THE CRAZY GOOD SERIES - Rachel Robinson Page 0,108

the Boston Symphony. Windsor.

I see Stone in front of me, in slow motion, firing his rifle into the room. I hesitate not even a half second, maybe not even a Nano second. Windsor. I pull the trigger and begin firing in succession at the bad guy who has a shitty table on its side as cover. I forget to the clear the corner, my corner. I turn to glance at Stone and I see it written in his tense body language. I fucked up. His eyes grow large, round in surprise. Because I don’t fuck up. I don’t fuck up because this is the only thing I’ve ever been good at. Another half second passes.

The bad guy, the one in my corner, shoots and I hear the familiar tink, tink, tink of a grenade, but I don’t know where it’s at because I can’t take my eyes off of Stone who is on his knees, clutching his bleeding side with both hands, his face a mask of disbelief. Another second ticks by. Then another. I send a kill shot to the corner and watch the bad guy slump down the wall, staining it as he slides to his final resting place. I stoop next to Stone, my whole body trembling. He looks at me, briefly, and nods. In another slow-mo moment, I watch as Stone throws his arms out and falls forward over the explosive green oval, covering it with his own body.

And the grenade detonates.

You know that feeling I was trying to explain? About how death changes the air. I feel it now. It soaks into my awareness and wraps around me like dark clouds. It’s different this time. No elation or adrenaline buzz. And I know this death, the one I sense right now, isn’t like the others. I’m the one dying. Or my brother is. Maybe we both are. One fate is more preferable than the others.

I feel nothing. I know nothing. I deny everything. Darkness, the most helpless feeling, takes over. I want to feel Stone—to be close to him. Because I’m scared he’s right.

My newest attachment not only made me crazy, she just pulled the fucking pin from thousands of miles away.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Maverick

Present Day

I HOLD THE letter in my hands like it’s the most fragile thing in the world. I’ve memorized the size, shape, and weight of the envelope. I promised Morganna we’d open the letter together and it’s the least I can do. It was like a never-ending nightmare when I woke up in the hospital.

First, I see Monica’s face. And if that wasn’t enough to throw me into an absolute fucking fit of rage, they told me Stone died. My brother—the only person who was there for me for as long as I can remember is gone forever. Denial would be the easiest way to cope, but even that doesn’t fill the jagged hole in my heart.

Tiny pieces of the mission float back to me as the days pass and I’m finally at the point when anytime I close my eyes, I see my best friend sacrificing himself for me, bits of his body coating me as I lie on a dirty floor wishing I’d made the move first. It would have been easier to wallow in my pretend denial had my darling wife been absent.

After I threatened Monica, she left the hospital and promised to finally sign the divorce papers. Morganna gave them to her at least seventeen times in the past five years. It took seeing me shot up, in a hospital bed, looking her in the eye and telling her that I never loved her—that I will never love her, for her to see the light.

Monica never truly wanted me, she wanted my career…my community. I married her at a courthouse when she got pregnant five years ago on a trip back to my hometown with Stone. It was my pathetic attempt to win my family over by doing the right, moral thing. Of course her convenient miscarriage came two weeks after the wedding. She’d manipulated me into giving her exactly what she wanted.

When I found out she lied about being pregnant, I left her. It was also the very last time I did anything because society deemed it “right” or “moral”. She’s refused to divorce me ever since.

I pay her monthly. Partly to keep her mouth shut, and also because somewhere inside me I’m a good person. I loved the idea of having a baby. I wasn’t fond of