Can you die of a broken heart?
A tear-stained little girl asked that question to a boy on the grass beside her almost twenty years ago.
He didn’t know the answer. Neither of us did.
Not then.
But I know now.
Truth is, any number of things in this life can kill you. Turn on the news any day of the week, and you’ll see the stories.
A soccer mom totals her minivan on the way to pick up her kids from practice. A renowned physicist has a heart attack in the middle of his Nobel Prize acceptance speech. A child climbs into a van with a stranger and is never seen again.
War, famine, disease, drought.
Electrocution, car accident, fire, drowning.
Cancer, spider bite, shark attack, childbirth.
Our world is a hypochondriac’s nightmare and a survivalist’s dreamland.
Anything can kill you. Anything.
Even a broken heart.
I always kind of thought I’d go that way. That I’d love Nate so much, it physically killed me.
I sure as hell didn’t expect a bullet to the brain in a swampy marsh.
But as I stand here with my eyes closed, waiting to die, I can’t help but think it’s not how we go that matters. It’s not our deaths that define us.
It’s how we live.
The choices we make. The lives we change. The people we love.
That’s the legacy we leave behind, when we blink out of existence. Not how we die, whether it’s after a long, brave battle with cancer or a short, unexpected trip over your shoelaces into oncoming traffic.
Life is precious. Days are numbered.
It’s not a dress rehearsal.
There are no do-overs or second chances at getting it right.
I wish, more than anything, that I’d lived every single day like I was dying. I wish I hadn’t been so afraid of getting hurt or making a fool of myself that I went years without telling Nate how I felt. I wish I could take back every wasted moment I spent without him.
Most of all, though, I wish I’d never told him about those damn turtle doves who mate for life. Because if I die…
It may just kill him, too.
***
The bang is so loud, it makes my ears ring. I flinch back, waiting for the impact.
It never comes.
I hear a dull thud, the sound of running footsteps. My lashes fly open to see Cormack on the dirt at my feet — a bullet in his head, his green-blue eyes wide and unblinking as they stare up at the sky overhead.
The screech of the warehouse door makes me turn. My eyes are glassy with shock, my heart is lodged firmly in my throat, and I know I’m shaking like a leaf as I take in the sight of the men in black fatigues flooding out of the warehouse like ants at a picnic.
I barely see them — my eyes cut straight through the group to the man in the leather jacket standing ten feet from me, his gun still smoking in his hands. His dark eyes are locked on me, burning bright with love and fear and anger.
“Nate,” I choke, taking two steps toward him. My ankles wobble and I think I might fall, but suddenly he’s there, wrapping his arms around me so tight I can barely breathe. His mouth presses against my hair. I can hear his heart pounding beneath my cheek.
“I’ve got you, little bird.” His voice is ragged with worry. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
I try to turn in his arms, but I’m crushed too tight against his chest.
“Let me go,” I say.
He goes still. “Why?”
“So I can kiss you, idiot.”
His arms loosen, his hands come up to frame my face, and then he’s kissing me. I taste anguish and longing and terror on his tongue, love and joy and relief on his lips. I keep kissing him until my hands stop shaking and my knees quit quaking.
“You got kidnapped again,” he growls when he pulls away, glaring at me. “You promised never to do that.”
“Sorry,” I whisper. “They had Parker, and— Oh my god, Parker! Is he—”
“He’s fine.” Nate’s eyes soften and he runs a hand over my hair. “Shot to his shoulder was a through-and-through.”
“Thank god,” I say, voice breaking. “And Boo?”