CALLEN (Second Chance Novels Book 3) (26 page)

I watch her carefully as I speak, looking closely for any sign of her mindset behind the quiet tension. She seems at least ready to let me continue talking, so I press forward.

"Revenge drained me, Quinn. I'm empty. Evvie's ghost left me. I watched Riggs walk away without a good-bye, and I watched Mason lose his last remaining shred of innocence. I saw myself kill my brother."

I pause for a long moment before I'm ready to speak the absolute truth. "And in killing off my entire past, I can tell you this with absolute certainty: I'm a blank page."

Her eyes look straight into me, and she has no words to speak. I rest her head on my chest again and continue to hold her close and love her with in every way I can right now.
 

Finally, she speaks against my chest.
 

"What story will you write on that page?"

I take a quiet breath.

"Yours."

EPILOGUE

Days after my first step forward, I'm fascinated by this new life. Rebirth brings with it a lightness I've never experienced and a depth of love fathoms greater than before. The tension between Quinn and myself left us completely.

My business partnership with Mason allows me to subtly guide him as he finds his way through our shared tragedy. The positive work we do allows me to appreciate the skills I've learned without the heaviness of past missions.
 

The only remaining tension in my life is Shelby. I'm angry with myself for compartmentalizing her into a corner of my brain too easily ignored.
 

She's hurting and spiraling. And since I've been so wrapped in my own drama, I can only assume how desperately she's clinging to the fantasy of Mason and the future she lost. I know in my gut she's still attempting to drink away her problems.
 

With determination, I look for Shelby for days. Since she lost her job, finding her isn't easy. She won't return my calls.
 

In an act of both desperation and renewed dedication to our friendship, I use my resources at Delta Security to gain intel from her cell phone. She's made exactly zero outgoing calls over the past two weeks with the exception of a cab company. My gut instinct about her is confirmed when I track her location. She's at a bar at three o'clock in the afternoon on a Tuesday.
 

I assume this means she hasn't bothered to find a new job, and I'm furious with myself for not staying in her loop. I grab my car keys and head to a bar called Pitstop. What I assumed would be a kitschy pub with a racing theme turned out to be a seedy, piece-of-shit bar with no apparent reason for its name.
 

I walk in and straight to the bar where Shelby sits. I'm sick to see her wearing what I can only describe as slutty clothing. She's hanging on a predatory man who looks at her like a piece of meat. I simply lift him by his back collar and drop him stumbling away from the bar. When he attempts to strong-arm me in return, I sweep my leg to knock his legs from under him and I glare with calm conviction, "Don't get up."

The man is so easily intimidated, and backs away from me on the floor several feet before he stands and walks away.
 

"What the hell!" Shelby grits at me, her eyes narrowed in anger which does nothing to hide months of pain.
 

Jesus, Shelby.

"Let's go," I say as I grab her wrist solidly.
 

"Get off me," she says loudly enough to get the attention of a bartender with bad teeth. She tries to pull her arm away, but this drunken woman could never break my grip. I'm not hurting her by any means, but I won't ease my fingers, either.
 

"Let her go," the bartender says in an attempt to intimidate me. I nearly laugh.
 

I haul her quickly over my shoulder and carry her to the parking lot. The bartender doesn't follow, which tells me exactly how little anyone has shown concern for her recently…including myself. Her fists pound my back, proving how deeply I hurt her. She stops protesting a few paces from my car, and rather tenses her body.
 

"I'm going to be sick," she gurgles. I set her down and hold her hair while she wretches. I press my eyes shut to avoid watching her level of dysfunction. With a frustrated clench of my jaw, I wait for her to purge what smells of rancid tequila.

When she stands and wipes a hint of vomit from the corner of her mouth, I open my eyes again to see Shelby watching me.
 

"Don't pretend you give a shit," she says weakly.
 

"I do give a shit, and I'm so sorry I haven't been here."

"Ha."

"I'm here
now
, Shel. Don't push me away," I return.
 

"Don't have to. You did that yourself."

I stop her attempt to get in the driver's seat of her car. I don't give her a choice. I pull her into the passenger side of my car by her wrist, returning my iron grip. I get in first and scoot to the driver's side so I can keep her from any attempt to leave.

My hand's station around her wrist keeps her from getting out of the car at a stoplight. She slams the door shut again in frustration and mutters
asshole
under her breath. I suppose that label describes me well for allowing her to slip this far down without so much as a phone call.
 

"Where are you taking me?" she asks.

"Rehab."

"Right. So you can pass me off to someone else and leave me again, you self-righteous asshole."

"You know that's not true."

"Bullshit," she says.
 

No more words pass between us until I pull up to a high-end facility. I can afford to make sure she gets the best care, and I'll visit her every day I'm allowed. Whether she recognizes it or not, this is the best way for me to be a friend right now.
 

I pull her out of the car and straight to the front desk, her arm still locked in my hand.
 

"This is Shelby Keene," I greet somberly. "And she needs help."

Shelby avoids eye contact with anyone, but rather glares at the floor, and then at the wall. The receptionist looks at Shelby and asks three questions.

"Who is the president?"

Shelby answers accurately in a seething voice.

"What's the date today?"
 

Again, Shelby is aware enough to give the right answer.
 

"Can you tell me where you are?"

"A fucking rehab center I don't need."

The intake nurse who came to the desk to listen to the exchange sighs and addresses me. "She's legally able to make her own decision. If she doesn't check herself in, we can't accept her as a patient."

Shelby's face twists in arrogant triumph as she looks at me and finally twists her arm from my grip. I offer a disgusted, frustrated expression to the women at the desk and watch as Shelby reaches for her cell and presses the speed dial for a cab company. Jesus, how often is she in the need for a quick rescue from a bad situation?

"Let me drive you home, Shel. At least let's talk."

"Don't fucking call me Shel."

She shakes her ass as she walks away from me in stilettos she can barely balance in at this point. I don't bother following tonight. I hope once she's sober she'll remember I care. I'll keep her as close as I can now, and show her she can rely on me again. I know Quinn will help.
 

I'll explain to my best friend the ability to let go of life's ugliness. Maybe I can guide her to do the same while I help her through the present.
 

I attempt to talk with her every day for four in a row. My gut pinches knowing I added to her pain. Another month of attempted-and-failed conversation pains me, but I seek her out at least twice a week, hoping to show her I truly care.

She refuses consistently, and then seems to be hiding. I give her space, but panic sets in when even my resources at Delta don't help me find her.

SERIES FINALE

JUNE 2015

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