The Things We Leave Unfinished Yarros, Rebecca (reading like a writer .TXT) 📖

“He’s. Dead.” Constance’s words came between heaving cries. “Edward. Is dead. There was a. Bombing raid—” Her chin sank as the sobs came faster and harder.

Edward. Scarlett’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment. How could the blue-eyed boy who’d grown up with them be gone? He’d been as much a fixture of their lives growing up as her own parents.

He was Constance’s soul mate.

Scarlett tugged Constance into her arms. “I’m so sorry, love. So, so sorry.”

“Assistant Section Officer Stanton, do you need to remove your sister from the room, or can she control herself?” Cartwright snapped.

“I’ll care for her privately if we can be excused.” Scarlett bristled, but the insensitive wretch was right. A display like this wouldn’t be tolerated, no matter how justified. Constance would be labeled hysterical, undependable. Girls had been reposted, never seen again after failing to stifle their emotions.

Cartwright narrowed her eyes but nodded.

“Hold on for just a second longer,” Scarlett begged her sister in a whisper, wrapping her arm around Constance’s shoulder and tugging her to her feet. “Walk with me.” Another whisper.

As quickly as she could manage without tripping them both, Scarlett led Constance from the briefing room. The hallway was mercifully quiet, but still not private enough.

She opened a door to a smaller room—the supply depot—then pulled her sister inside and shut them in before leaning against the only empty wall and holding Constance tight. When her knees buckled, Scarlett slid to the floor with her, rocking slightly as Constance sobbed with ugly, gasping breaths against her shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured against her sister’s hair. If there was anything she could have done to take away her pain, she would have done so. Why her? Why Constance, when it was Scarlett’s love who risked his life every day? Her vision went blurry.

This was something she couldn’t protect Constance from. There was nothing she could do but hold her. Tears toppled from her lids, leaving wet, chilled streaks in their wake.

Eventually, Constance’s breathing evened out enough to manage speech. “His mother told ours,” she explained, the letter still clutched and crumpled in her hand. “It happened the day after he wrote last. He’s been dead for almost a week!” Her shoulders caved in as she burrowed farther in to Scarlett. “I can’t…” She shook her head.

A loud knock sounded at the door.

“Stay here,” Scarlett ordered her sister, standing quickly and swiping at her cheeks as she hurried to the door. She raised her chin as she found Section Officer Cartwright on the other side, then moved into the hallway, shutting the door to give Constance as much privacy as possible.

“Who died?” Cartwright asked in that blunt way the military prized.

“Her fiancé.” She took every emotion clawing at her throat and shoved it down. Later, she could feel it. Later, she could curl up in Jameson’s arms and cry for the friend she’d lost—the love her sister had been denied. Later…but not now.

“I’m sorry for her loss.” Cartwright swallowed, then looked down the hall and back, as though she, too, needed to compose herself, then lifted her chin. “While the circumstances of your birth afford you both certain…leniencies, I would be remiss in my duties if I did not warn you that she cannot afford another such outburst.”

“I understand.” She didn’t, but she’d seen enough lectures about emotional stability to know they weren’t being singled out. It simply was.

“Ever.” Cartwright raised her brows and spoke softly.

“It won’t happen again,” she promised.

“Good. You have to be of steady hands and stout hearts to stand at that board, Assistant Section Officer. Men’s lives are at risk. We cannot afford to lose one because we are distraught over one already lost. Should the Senior Section—”

“It. Won’t. Happen. Again.” Scarlett squared her shoulders and stared her superior in the eye.

“Good.” Her gaze drifted toward the door, where Constance’s soft cries were still making their way through the heavy wood. “Take her to her quarters—or better yet, your home. I’ll have Clarke and Gibbons cover your watches. Make sure she’s calm before you bring her through the halls.” It was as much compassion as Scarlett had seen Cartwright give to anyone, and though it wasn’t enough, Scarlett saw it for what it was—a lifeline.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“She’ll find another. We always do.” She turned on her heel and strode down the hall.

Scarlett slipped back into the supply room, closing the door and sinking to the floor to gather her sister in her arms.

“What am I going to do?” Constance broke her heart a little more with every sob. Every tear.

“Breathe,” Scarlett answered as she swept her hand up and down Constance’s back. “For the next few minutes, you’re going to breathe. That’s all.” If she’d lost Jameson— Don’t think like that. You can’t afford to let that in.

“And then what?” Constance cried. “I love him. How am I supposed to live without him? It hurts too much.”

Scarlett’s face twisted as she fought for control, for the strength Constance would need. “I don’t know. But for these minutes, we breathe. Once that’s done, we’ll take on the next.”

Maybe by then, she’d have the answer.

…

“Is it true?” Scarlett asked as she flung her coat over a chair in the kitchen more than a month later.

“Nice to see you, too, dear,” Jameson answered with a smile as he flipped the potatoes in the pan.

“I’m being serious.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

He had half a mind to tell the potatoes to go to hell and eat his wife for dinner instead, but the narrowing of her eyes gave him pause. It wasn’t just another rumor she was questioning. She knew. He muttered a curse. Damn, news traveled fast.

“Can I take that as a yes?” she questioned, her eyes sparked with so much anger, he half expected to see flames shoot out of them at any moment.

He moved the potatoes off the burner, then faced his beautiful, furious wife. “Kiss me first.”

“I beg your pardon?”