Sparrow

Lucy perched on the window sill, looking out, but mostly looking worried.

Daisy was digging dirt from under her fingernail absently, leaning against the wall, popping pink bubblegum.

I found comfort in the simplicity of everything around me. The walls were naked and everything was white or pale. The linoleum on the floor, basic furniture, blind-covered windows. It was boring, it was bare, and I loved it. My current self couldn’t handle detail, or stomach anything more complex than what was in front of me.

And most importantly, I was surrounded by the three, only important people in my life.

My husband was no longer a part of this short list. Not after what he did.

Pops and Lucy must’ve heard me gasping when I tried to move my foot—unsuccessfully, by the way—because Lucy jumped from where she was sitting and appeared by my bed.

“I’m sorry, honey. You broke your foot.”

“Actually, Brock broke it for me.” I winced, but stopped trying to move my leg. It was so sore, no amount of morphine in the world would be able to subdue the pain.

By the looks on their faces, they were confused and still in the dark. I wondered how much they knew.

“Where’s Troy?” I licked inside my mouth, trying to fight the dryness.

Lucy and Daisy exchanged glances, and I didn’t like what was written on their faces. It pained me to admit that even though Troy did unthinkable things to a lot of people, the woman who gave birth to me included, I still cared about him. Still didn’t want him to get into trouble. Even if I couldn’t be with him, that didn’t make him any less important.

If anything, it made me worry for him even more. The cancer has successfully taken over my whole body. I was infected head to toe. Resistant to any medicine, immune to anything he might do. In fact, I knew that even if the bullet he shot at me pierced my skin, I would still love him. Very much. It sucked, because I knew that I couldn’t forgive him.

It also sucked to know he might be a free man, but he wasn’t in the room, because he didn’t want me anymore.

Pops was the one to break the news, since Lucy and Daisy were too empathetic to do such thing.

“He’s at the police station,” he said, unblinking. “Giving his statement about what happened.”

I looked out the window. It was pitch black outside, a street lamp illuminating the fog and rain.

“What time is it?”

“One a.m.”

Damn, it’d been almost twenty-four hours since I ran into Brock, but it felt like it was years ago.

“And Brock?”

This time Lucy had no trouble delivering the news. “He’s dead. Don’t worry. You poor thing. You were in quite a state when Troy found you. I can’t believe Brock kidnapped you because he fell in love with you and couldn’t stomach the fact you were married. What a psycho.”

Ah. He now had a cover story, too.

“How did Troy find me?”

“The housekeeper,” they answered in unison. Maria.

I let my head sink back into the pillow, closing my eyes and fighting the tears stinging the back of my eyeballs. Why was I crying now? Because I had my life back. Because I had my family around me. Because everything was supposed to be okay now, yet it wasn’t. Never would be. Troy was right—I was bound to run away from him. I needed to run away from him. There was no repairing our relationship after what he’d done.

Even The Fixer couldn’t fix this.

“Can we get you anything at all?” Daisy pulled at her gum, twirling it around her finger. I almost smiled. Almost.

“Hot chocolate,” I said, and before I knew it, she dashed out of the room.

“Your forehead looks nasty,” Lucy commented, brushing her hand along my temple in a motherly gesture.

“I bet my foot doesn’t look too good either.”

“No,” she agreed.

I frowned. “You mean, my foot modeling days are over?”

“Afraid so.”

The three of us laughed—me, Lucy and Pops—and the smile felt good on my lips again. Not natural, but good.

It would take a long time until I laughed again, really laughed, or felt genuinely happy, but this was a start.

I was taking baby steps, but with a broken foot and a shattered heart, this was something, too.

TROY

I FIXED EVERYTHING.

That was me. I was The Fixer.

Sparrow was safe again. I managed to both kill Brock and stop the stupid Flynn investigation from happening—two birds, one stone. Fulfilled my promise to my dad. Crossed the final name on my list. Flynn’s grave was found by the police, but so did Brock’s sloppy fingerprints all over the cabin where he took care of him.

It wasn’t so hard to convince them he was also the one to dig the grave. Especially as his mother in law confessed he had taken a fucking shovel to the woods.