In the Likely Event(63)

“Get off your high horse. Jeremy’s not the only one who disappeared on me at one time.”

I ignored the dig because it was true. But she’d obviously forgiven him, and I’d gotten the opposite treatment. “When did you two get back together? Before New York?” It would have explained everything.

“No!” she hissed. “Not until I went to DC. My parents took me out to lunch, and he was there with his family . . .” She sighed. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“You don’t,” I agreed. “And no explanation he could give would be sufficient. You deserve so much . . . more.”

Her head whipped toward mine, and three things happened at once.

I finally figured out what was bothering me about the way she’d been holding her hands all day. It wasn’t her hands. It was what wasn’t on her hand—her engagement ring.

The chess team came down the corridor, escorted by the Afghan soldiers.

And the runway exploded.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


IZZY


Georgetown

December 2016

If it was nine a.m. here, then it was six thirty p.m. in Afghanistan, which meant maybe I was actually eating at the same time Nate was. Of course, he’d be having dinner, and I was fiddling around with a stack of pancakes, but still, it was kind of like we were eating together.

“Which is why she’s specializing in charity work. Aren’t you, Izzy?” Serena’s tone demanded my attention.

I blinked, looking up from my breakfast plate, and found Serena arching an eyebrow at me from across the diner table.

“Right. Yes. Exactly,” I agreed. This was supposed to be a double date, and I wasn’t holding up my end of the deal. I glanced from Serena’s current boyfriend, Ramon, to the friend he’d brought for me.

Shit. What was his name? Sam? Sandy? Shane? Something with an S. It wasn’t that he wasn’t cute. He had nice brown eyes, smooth bronzed skin, and a handsome smile. It was just . . .

I was hopeless.

“I love that you’re focused on charity,” he said, offering me a toothy smile.

“And you?” See? I could keep the conversation going.

His dark brows knit. “I’m in tech, remember?”

Serena kicked me under the table.

“Of course!” I shot my sister a glare. “I just meant where you saw yourself taking your career in that particular industry.”

“Oh.” He smiled again. “I’m really focusing on the financial market, and how to make banking more accessible in remote locations . . .”

Remote locations like where Nate was. My thoughts drowned out his monologue.

God, what was wrong with me? It had been months since I’d been able to maintain a relationship, and here I was again, choosing the thought of Nate over an actual guy. Maybe that was what had gone wrong with Nate’s last relationship too. He’d been seeing someone for a couple of months there, and for a minute, I’d wondered if we’d actually take the trip we’d booked to Fiji in June. And fine, I’d been jealous too. Super healthy.

Our letters had shifted to emails in the eighteen months it had been since I’d seen him, and even those had been less frequent since he’d deployed yet again. I’d lost track of which number this was.

My phone buzzed on the table, and Serena tilted her head at me as I picked it up to check for a text. Nope, just an email. I had Google Alerts set up to send once a week, and it was just this week’s articles.

But it wasn’t. My heart stumbled at the subject line.

Nathaniel Phelan.

I stopped breathing and stabbed at the smooth surface of the phone like it would make the application open faster. He was fine. He had to be fine. Him not being fine wasn’t an option. And yet I couldn’t breathe.

As I clicked the link, a dull roar filled my ears as an obituary site loaded.

No.

My world couldn’t exist without him in it somewhere.

I blinked as the article appeared. Alice Marie Phelan. I skimmed the obituary, my stomach lurching three-quarters through. Survived by her husband David and only son, Nathaniel.

Nate’s mom died. According to the obituary, her funeral, a graveside service, was at four p.m. today.

He was going to be devastated.

“I have to go.” I grabbed a twenty out of my purse and threw it on the table, already running for the door before Serena could even call my name.





At 3:44 p.m. that afternoon, I stumbled out of the car I’d rented at the smallest airport I’d ever seen and popped open the umbrella I’d brought with me. I’d only had an hour to get changed in the only available hotel room in town—which had also been the most expensive—but at least I’d had a black dress in my closet ready to pack in my carry-on. Getting a flight out? Now that had been . . . tricky. But I’d made it.

I would have thought that December in Illinois meant snow, but freezing-cold rain pelted the umbrella as I rounded the front of the sedan and stepped into the cemetery. My heart pounded as I headed for the small crowd gathered nearby, my heels sticking into the brown grass with every step.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I fumbled getting it out of my jacket. A text previewed on the screen.

MOM: Serena said you ran out of breakfast this morning?