Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 234
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
I take the ballcap. And a letter slides out beneath it. Fluttering to the floorboards. I pick it up to see my name written in yellow crayon.
Tears almost burst forth.
He left me a letter. Because maybe he knew…I would’ve liked a note. A note would’ve been nice. “Come back,” I nearly cry. Scrubbing the silent tears away with my hand, I slip the letter and stuffed animal into my bookbag, then I fit his hat on my head, tightening the strap.
We’re going to find him.
We have to find him.
Life isn’t the same without him.
It’s all I think on the way to the Cobalt brothers’ apartment.
No one is here yet. I’m sitting in the hall outside 2166. My bookbag between my legs while I knock the back of my head against the door. Security let me pass through the lobby after I signed my name on the guest sheet, but they didn’t pat me down. Didn’t ask me questions. I’m too frequent a guest for them to bat an eye.
Five minutes of his brothers not responding was too long, so I pulled the trigger and alerted his mom. I basically spent the entire subway ride texting her and trying not to cry when she called me. She asked a lot of questions I don’t have answers to, but I wish I knew.
I wish I knew where he went.
I wish I prodded harder, even if it hurt.
If we never find him, I’m going to always wish.
Now I’m just waiting for his brothers to show up. They’re on their way to the apartment.
Tom had been the first to answer me, and he rerouted to the ballet to physically get Beckett. I think both Beckett and Eliot left mid-performance. Charlie has been totally uncommunicative.
While time drags excruciatingly slow, I unearth the letter from my backpack. My heart beats so loud as I carefully open the envelope.
I unfold the plain white paper, and a pressed flower slips out, falling to my lap. I pinch the delicate, dried stem. The cream petals too fragile to touch. I’m careful not to destroy them.
I sniff back emotion, blow out a shaky breath, then eye the letter. He wrote in black ink, his handwriting nothing fancy, but seeing a remnant of Ben is everything to me.
I read slowly.
Dear Friend,
There is no possible way I’ll be able to tell you everything I want to when I say goodbye. It’ll be a miracle if I even manage to say goodbye at all. I wouldn’t be surprised if I never do. Because my heart is yours forever, Harriet. I’m not taking it back. I left it with you.
I also left you a flower. One of the oldest on earth. Something so delicate and beautiful withstood glaciers, extinctions, the ever-changing landscape of our planet, the rise and fall of civilizations…through eras and hardship, it survived. It’s a testament to the strength and perseverance of life on our Earth. And it’s always reminded me of you.
The magnolia.
You will endure, Fisher. You will heal others with music or with medicine, with emotion or with mind. You will love and be loved, and if you ever miss me, like I will always miss you, just find the brightest burning star across the sky.
à toi pour l'éternité,
Ben
I don’t want to love anyone more than I love him. I only want Ben. “I only want you,” I cry as a broken sob rips through my body. I try to protect the letter from my sudden onslaught of tears. Burying my face into the golden fur of his stuffed animal, I hug the lion against my shuddering frame. He still smells like Ben. Like his musk. Like pine.
I’m not angry he left. I can’t be angry. I am pulverized knowing that maybe I didn’t do enough to help him while he was here.
You’ve made me so unbelievably happy. I hang on to what he said. I believe it’s true. And I wish I could’ve told him, “Take me with you.”
“Harriet?”
I peer up and blink away the glassy haze of tears.
Joana Oliveira, the neighbor down the hall, rushes toward me in concern. Curls cascade down her shoulders. She has on a mocha crop top and matching pants. Fuzzy enough to be PJs. She even wears slippers. I don’t know why I’m fixating on her wardrobe.
Maybe to dam the waterworks. It sort of helps.
“What happened?” She reaches the door. “Did they lock you out?” She’s a half-second from banging her fist to the wood. Actually, she does do that. “You smug Adonis knockoffs. Open up!”
“They’re not home.” My voice is hoarse. I notice the ice pack in her hand. “Holy shit, are you okay?” I croak out. Her ribcage is seriously bruised.
“What?” She’s confused, until she follows my gaze. A welt the size of a fucking dinner plate blemishes her golden-brown skin. Right below her crop top. “Oh, yeah. It hurts like hell, but I’d take a punch to the ribs over one to the face. Having your eye swollen shut is miserable.”