Lost in Time (Blue Bloods 6)

I tried to say “I miss you tonight.”

And they claim you’ve already died.

—stellastarr*, “Lost in Time”

What on earth can you do…

but catch at whatever comes near you with both your hands,

until your fingers are broken?

—Tennessee Williams, Orpheus Descending

Never Say Good-bye

Florence, December

Schuyler did not sleep the entire evening. Instead she lay awake, looking up at the crossed wooden beams on the ceiling, or out the window to the view of the Duomo, which shone a rosy gold in the dawn. Her dress was a crumpled pile of silk on the floor, next to Jack’s black tuxedo jacket. Last night, after the guests had left, after cheeks were pressed affectionately against hers in loving good-byes, and hands had blessed and patted her ring in a gesture of good luck, the new couple had floated over the cobblestone streets back to their room, buoyed by the happiness they’d found in their friends and in each other, in turns exhilarated and exhausted by the events surrounding their bonding.

In the dim light of the morning, she curled her arm through his, and he turned toward her so that they pressed against each other, his chin resting on her forehead, their legs entwined together under the linen duvet. She placed her hand on his chest to feel the steady ordered beating of his heart, and wondered when they would be able to lie like this again.

“I need to go,” Jack said, his voice still rough with sleep.

He pulled her closer, and his breath tickled her ear. “I don’t want to, but I need to.” There was an unspoken apology in his words.

“I know,” Schuyler said. She had promised to be strong for him, and she would keep that promise, she would not fail him. If only tomorrow would never come; if only she could hold on to the night just a little longer. “But not yet. See, it’s still dark outside. It was the nightingale you heard, and not the lark,” she whispered, feeling just like Juliet had that morning when she’d entreated Romeo to stay with her, drowsy and loving, yet fearful for the future and what would happen next. Schuyler was trying to hold on to something precious and fragile, as if the night would be able to protect their love from the oncoming doom and heartbreak the day would bring.

She could feel Jack smile against her cheek when he recognized the line from Shakespeare. As she traced his lips with her fingers, feeling their softness, he moved his body over hers, and she moved with him until they were joined together. He placed her arms above her head, his hands gripping her wrists tightly, and when he kissed her neck, she shuddered to feel his fangs on her skin. She pulled him ever closer, clutching his fine baby-soft hair as he drank deeply from her blood.

After, his blond head rested on her shoulder, and she folded her arms around his back and held him tightly. By now, daylight was streaming into the room. There was no denying it anymore: the night was over, and it would soon be time for them to part. He gently withdrew from her embrace and kissed the wounds that were still fresh on her neck until they healed.

She watched him dress, handing him his boots and sweater. “It’ll be cold. You’ll need a new jacket,” she said, brushing off dirt from his black raincoat.

“I’ll get one when I’m back in the city,” he agreed. “Hey,”

he said, when he saw her mournful face. “It’ll be all right. I’ve lived a long time and I intend to keep doing so.” He managed a quick smile.

She nodded; the lump in her throat made it hard to breathe, hard to speak; but she did not want him to remember her this way. She adopted a cheerful tone and handed him his rucksack. “I put your passport in the front pocket.”

Already she loved the role of bondmate, of helpmeet, of wife.

He nodded his thanks and shouldered the bag, fiddling with the zipper as he tucked in the last of his books, not quite meeting her eyes. She wanted to remember him exactly as he stood, looking golden and beautiful in the morning light, his platinum hair a bit tousled, and his bright green eyes flash-ing in determination.

“Jack…” Schuyler’s resolve faltered, but she did not want to make their last moment more funereal than it had to be.

“I’ll see you soon,” she said lightly.

He squeezed her hand one last time.

Then Jack was gone and she was alone.

Schuyler put away her bonding dress, gently folding it into her suitcase. She was ready to forge ahead, but as she gathered her things, she realized a truth that Jack had refused to acknowledge. It was not that he was afraid of meeting his fate; it was that he would simply bow to it.

Jack will not fight Mimi. Jack will let her kill him rather than fight her.

In the clear light of day, Schuyler grasped the reality of what he was about to do. Meeting his twin meant meeting his doom.

It was not going to be all right. It was never going to be all right.