the distance instead of her beautiful, tortured face. “How are the meds working?”

“I haven’t seen her in two weeks.” Her tone was an interesting blend of relief and melancholy. “This dose seems to be working. I’d — seeing her after the plane crash wasn’t the first episode this time around. I think I’m doing okay.”

I held up a finger. “Okay, so one issue solved. Seeing your sister after a brutal traumatic incident is not a weakness, Marley. You’ve survived more than anyone I’ve ever known. But...” I lowered my voice, hesitant to scare her. “You’re likely going to need therapy, baby girl. We all will. None of us entered the Darién as whole people. We might need an entire entourage of shrinks.”

The joke did not land as I had intended, too poignant to offer humor.

“Therapy is a great idea,” she murmured toward the distant sea before snapping her gaze back to mine. “What else are you going to do to get help? I’m guessing this is not a new problem?”

The question was posed softly, but she had a way of ripping all hair off my skin with her words. I dropped her stare and took a renewed interest in my palms. “No, it’s not a new problem.”

An old problem to soothe old wounds. The temporary fix to bring out the best in me when the people I cared about were determined to remind me of the worst.

“Madman told me he has experience getting some members of his gang off drugs in prison. Maybe he could help you. Do you want to keep living like this?”

I only want you, baby girl.

Instead of announcing my desperate clinginess, my arms enveloped her body, pulling her tightly balled frame into my lap. I cradled her against my torso, knowing deep in my soul I would never tire of this feeling.

“I want to keep living like this.” I pressed my lips into the smooth skin of her forehead. “Whatever it takes to make this work, Marley, I’ll commit to. This is where I’m meant to be.”

A contented sound, like a kitten purring, came from her throat, and she pressed her body deeper into mine, her soft curves filling in the gaps of my sharpened bones. We sat there for an age, the silence far more comforting than it had been before.

My eyes grew heavy with her heartbeat to soothe me. I pulled the duvet over our bodies, and within moments, sleep took us both.

Two days after that …

“Nicolas.”

My sister breathed out my name in a whisper, a unique combination of prayer-like reverence and the inherited stern admonishment of our father. She stood in the foyer of our rented villa, the vision of her at the threshold freezing me in place like one of Medusa’s statues.

Bianca’s garish canary-yellow suit was an assault on the senses, although I’d be the first to admit it looked stunning on her lean frame and lightly bronzed skin. She could have selected a paper bag to wear this morning, and I’d still view my sister as the most beautiful Seymour to walk the earth.

My heart tightened painfully when I considered she might not have come had we not reconnected those few short weeks ago. Would anyone have been left bereft by my disappearance? I’d perfected the art of keeping my acquaintances close enough to believe themselves friends, but the few people I’d give my life for were living in this house.

People I’d avoided for the better part of two weeks while paying homage to distilled spirits instead. I stifled my frown, knowing my actions were those of the old me — the skin I needed to shed to move forward in this life. But I hadn’t the faintest clue how.