Unknown (Unknown Series Book 1) (12 page)

I had waited for Rylen, but he had not waited for me.

He had not loved me like I loved him.

He never was, and never would be, mine.

My eyes burned as tears filled and spilled over. “Pepper?” Rylen sounded horrified. Livia regarded me with sadness before turning her eyes back down to her feet.

“I’m sorry.” I snuffled and wiped my eyes, forcing a smile and a psychotic-sounding laugh. “I’m just . . . wow, what a surprise.”

From the couch my phone let out a blazing ring. It was my work tone. I turned and snatched it up. “I have to go.”

“Called in on Thanksgiving,” I heard Grandpa mutter to the group. “They work that girl to the bone.”

The tears that had snuck up were rising, filling my eyes and making my chest ache with unleashed, powerful emotion. I knew it was rude of me to leave without a good-bye, but I grabbed my jacket and ran past all of them, not meeting their eyes, and not looking back. It’s the first and only time I’d ever been glad to be called in.

M
om was waiting for me on the couch when I came home close to one in the morning. She stared blearily at the television, but her eyes cleared when she focused on me. She opened her arms wide and I went straight into them. We cried together, me a bit louder than her.

“I always thought he would marry you,” Mom said, which made me cry even harder. “It’s okay to be sad.” She ran a hand down my hair. “But eventually we have to move on and be happy for him. We have to support them.”

“I know,” I said, though it pained me to admit it.

“They need us,” she said. I nodded and pulled away enough to wipe my swollen eyes. I was still in shock, an aching chasm dented into my chest. I had no idea how long I’d feel this way, but I prayed it wouldn’t last forever. Right now I just wanted to go to bed and sleep for days.

The television broadcaster’s somber voice shook me from my own pitiful thoughts.

“We regret to inform you that at 12:35 this morning, Ashlyn Navis, wife of Senator Bradford Navis, passed away from injuries sustained in an automobile accident earlier this evening . . .”

“Oh, no,” Mom murmured.

For the millionth time that day, my heart constricted painfully in my chest. The poor senator. I felt a weird sort of kinship with the man. He’d lost the woman he loves on the same day I lost the dream of the man I loved. But at least Rylen was still alive.

I gently extracted myself from Mom’s embrace and wiped my eyes, taking a deep breath. Senator Navis’s unfortunate situation somehow helped to put my mind into perspective. Rylen was alive. I loved him. I would always love him, and I wanted him to be happy. I wanted him to be a part of my life forever. I just had to let go of the romantic feelings I’d harbored for so long, and start to see him the way he’d apparently always seen me.

As a sibling.

The thought made my stomach roll, but I swallowed the feeling down and took a deep breath. Sadness and exhaustion weighed heavily across my back, like physical things threatening to bend and crush me.

“Get some rest,” Mom whispered. Without a word, I nodded and pushed to my feet, thankful beyond measure to have the rest of the day off.

I wish I could say I rested, but my body never relaxed enough for full sleep to come. A tension headache had begun in the back of my neck during the night and eventually spread upward into a promising migraine. It hurt too much to even get up and take pain meds. I was beyond grateful when Mom stuck her head in that morning to check on me.

She pressed a hand to my forehead.

“Migraine,” I whispered. Thirty seconds later she was there with a glass of water and pills. I took them gratefully, wincing against the throb of pain.

Mom set the glass down on my bedside table and grasped my upper arms in her strong hands.

“Close your eyes,” she whispered. “Now relax your lower back. Let it go completely limp. Let yourself feel heavy.” I knew what she was doing. It was a simple exercise in relaxation, one body part at a time, that she often did with her dancers. “Now relax up your spine, all the way up to your shoulders.” I listened and followed her quiet directions, until the tension in my muscles shed, and I immediately fell asleep.

I woke hours later with Mom sitting on the edge of my bed again, touching my face.

“Princesa, I want to let you sleep, but the news is on. They’re about to tell us the results of the discussion and have their vote. I knew you’d want to know, but I can record it—”

“I’ll get up,” I whispered. The throb was back as I sat up, my face scrunching. I reached for the glass of water from earlier that morning and downed the rest of it. I glanced at the clock. It was nearly noon.

Mom went back into the living room and I trudged behind her. Abuela was there on the couch. She glanced at me with concern and patted the spot next to her. I went to her side, and she took my hand, rasping her wrinkled fingers over my knuckles. Grandpa Tate gave me a nod and I tried to smile.

“Mornin’,” Dad said.

“Mornin’,” I said back in a scratchy voice.

“You hungry?” Abuela asked. It sounded like
hoongr-r-ry
with the rolled r’s.

“A little, but mostly I need coffee.”

She tried to stand, but I held her hand tightly and said, “I’ll get it in a minute.”

The news was showing a grand room filled with officials from the U.S. and worldwide allies. I felt a flitter of nervousness in my gut, wondering what the outcome would be today. For so long the U.S. had been fighting small sects and groups, but it hadn’t been since WWII that congress declared outright war against another country, let alone three countries at once. A war of that scale would most definitely affect our family. Rylen, Tater, even Dad would be up to his ears with work. It was a frightening possibility. But even more frightening was allowing those other countries to be reckless with nuclear weapons and threaten us in a power play.

The congressional and worldwide leaders on the television took their seats and settled down. As the camera panned around the room, it was clear that the officials were weary. They’d been at their discussions since the day before. In the next moment, the president’s face filled the screen, bags under his eyes. He opened his mouth, and then . . . nothing. The screen went black. Our family stared a moment before Dad let out a grunt and stood.

I looked up at the ceiling fan, which still whirred around and around, so the electricity was working. And the television icon was now bouncing around the screen, so the TV was clearly working too.

“Station go out?” Grandpa Tate asked, sitting forward.

Dad switched channels with the remote. Every news station was out. He got to a cartoon station, which still played. But then it suddenly cut off too.

“What the hell?” Dad whispered. “Of all the damn timing. I wanted to hear that.”

“Try the radio,” Grandpa Tate told him.

I jumped up while Dad was messing with the television and turned on the stereo. Latino music blared from the station we listened to while we danced. I pressed the buttons to get to the local Vegas news. The station was static. My eyebrows came together, and the headache I’d had earlier started creeping around from my neck to my temples and behind my eyes.

“The Vegas station is out,” I told Dad. He stepped over and switched it to AM. I never really listened to any national news on the radio, but he did.

“This one’s out too,” he muttered. “I think it’s New York based.” He continued to scan until he came to a man talking.

“—stations out across the United States with no response—”

And then something altogether bizarre happened. I started to shake. I couldn’t understand it. I looked to Mom, who leapt to her feet, panic on her face. I realized then that it wasn’t me shaking. The entire room was shaking. Abuela cried out and Grandpa Tate gripped his chair handles with white knuckles. A family picture fell from the wall with a
crash
of broken wood and shattering glass. The ground beneath me shifted so violently I fell to my knees.

“Earthquake!” Dad yelled. “Out of the house!”

Mom and I grasped Abuela by her upper arms while Dad helped Grandpa. We rushed from the house with the
thuds
and shattering of falling things ringing out behind us. Abuela sat in the yard, grasping her chest. I fell to her side and put my arm around her. Pieces of siding fell from our house and a metal gutter screamed as it drooped. From afar I heard a strange
woosh
and ear-splitting crashing that seemed to go on forever. I looked out to see one of the dilapidated old barns on the edge of Fite property falling.

Rylen! Were they okay in that old house? I jumped to my feet just as the trembling waned and stopped. A still hush passed over the land, followed by sounds of more things falling and settling. From the neighborhood behind our house that lined our property, I could hear people screaming behind the dividing wall. We were all breathing loudly. We’d never had a quake out here before. I didn’t even know there were fault lines.

And then my mind went into work mode. Surely there were accidents and injuries. I kissed Abuela’s head and jumped to my feet, running past Mom and into the house. Inside was a mess, but the walls, floors, and ceilings were intact. I dove for my phone on my bed and cursed when I saw no bars. No reception. When I ran back into the living room, Dad was there fiddling with the radio.

“Power’s out,” he said. His face was fierce as he yanked the cord from the wall and upended the small stereo, opening the battery compartment. “Four D batteries.” He ran to the kitchen.

Voices sounded from outside and I went to the door to see Rylen running into our yard, eyes quickly scanning Mom, Abuela, and Grandpa until they landed on me and halted. His tight shoulders loosened and he let out a breath before springing up the steps and throwing his arms around me. He squeezed me to him. In that moment, after experiencing such fear, I melted into his embrace and held him too.

“You okay?” His chest heaved from the run over.

I nodded, my heart a hammer. Rylen suddenly tensed and his arms disappeared. I looked up and followed his gaze to the doorway where Livia stood, also out of breath, watching us.

“Uh, everyone here is okay,” Rylen told her. He tugged at his earlobe.

Livia stared hard at me and said softly, “Es bueno.”

Dad rushed back into the room and put the batteries in, then clicked the compartment shut. I moved closer to him, away from Rylen, feeling guilty and peeved. Immediately we could hear the newsman again, and my feelings shed away as I listened.

“—here in Cincinnati, but news is starting to trickle in from other networks. I’m not sure how much of this is speculation or fact, but there is word of an attack on Washington D.C., New York City, Los Angeles, and Las Vegas so far—”

“Shit!” Dad cursed.

Vegas. Remy was in Vegas! I allowed my entire body a moment of reactionary pain and nausea, and then I pulled myself together.

“My phone’s not working,” I said. “I need to get to the hospital.”

Dad checked his phone too, and shook his head. “I should go see if the blast was anywhere near my office.”

“Mind if I go with you?” Rylen asked him.

“Not at all, son.”

Another tremor shook us, but it only lasted a few seconds. A splitting crack wrenched through the air outside, and I held my breath as Mom and Abuela screamed.
Whoosh-crash
. Crunching metal and broken glass. We ran for the door, and spilled onto the porch to take in the sight. One of the old, taller pine trees next to our house had fallen right into our driveway, and right onto—

“My car!” I shrieked. It wasn’t a nice car by any means, but that thing was my lifeline, and the front end was completely crushed.

“I’ll run you by the hospital,” Dad said. “Come on.” He gave Rylen a wave toward his car.

Livia took Rylen’s hand. “You leave?” She glanced over at me. I turned away and walked to Dad.

“Mrs. Tate,” Rylen said. “Do you mind if Livia stays here with you while I’m gone? She might be more comfortable here than with my dad.”

“Not at all,” Mom said. Rylen kissed Livia on her forehead at her hairline and jogged over to Dad and I at the garage door.