Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul.”

                                        — Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

TK blinks his eyes open and immediately regrets it. His vision is hazy and there’s an incessant pounding in his right temple. It makes his eyes water. 

“Carlos?” he whispers, terrified that speaking will only make everything worse. When there’s no response, he reaches his arm out, but he’s met with air. He doesn’t even feel the bed underneath him. 

Oh god…is he having a stroke?

The intense pounding in his head fades a tiny bit. He rubs at his eyes with his palms before opening them again. As his vision clears, TK sees the ceiling of the living room instead of the bedroom and he sits up. The loft door is open in front of him, which seems strange. 

Did he pass out? And where the hell is Carlos? 

Getting to his feet, he walks over to shut the loft door. Before he can reach it, he hears the bathroom door opening. He’s just starting to turn around when Carlos shouts, startling him.

“TK!”

Carlos is in a towel, visible remnants of shampoo in his hair, like he only got part way through rinsing before he rushed out. TK’s just about to ask him what’s wrong when Carlos is dashing across the loft, leaving a trail of wet footprints. He drops to his knees beside…him. His body. His body that’s laying on their polished concrete floors, bleeding.

TK feels the world drop out from under him. This isn’t right. It can’t be. He’s standing right here, so Carlos can’t be kneeling next to him, gently shaking him and trying to apply pressure to a wound on the right side of his head. TK reaches a hand up to his own head to see if there’s a mirror wound, but he doesn’t feel anything and there’s no blood on his hand—all he sees is the concrete floor and…

Holy shit—his hand! 

He turns it over and then back again, makes a fist, spreads his fingers out and wriggles them. No matter what he does, it looks weird. It’s not completely transparent—more like he’s looking through gossamer. 

The moment is shattered once he realizes Carlos is screaming and crying. He tries over and over again to get his attention, but Carlos never even looks up at him. He needs to call 911. He needs to get help. TK is helpless to do anything but watch.

A feeling like ice comes over him and he can’t move for a few seconds and then someone is materializing in front of him. No…they fucking walked through him. It’s their neighbor from across the hall, George. He’s lived in the building longer than anyone else and was the first to greet them when TK finally moved in. He’s wearing a blue-striped bathrobe over his pajamas, white hair flattened on the back of his head. All the commotion must have pulled him from his bed. His gait is slow, but steady. He’s definitely healthier and more active than most of the 80 year olds that TK sees.

“Carlos,” George is saying, already dialing his cell phone. “What happened?” He’s quick to move into the kitchen and grab the hand towel from the oven-door handle before making his way back over to Carlos and TK.

“I don’t know,” Carlos gasps, pressing the towel against TK’s head, the blood quickly soaks through it and over the back of his hands and out onto the floor.

TK wonders if you can get blood out of concrete.

“I was in the shower,” Carlos continues. “I think he’s been shot.” His chest heaves with the effort to take in a breath through his sobs. “Oh my god, TK. It’s okay, baby, you’re gonna be okay.”

TK isn’t so sure about that.

The call must finally connect because George begins relaying all the information he can to the dispatcher. 

“My neighbor has been shot,” he says after giving the address of the building. “Yes, he’s still breathing.” TK wonders who’s on the other end of the call. He hopes Grace wasn’t working tonight. “His husband is applying pressure.”

It’s strange to be so far removed from everything. TK can’t ever remember just being a bystander. He’s always been the first one to help, to know what to do. All he can do now is watch. Watch as the police and paramedics arrive, grateful that it’s not the 126, not Tommy and Nancy coming through the door with their bags slung over their shoulders. Watch as he’s intubated and loaded onto a backboard. Watch as Carlos goes to follow only to realize he’s still in a towel and the officers have questions.

TK doesn’t know what to do, torn between staying with Carlos or following the paramedics. But then Detective Washington comes through the door and takes charge.

“Reyes,” she says in a soft, gentle voice. She waits for him to look at her before continuing. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up and dressed? Then we’ll talk.”

“I have to go with him,” he stammers.

“You can,” she assures him. “And you will, but you can’t go like that.”

Carlos looks down at his blood-covered hands and the towel barely hanging onto his hips. TK can’t imagine what he must be thinking, his eyes locked on his hand, staring at his brand-new ring, covered in blood. Carlos nods.

TK knows Carlos is in good hands. Once he’s disappeared into the bathroom, TK decides he’s going with the ambulance. There’s a girl standing in the hall that he doesn’t think he’s seen before and as he leaves he swears she looks right at him, but he doesn’t have time to think about that as he rushes to catch up.

The street outside is aglow with red and blue flashing lights, bathing everything in bright, harsh light. It’s surreal sitting beside his own body in the ambulance. All the noise around him fades to the background as he watches his own chest rise and fall with each squeeze of the bag. He just spent a week laying out on the beach beside his husband, but his skin looks white and pale and lifeless. He reaches out to touch his own hand, wondering if he’s still warm or if his fingers are starting to grow cold from poor perfusion. As his hand passes right through, that strange icy cold feeling from earlier hits him again, but it’s localized to his hand instead of his entire body.

He loses time.

Suddenly, he finds himself standing in a trauma room as they move his body onto the hospital stretcher. It seems like there’s a hundred people in the room, but they move with a practiced choreography, bending and twisting and spinning around each other. 

“I don’t have a pulse, starting compressions,” a nurse shouts.

It’s the first time he feels anything—a terrible pressure in his chest. If he had any breath, it would’ve been stolen from his lungs. He feels trapped, like he’s standing still and the entire world is moving around him at a pace he can’t keep up with. 

Out of the corner of his eye he sees a flash of bright light. Turning he sees the glow start to stretch and widen. That pressure in his chest becomes an insistent tugging.

“No,” he states, hands balled into fists at his sides and feet planted firmly. “I won’t leave Carlos.”

The light shimmers, stops growing. He stares it down, not daring to move.

“We have ROSC,” someone is saying off to his right. “Normal sinus.”

The light pulses once more and then it’s gone. TK closes his eyes, relief flooding his body. There’s a strange tugging on the back of his neck and the feel of air rushing by like driving with Carlos in the Camaro with all the windows down. 

—

A gentle hand threading through his hair wakes him. The light has mostly faded from the sky, leaving it an inky purple with the barest sliver of a moon hanging in the distance. Blinking the sleep away, he yawns and stretches, pushing his head into Carlos’s hand as his fingernails scrape along his scalp.

“Sorry,” TK mumbles, voice still heavy with sleep. “How long was I out?”

Carlos chuckles. “The entire drive home. We’d barely gotten on the interstate before you were out like a light.”

TK rolls his head against the headrest so he’s looking at Carlos, his brown eyes rich and soft as he stares at TK. Carlos takes his hand and brings it up to his mouth, kissing the warm gold band encircling his finger.

“I can’t help that my husband wore me out.” TK reaches across the console with his free hand and pulls Carlos closer, meets him halfway. The kiss is slow and languid, like they’re learning and mapping each other, like it’s the first of many, like they haven’t spent the last week in each other’s arms. 

“Think you’re too worn out to make it upstairs?”

TK hums, biting his lower lip. “Depends,” he says. “What’s waiting for me upstairs?”

Carlos grins and gives him a quick peck. “Well,” his hand cups his husband’s neck, fingers curling in the hair at his nape. TK waits for the answer in anticipation, lips red and shiny from their kisses. Carlos leans over to kiss him again. “There’s unpacking and laundry and—” He kisses TK between each word, growing frustrated TK doesn’t let him finish, just grabs his face and deepens the kiss.

Eventually Carlos pulls back. “We’re going to get ticketed for public indecency.”

“It’s indecent to make me do laundry on my honeymoon.”

Carlos laughs loud and bright. “C’mon,” he says, opening his car door and pulling out of TK’s embrace. “I won’t even make you carry up your own bag.” 

TK lets out an overdramatic groan, but gets out of the car. Carlos pops the trunk before slinging the strap of his duffel over his shoulder and grabbing TK’s suitcase, placing it on the ground and pulling up on the handle so he can wheel it in. TK takes his free hand once he’s closed the trunk.

“First time entering the building as husbands,” TK tells him. He’s been doing this all week, since the moment they said their vows and kissed, marking all of their firsts as husbands. “First time riding the elevator,” TK says, pushing him up against the wall and kissing him until they hear the ding of the bell and the doors are opening. “First time entering the loft.”

Carlos unlocks the door, tosses the duffel in and sends the suitcase wheeling off somewhere inside before he’s pulling TK into his arms and slinging him over his shoulder. TK shouts a laugh, giving Carlos a slap on the ass as he steps into the loft.

“Is this you being romantic and carrying me over the threshold?”

“I’m always romantic,” Carlos says, lowering him to his feet once they’re inside. They share a kiss for the millionth time. “I’m going to start a load of laundry and hop in the shower.”

“And they say romance is dead.”

Grabbing his bag and heading for the bedroom, Carlos turns to him. “You could always join me in the shower.” 

As he listens to Carlos start the washer and then the shower, TK closes the loft door before going to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. He chugs almost half of it before there's a knock on the door. 

Who could that be?

—

When he opens his eyes, he’s standing in a hospital room. He spins around a few times, trying to figure out how he got there. There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach as he realizes he’s lost time again. It seems impossible, considering it feels like he had only closed his eyes for a second, but the scene in front of him has clearly changed. 

TK takes in his own body laying in the bed: the tube in his mouth, the several IV tubing lines disappearing under the hospital gown near his chest with even more attached to his arms, the foley bag hanging on the side of his bed, and last of all, the shaved right side of his head with its own line flowing out, a drain and a monitor in one.

Carlos is sitting in a chair pulled up to his bedside, holding his hand. TK doesn’t feel anything. That seems wrong. He should be able to feel Carlos holding his hand. Obviously he’s got some sort of brain trauma. It stands to reason that’s why he can’t feel anything or remember what happened. He sorts through his memories, trying to figure out the last thing he can remember.

TK remembers the wedding. Walking down the aisle, saying their vows, dancing and cake cutting. He remembers climbing into the Camaro with Carlos at the end of the reception. The car was decorated with white writing and aluminum cans and streamers. The backseat had been filled with balloons, all of it courtesy of the 126, Mateo still clutching the marker in his hand as they sent them off. He remembers the week in Galveston spent on the beach and in their Airbnb, coming home and kissing in the elevator, entering the loft, and Carlos going to shower, but after that it’s blank. Nothing. 

The hospital room is silent apart from the sound of the machines filling the air. Carlos’s eyes are puffy and red and he’s wearing an old T-shirt and sweatpants. 

Carlos never leaves the house in sweatpants. 

“Carlos,” TK whispers, but gets no response. “Carlos,” he tries again, louder. He moves towards him, reaches a hand out and tries to give his shoulder a comforting squeeze just to watch it pass right through him. “Baby, I’m right here,” he says. “I promise I’m right here. Carlos…please…please just look at me.”

Carlos sits there, holding his hand, not moving. 

The door opening startles both of them and TK turns to see his dad burst through the door, hair ungelled, clothes out of place, and chest heaving like he was just running.

“Owen,” Carlos’s voice cracks before he’s sobbing, breaking down in a way TK has only ever seen once before.

“Oh Carlos,” Owen says with just as much emotion in his voice. He moves to stand next to Carlos, passing right through TK and staring at TK lying in the bed, still and unmoving. 

Owen moves to stroke a hand through TK’s hair, but the movement is aborted. TK’s never seen his dad hesitate over anything in his life. He’s always cool and confident, a force to be reckoned with. But even with his previous three comas, he never had a literal hole in his head with wires coming out. It would give anyone pause.

“What happened?” Owen asks, hand on Carlos’s shoulder. Carlos shrugs, face crumpling. “Okay,” Owen says as Carlos sobs. “Alright. It’s going to be okay. Have you spoken to the doctor?”

Carlos nods. He tries to compose himself and manages to say, “He said it’s wait and see.”

“Okay. I’m going to go try and get some more information.” Carlos nods. Owen waits until the heart-wrenching sobs lessen to sniffles and the occasional hiccough before he exits the room. 

TK follows his dad out into the hall. Owen pauses once he’s closed the door behind him and takes a deep breath, runs a hand over his face and through his hair, before he seems to gather himself together and heads for the nurses’ station. 

“Excuse me, sorry to bother you, I was hoping to speak to the doctor for Tyler Strand. I’m his father,” he adds.

“Sure of course. Your nurse is in another room right now, but I’ll see if I can find the doctor for you.”

“Is it possible to talk outside of the room? His husband isn’t quite up to processing more information at the moment.”

“I’ll show you to our family waiting room. There’s no one in there right now. Will that be okay?”

Owen nods and follows her to the waiting room.

TK can’t stop watching his dad. The way he paces the small waiting area. The way he runs his hands over his hair and his face. The way he comes to a stop and stares out the darkened window to the Austin city lights blazing 14 floors below. TK feels awkward, like he’s intruding on a moment that he’s not supposed to witness. He’s never seen his dad like this. He’s always so confident and sure, a solid rock for TK to lean on no matter the situation. TK wants to reach out and comfort him, say something or put his hand on his shoulder, but he can’t. He can’t do anything but wait.

TK and Owen both turn when the doctor enters the room. He looks young, tired, and overworked. He’s wearing black scrubs and he reaches out to shake Owen’s hand. 

TK is an invisible bystander. It’s probably extremely morbid to stand here and listen to his fate, but he knows whatever prognosis and statistics this man is about to throw out don’t really mean anything, because TK’s not gone. He’s right here. 

“Hello, I’m Jon Harris. I’m the doctor covering the ICU tonight. The nurse said you’re Tyler Strand’s father?”

TK winces at the use of his name, but his dad is nodding his head. “Yes. I’m Owen Strand and he prefers to go by TK.”

“Sure. Would you like to sit down while we talk?” He indicates the chairs lining the wall. Owen’s shoulders slump forward.

“That bad, huh?”

“There’s a lot to go over,” the doctor responds, neatly avoiding the question. Owen takes a seat and the doctor sits next to him. 

“The bullet grazed the right side of his head.”

Owen lets out a rush of air.

“He suffered a skull fracture that resulted in a subdural hematoma.”

“That’s…um… that’s like a brain bleed, right?”

“Yes,” the doctor says, nodding. “When he arrived in the ER he had a seizure and they lost his pulse. They were able to revive him with CPR and medication.”

“Oh my god.” TK watches as quiet tears run down his face. Owen sniffs and clears his throat. “How long was he down?”

“Two minutes. They got him back in one round.” 

Owen nods and rubs a hand over his face.

The doctor continues. “They did a procedure in the ER called a burr hole to relieve the pressure on his brain and placed a drain. The drain also monitors the pressure in his brain. For now he’s in a medically induced coma and on medications to regulate blood pressure, so that we can keep that number where it needs to be. He’s also on anti-seizure medication to prevent anymore from happening.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

The doctor takes a deep breath before answering. “Right now he’s stable, but we won’t know the extent of anything until he wakes up. I can tell you that there was no sign of an anoxic brain injury on his scans. His pupils are reacting to light. He has a gag reflex, and he responds to painful stimuli. Those are all good things. We’ll be constantly checking those reflexes and monitoring the pressure in his brain.” He gives Owen a reassuring smile, but his eyes look tired and sad. Like he’s given this speech before and is expecting a different outcome. “I know this is a lot.”

“Yeah,” Owen says, rubbing his eyes with his palms. He sniffs again before sitting up straight. “Thank you for taking the time to speak with me.”

“If you have any questions don’t hesitate to ask. He’s got a very knowledgeable nurse and if you need anything she can grab me.”

“Did you speak with his husband too? Carlos?”

“I did,” the doctor says, nodding. “I don’t know how much he understood, but I’m happy to answer any questions he might have whenever he’s ready.”

“Okay. Thank you again.”

They both stand and Owen shakes his hand before the doctor exits the family room. Owen turns back to face the window, rubbing his face with both hands before tugging at his hair.

“Oh kid,” he whispers. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into this time?”

“I’m right here, dad,” TK says, voice thick with tears. “I’m right here.”

—

Visiting hours in the ICU are just as strict as in the rest of the hospital. However, Carlos was allowed to accompany TK when they moved him from the ER. The night shift nurse had made mention of the visiting hours though she said he could stay for the duration of her shift, which ends at 7 a.m. Then it would be up to the dayshift nurse to either let him stay or make him leave until 11 a.m., when visiting hours actually started. Owen is also allowed to remain after he comes back from speaking to the doctor. He takes the recliner in the corner of the room after Carlos declines to move. 

Carlos dozes off, hand clutching TK’s, only to be awoken by the blaring of alarms. He feels hands on him and for a moment he’s in a different ICU room, being moved out of the way by the nurses, until he realizes it’s Owen who has his hands wrapped around his arm as they’re both herded out of the room. Carlos’s last glimpse of TK is him convulsing on the bed.

Someone leads them back to the family waiting room. Carlos feels numb as Owen gently prods him into a chair, as if all this isn’t his fault. He shouldn’t have taken a shower. He shouldn’t have stayed to answer questions. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep. If he had been paying attention, then the shooting wouldn’t have happened, he would’ve known what happened in the ambulance and ER, he would’ve known something was going wrong and could have alerted the nurse before it got bad. TK needs constant supervision—the moment Carlos takes his eyes off him, it all goes downhill. Now he can’t even watch over him.

Owen is pacing in front of him. Carlos knows he should offer some sort of comfort, but he can’t find it in himself to move. 

It’s Dr. Harris that enters the waiting room and Carlos finds himself on his feet, anxious for news.

“TK’s had another seizure. We were able to stop it with medication.”

“What brought it on?” Owen asks, placing a hand on Carlos’s shoulder to ground him. Carlos is thankful he’s there because he wouldn’t even know where to start. He’s barely comprehending what’s been going on.

“A clot developed in the drain. They’re taking him to the OR now. Once he’s stable again he’ll go for more imaging to determine if this newest seizure resulted in any damage to the brain and how the swelling is doing. You’re welcome to wait here, but it’s going to be a few hours before we have any news.”

Owen nods. “Thank you doctor.” 

Carlos collapses back into his chair, staring at the floor in front of him. Owen takes a seat next to him, hand going back to rest on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. 

“Do you want to take a minute and call Andrea to update her?” Owen asks.

“I haven’t called my mom,” Carlos says, head lifting. “I can’t believe I haven’t called her yet.”

“It’s okay,” Owen soothes. “Would you like me to call her?”

“No, no I can do it.”

It’s not the most difficult phone call of his life—that would be the one where he was forced to listen to his father die while his mother pleaded for him to be okay. Could that have only been a couple weeks ago? Still, his hands shake as he pulls the phone from his pocket. It’s just past 7 a.m., so he knows she’ll be awake. Or at least she would have been. He doesn’t know if or how much her routines have changed in the weeks since his father died.

“Carlitos! You’re back!”

“Hey mom,” he says, his voice cracking slightly.

“Mijo, what’s wrong?”

The sound of her voice is his undoing. He presses his thumb and forefinger to his eyes to try and stem the flow of tears, to no avail. He sniffs, clears his throat, and then answers her.

“TK was shot last night. He’s in the ICU.”

“Oh dios mío,” she gasps. He can see her so clearly standing in the kitchen clutching her chest. “Is he at the University hospital? I can be there in an hour.”

“Yeah, he is,” Carlos tells her. “But he had another seizure. They had to take him into surgery, so it’s probably not the best time. They’re limiting visitors as well and Owen’s here.”

“Are you sure, Carlitos?”

“Yeah, mom.” 

She hesitates and Carlos knows she’s thinking about ignoring him and coming anyway. Then she sighs.

“Okay, mi amor,” she tells him softly. “But call me the moment you get news. I...”

As she responds, he’s never wished for his father more, for her to be able to pass the phone over and hear the comfort that his calm demeanor always brought. He was always unflappable in a crisis.

The death of his father has somehow managed to rearrange time. There were moments where it felt like he had just hugged him goodbye as he left the dinner party. Other days, it felt like it had been years since he’d spoken to him. There are moments where the pain of losing what might have been aches more than the pain of losing his father, moments where he thinks about all the milestones where he’ll search for his father’s presence only to be reminded of the loss. He wonders if it will always come rushing back like this, as if it only happened hours ago and not years.

He’d done his best to put his grief to the side and focus on TK, their wedding, and their honeymoon. He thought he’d done an okay job at it, too. He wished there was a way to push this away. A way to ignore it was happening. A way to forget. A way to pretend it was still the two of them tucked away in a beachside Airbnb in Galveston. 

“...or tomorrow,” she says, bringing him out of his thoughts and back to the present.

He takes in a shuddering breath and doesn’t say if he makes it to tomorrow . “Yeah, that sounds good,” he tells her instead.

He sits back down beside Owen. It feels like an eternity before the neurosurgeon and a nurse are coming into the room to update them, but it’s only been a few hours of staring blankly at a wall, wondering if the next time a doctor walked in it would be to give them condolences, a few hours of Owen pacing, then flipping through a magazine, then switching through the channels on the TV before leaving it on HGTV. Usually, Carlos found the similarities between Owen and TK sweet and funny and even comforting, but right now all it does is make him wish his husband was here.

“Everything went well,” the doctor starts. “I removed the clots and replaced the drain. He’s back in his room now, but he’ll be going for a CT shortly.” He looks to the nurse beside him as he says the last sentence. 

She nods. “They just called to say they’re ready when we are.”

“Excellent,” the doctor says before returning his attention to Carlos and Owen. “I know all of this is scary, but this is a very common complication. The important thing is that we’ve fixed it and we’re adjusting his medications accordingly. The scans will let us know more, but it’ll be a few hours before those come back.”

Carlos nods numbly as Owen thanks the doctor. He leaves the room, but the nurse stays behind.

“We’re going to take him to CT now. The test itself is about five to ten minutes, but we’ll be gone for a little bit with how complicated transporting and moving him is. You’re welcome to come see him before we go. I know you’ve both been here since yesterday evening, so it might be a good opportunity to go home, maybe get something to eat, and then come back when visiting hours start tomorrow.”

“What if something else happens?” Carlos asks, the desperation evident in his voice.

“Of course we’d call you if anything changes. Once the doctor has the results of the CT he’ll call to update you. The best thing you can do for him right now is take care of yourself.”

Carlos shakes his head. “No…I can’t…”

“Carlos,” Owen says, hand once again finding its way onto his shoulder. “Let’s just go see him right now before they take him to CT and then we’ll talk about it. Okay?” The last bit is directed to the nurse and she nods in return. 

At first glance, if he hadn’t been in the room earlier, Carlos wouldn’t know that TK has just been to the OR and had brain surgery, or that he’d had a seizure that led to it in the first place. The head of the bed is slightly elevated, and TK looks small and pale behind all the tubes and wires, the worst of the damage isn’t visible from the doorway. He tells himself that he looks good, that he’ll be fine…and then he sees the tape covering TK’s eyelids. Carlos can’t take his eyes off the tape. Had he missed that earlier? Was he so wrapped up in everything happening that he hadn’t cataloged every mark and line and tube and piece of tape on TK’s body? What else had he missed? 

It feels impossible to breathe. All at once he’s too scared to touch him, hold his hand, run his fingers through what remains of his hair, kiss his forehead. What if he misses something else? What if he keeps making everything worse? What if his touch harms TK instead of healing him? He couldn’t keep him safe in their own home, he couldn’t keep him from having complications…he can’t be the reason he doesn’t wake up.

“I can’t do this,” he whispers as he turns around. His feet move as quickly as his breaths, the panic attack coming on fast. The world narrows, the edges of his vision dimming until all he can see is the elevator. He presses the down button repeatedly.

“Carlos,” Owen calls after him, following him to the elevator. “Carlos, it's going to be okay. TK’s going to pull through this.” The doors open with a ding and Carlos enters and turns around. Owen looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, hair flat against his forehead. Carlos did that to him. Carlos breaks everything he touches.

“Nothing about this is okay,” he says as the elevator doors close.

Carlos doesn’t remember getting to the lot or the drive home. One minute he’s in the elevator and the next he’s in his parking spot at the loft, right next to TK’s cobalt blue Prius, parked right where it always is. He tries to let himself imagine that TK is just upstairs, asleep after a long shift. He stares at the clock on the dash of the Camaro and realizes it's been almost 18 hours since he was in this exact spot. Then it was dark, and now the midday sun is shining so brightly the world seems surreal. One of their neighbors is returning from walking their dog. For the second time in a month, Carlos can’t understand how the entire world can just keep moving like nothing has happened when his world has ended. 

Muscle memory gets him out of the car, into the building, and up the elevator. When Carlos had left for the hospital there was still a crew taking photographs, searching for fingerprints, and collecting blood samples. Detective Washington had left him a message on his phone to let him know the scene was cleared shortly before he’d left the hospital. She said there wasn’t much for them to do and that it would not be a problem for them to send cleaners out—the shooter had never entered the loft. 

The door is unlocked and slides open just as easily as it always does. Carlos knows that people typically leave in a rush to get the evidence back to the lab—he was expecting some crime scene tape, trash from the kits, but everything looks exactly the same as it always does. 

Everything with the exception of a large blood stain on the floor and a hole in the brick from the bullet. He feels the nausea rise in his throat and takes a deep breath to quell the sensation, and then another. He can fix this.

Carlos toes off his shoes, puts his keys and phone in the dish on the desk and goes into the kitchen. When he first moved into the loft and was looking for ways to occupy his time to keep from wallowing about the breakup, he’d researched the care and cleaning of polished concrete floors. He’d never had them before. He’d been raised in a mostly carpeted home with a linoleum kitchen. The condo had been hardwood and tile. The concrete floors had been one of the big draws for TK when they’d first toured it. He’d said it reminded him of living in the city. 

He opens the cupboard underneath the kitchen sink to get the hard bristle brush and bucket he has stored there. He fills the bucket with warm water and adds a splash of Dawn before draping a rag over the side. Carlos carries the bucket and brush over to the stain and kneels down. Without wetting the brush, he starts scrubbing, getting whatever dried blood he can to flake off. 

When he’s got most of it up he dips the rag hanging on the side of the bucket in the water before wiping everything up. There’s still a bit left behind, so he dips the brush in and starts scrubbing with the soapy water, watching as the white suds turn a light pink. He scrubs harder and harder, until the suds are white and he can’t tell if there is still a stain. He’ll have to wait for it to dry to know if he’ll need to get another rug or not.

He dumps the water down the sink, cleans the bucket and brush and leaves them to dry in the rack before he scrubs out the sink. He washes his hands with water as hot as he can stand, until they're red and raw. He goes to grab a hand towel from the drawer since the one that usually hangs on the oven door handle isn’t there. A thought tries to form in his mind about where it is, but he refuses to let it, won’t let himself think about it, just dries his hands and hangs the new towel in its proper place.

Carlos moves to the pantry on the other side of the fridge where they keep the broom and dustpan. He sweeps up the fragments of brick from the bullet hole into the dustpan and empties it in the trash before putting everything back. He’s not sure how to fix holes in brick…he'll have to look it up. Deciding there’s no time like the present he takes a seat at the desk and opens up his laptop. He ignores the closed bedroom and bathroom doors and the oppressive silence and utter stillness. TK always had a hum of activity simmering in his veins that seemed to fill the loft. Carlos was always telling him he vibrated even in his sleep, never still for even a moment. 

Ignoring it. 

He gets lost for an unknown amount of time on Reddit, reading thread after thread about brick repairing and masonry and the best ways to match brick color. Carlos is only made aware of how much time has passed when he realizes the loft has grown dark, the living room lit by the blue glow of his computer. He stands up and stretches, his neck cracking as he works to loosen the tension in his shoulders from being hunched over for hours. He closes the laptop and moves to the bedroom, not bothering with any lights. 

The bedroom is pitch black when he slides the door open, but it doesn’t matter. He’s come home from plenty of late-night shifts and had to navigate by feel alone while TK slept. Carlos has barely taken a step into the room when his knee bangs into something and he stumbles. He reaches for the light switch and is blinded for a moment while his eyes adjust. And then, he sees it—TK’s suitcase, rolled into the bedroom with his duffel and tossed onto the bench at the end of the bed, waiting to be unpacked after it was his turn in the shower. 

All at once he feels the breath torn from his body and his limbs go weak. He barely makes it to the bed before he’s sinking down, anguished sobs tearing from his throat. He’s been married for exactly seven days today and just home from his honeymoon—he didn’t scrub TK’s blood off the floor of their home. He didn’t watch dried, red flakes get trapped in the bristles of the brush and fling up onto the back of his hand. 

Now that TK…god, he can barely think it, barely comprehend it. To imagine a life without him causes such a sharp ache it nearly doubles him over. It’s only two weeks since his father was murdered, the wound still raw and open, and already the pain of losing his father pales in comparison to the absence of TK. It feels so much more than pain, as if a word has yet to be invented that encompasses the all-consuming grief, the gnawing loneliness. 

He doesn’t know how to do this. He wants to rage at the unfairness of it all. He’s not here, alone, in the home he created with the love of his life, not knowing if that love will ever return. He wants to scream and throw things and destroy every last thing around him. He wants to burn the bed and tear the art from the walls. He wants to break every dish in the cabinets. And when that’s all done, he wants to lay on the floor of the loft in the middle of all the destruction and weep and wither away.

But as quickly as the grief comes, it slips away, and then he is too tired, the life sapped from his bones. So he lays in their bed, TK’s pillow clutched to his chest, and sleeps, dreaming of a world where pain doesn’t exist.

—

It’s late when they finally make it to the Airbnb. Carlos had been extremely secretive about planning the whole thing, so TK had only known they were going somewhere in Texas. He hadn’t even known how to cancel it during the brief postponement of the wedding. They’d danced the night away before Carlos had whisked him off to the car, decorated courtesy of the 126, the cans clinking madly as they’d driven out of the parking lot. Carlos had pulled over a short distance later and tossed them into the trunk before beginning the three-and-a-half-hour drive. TK had dozed on the drive down, Carlos’s hand held between his own. 

Now that they’re here he feels a burst of playful energy. He holds onto Carlos’s hips from behind and kisses his neck while he waits for him to unlock the door. The only light is the yellow glow of the porch light, but he can hear the crash of the waves on the beach and smell the salt in the air. A warm breeze ruffles through his hair, a little wild from Carlos’s fingers running through it all night. 

They get through the door and Carlos tosses their bags off to the side before turning around to press TK against the closed door. 

“Hey,” Carlos says after he’s made TK breathless.

“Hey.” TK brushes their noses together, presses a lingering kiss to Carlos’s lips. “Where’s the bedroom in this place?” he asks, hands fiddling with the end of Carlos’s undone bow tie. 

“You’re not tired?” Carlos skims kisses down his neck, hands working to unbutton the first few buttons of the tuxedo shirt. He places a kiss against his collarbone, against the hollow of his throat. 

TK rolls his hips against Carlos’s. “Do I feel tired?” he pants. He can feel Carlos smirk against the skin of his throat. “Bedroom,” he demands.

“You don’t want to recreate our first time?” Carlos finishes unbuttoning his shirt, hands moving to touch bare skin. He kisses his way down his chest, scraping his teeth against a nipple just to hear the way TK gasps and clutches at his hair.

“Our first night as a married couple and you want to trade blowjobs in the bathroom?”

Carlos chuckles against his stomach, hands moving to his belt and undoing his pants much too slowly for TK’s liking.

“I was thinking of the couch.” He presses a kiss just below his belly button. TK thrusts his hips out, silently begging for his mouth to move lower.

“So our second time then.” TK moans and lets his head fall back against the wall with a thunk as Carlos kisses the head of his cock through his underwear. He tongues at the growing wet spot wanting more of the taste of TK. TK’s knees grow weak and he seriously starts to doubt his ability to stay upright. “My plans for you require a bed.”

Carlos stands, dragging his hands up TK’s thighs and up to grip his waist. “Is that so?”

TK pushes against Carlos’s hips and he stumbles back a couple steps, smirk still firmly in place as he licks his lips. TK shrugs out of his jacket and shirt, letting them fall to the floor. He starts walking backwards, used to putting on this same show in the loft, before he runs into a table. He laughs before bending down to pull off his shoes.

“Bedroom, Reyes,” he says again. Carlos swaggers forward. TK feels his breath catch in his throat watching the way the fabric strains against his husband’s thighs. Carlos’s hands wrap around the back of his thighs and hoist him onto the table.

“In a minute,” Carlos tells him. “I’m not done yet.” TK’s pants and boxer briefs are gone with a firm tug from Carlos and he has to close his eyes against the sight of Carlos still dressed in his tux kneeling between his spread legs.

“Fuck,” TK groans as Carlos swallows him down. He grabs a fistful of curls and holds on for dear life. He’s been on edge the whole damn wedding, stealing kisses here and there, but never truly getting a moment alone. Seeing the way Carlos’s tux fit him perfectly, he wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through his perfectly styled hair until his curls were wild and free. It’s not long before he’s spilling down his husband’s throat with a shout, entirely grateful he doesn’t have to worry about noise like he would if they’d opted for a hotel room.

Finally, Carlos leads him to the bedroom, lays him down on the bed, spread out over the comforter, as he steps back to undress himself. TK is helpless to do anything, but watch as he basks in his afterglow, hand drawing lazy circles on his stomach. Before Carlos joins him he opens the French doors that lead to the balcony. The night sky is lit by a waning moon, shimmering over the dark, blue waves as they crash on the shore. It feels so far away from Austin, like they could be anywhere, Hawaii or Bali or Tahiti, just the two of them and the ocean.

Carlos is reverent in the way he touches TK. This space between them feels sacred, holy. They explore each other with fingertips and lips, slow and unhurried. TK’s heart aches with how gentle it is, the way Carlos surrounds him and fills him. The slow build to a precipice TK isn’t sure he ever wants to reach because he never wants this to end. He wants it to always be just the two of them in this moment, never apart from each other.

He feels a wetness against his cheek and opens his eyes to see Carlos’s lashes wet with tears, realizes his own eyes are just as wet. A single tear rolls down to his hairline as Carlos presses their foreheads together.

“I love you,” TK whispers into the dark for just Carlos and the ocean to hear as if it’s a secret not to be shared, as if they didn’t just cement their love for each other in front of all their friends and family with golden rings. 

Carlos kisses him with everything he has, as if he’s trying to pour every ounce of love he’s ever felt for him into the kiss. 

Hours later, after Carlos has cleaned them both up, TK lays facing the balcony Carlos wrapped around him, and watches the sunrise with heavy eyes. Carlos pulls his left hand up and places a gentle kiss to the warm metal of his ring. TK turns his head just enough to look at him.

“It was a perfect day.”

“Reminds me of a song,” Carlos tells him. TK hums, his way of asking what song without having to expend the energy to form words. “Tell me, have you seen a sunset turn into a sunrise?” Carlos whisper-sings the words against TK’s cheek. “Kiss right through the night?”

TK smiles, turns back to face the sun and the ocean, snuggling further into Carlos’s arms. “You and your damn country music.”

“You love it.” Carlos presses a kiss to the back of his head, then his shoulder.

—

TK finds himself back in the loft. He has no idea how much time has passed or how he ended up back here. The last thing he remembers is being in the waiting room with his dad. He’d closed his eyes for just a moment, so exhausted from everything, and felt a tugging on the back of his neck and then he blinked his eyes open to see his living room. At first he thought he was alone, Carlos still at the hospital glued to his bedside like he was for the previous two comas, but he’d wandered into the bedroom to find him asleep in the bed. Relief had washed through him. Carlos was resting and taking care of himself. Soon the relief turned to dismay as he realized that Carlos wasn’t moving from the bed.

He doesn’t know how long he spends trying to talk to Carlos, shouting at him to get out of bed or  to do anything other than just lay there cut off from the rest of the world. He watches helplessly as Carlos barely eats, moving only to get water and protein bars or use the bathroom. When family and friends begin dropping by, he moves to turn on the white-noise machine to its highest setting. He doesn’t change clothes, doesn’t shower. TK’s never seen this side of him. When Gabriel had died he’d thrown himself into the investigation, barely slept at all. He remembers the wild look in his eyes, the desperate need to find an answer, a reason for such a tragedy. Now, it seems as if he’s given up.

Despite the efforts of their friends and family, Carlos stays in the bedroom for days.

Andrea drops by that first evening and tries to talk to him through the bedroom door, but he doesn’t respond. She fixes him a plate from the food she brought and leaves it outside the door before putting the rest in the refrigerator.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, mijo,” she tells him, hand resting on the door. TK watches as she waits and when there’s nothing from Carlos she sighs and leaves, locking the door behind her as she goes. She is true to her word, and comes every day for at least an hour. 

Owen is next. He comes in with breakfast from the coffee shop on the corner and an update on TK’s condition. He’s been stable since Carlos left.  

“I brought bagels from the corner shop,” he says, after knocking on the bedroom door. 

Carlos doesn’t answer him either. 

With a sigh he picks up the plate of uneaten food and takes out what little trash there is, promising to stop by again to update him about TK.

Members of the 126 filter in periodically after that, starting with Grace and Judd.

Grace knocks on the bedroom door while Judd putters around the kitchen looking for something to do. He doesn’t find anything because this kitchen belongs to Carlos Reyes and he’s never left a dish in the sink in his life. TK wishes he could laugh about it.

“Hi honey. It’s Grace and Judd,” she says, her hand resting against the door. “Judd saw TK this morning. The doctor said he’s still stable. No seizures or any other complications.”

They leave after half an hour with no word from Carlos. Judd hesitates at the door, looking back to the bedroom. TK wonders what he’s thinking, where his mind goes as he takes a deep breath and lets it out. Judd taps the side of the door with his open hand a few times before hanging his head and leaving.

Marjan stops by and sits with her back to the door and tells Carlos about the firehouse gossip that occurred while he was out of town, the newest book she’s reading and who she would cast in the movie version, and what she bought at the store a few days ago. Marjan talks and talks until her voice is hoarse and she sits in silence. TK thinks that her butt must have gone numb, and when she finally goes to leave, he can see that one foot has fallen asleep as she hisses at the sensation and limps to retrieve her shoes.  

Paul is next, bringing bags of food as he heads straight for the kitchen. He loudly announces that he's going to cook and narrates how he is using Carlos’s good pans and special knife and making a mess of the kitchen as he prepares his famous chili. It takes hours and fills the loft with savory smells. An hour or so into cooking, Paul stopped talking and turned on some music. Nothing he did seemed to rouse Carlos though. Everytime TK checked on his husband, he was still curled up in a ball. Paul takes his time, putting away the food after it has cooled and thoroughly cleaning the kitchen. In the end he walks over to the bedroom door, and for a moment TK wonders if he’s going to bust down the door like Marjan did for him when he was in crisis. 

Instead, Paul hesitates, his hand hovering over the handle. “Love you, man. There’s chili in the fridge and freezer.”

Nancy shows up with a bottle of tequila, pours two glasses, and sits outside the door, listening for any sound, but Carlos remains resolutely in his cocoon, ignoring everyone and everything.

TK is going out of his mind by the time Mateo shows up. Just that morning he’d told Carlos he couldn’t watch him do this to himself anymore before trying to storm out of the loft. However, when he tried to walk through the front door, something stopped him. He had tried again, pushing against the door with both hands as if that would make a difference, but nothing happened. 

Walking back over to the bedroom he had stuck his head through the door and could see Carlos laying underneath the comforters in the middle of the bed, pillow still clutched to his chest, and the white-noise machine turned up to its loudest setting. Pulling his head back out of the bedroom, he had looked over to the front door. 

Now he’s back and standing in the living room, unable to shake how strange everything was. Was he trapped in the loft now, doomed to roam here until he woke up…or died? And what if he did die? All the reports had been optimistic, but they were still keeping him sedated, and he could tell at his father’s last update that he was concerned about it. 

Before he can get too caught up in that train of thought, he hears the lock turning and the door slides open to reveal Mateo.

“Don’t bother,” TK huffs as Mateo enters and heads for the bedroom door. “He’s decided to GIVE UP!” He knows no one can hear him, so he has taken to yelling at random moments because it makes him feel better.

Mateo jumps. TK watches as he turns halfway towards the living room, like he is looking for the sound, but then he turns back to knock. TK wants to test this a bit more, but Mateo has started to address Carlos, and he’s most concerned with getting his husband out of bed.

“Hey, Carlos,” he says. “I know you don’t want to talk to anyone, dude, but everyone’s super worried. Your mom is talking about force feeding you if you don’t come out.”

There’s no answer—just the sound of the white-noise machine.

“Come on, bro. At least get up and come out here so we can Facetime TK. The nurses said it was okay if we have an iPad in his room. Owen’s been using it to update Jonah’s dad.”

Just like all the times before, there’s no response. Mateo heaves a sigh. TK huffs and then marches right through the closed door. 

“Carlos,” TK pleads. “You have to get up. You can’t just lay here. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I promise, baby. But you have to GET UP!” Every time he yells he hopes the message will get through, that maybe if he’s loud enough, somehow someone will hear him. 

Or something.

“You are so damn loud!”

“Ah!” TK stumbles back until he’s fallen through the bedroom door and back into the living room. Mateo has moved to the couch, phone in hand. TK focuses on the intruder-–it’s the girl that he had seen in the hallway the night he was shot. Somehow she is in their loft, standing in front of him, having followed him out of the bedroom. Right through the door, just as he had. 

“They can’t hear you,” she says. “No one can hear you, so can you please stop with the shouting? You’re disturbing my afterlife!”

“Holy shit…are you a ghost?”

The girl rolls her eyes. TK is kind of angry, because nothing that’s happened during the last week or so has been normal and he’s just trying to get his bearings. He doesn’t need any judgment. 

“Yes, same as you.”

“Are you dead?”

“Of course.”

“Then no, not the same as me,” TK says. “I’m not dead.”

“Of course you’re not.”

“No, really I’m not. I’m in a coma.”

“Oh,” she says, uncrossing her arms. “Well, then you must be like mostly dead or something, because coma does not equal ghost.”

“Yeah, this is my first time as a ghost, but it most certainly is not my first time in a coma.”

Behind him, Mateo snorts. The girl freezes and her eyes narrow. “Can you hear us?” 

TK spins around to stare at Mateo who is in turn staring at his phone, not moving a muscle, not even blinking. TK walks over to him. The girl follows close behind. Mateo continues to stare at his phone. Silence stretches between them. The only sounds in the loft are the humming of the refrigerator and the soft whirring of the overhead fan.

“Boo!” the girl says. 

Mateo jumps, phone tumbling out of his hand to land on the rug. “Oh my god!” he exclaims as he clutches at his chest.

“Well,” she says. “This is unexpected.”

Chapter Text

“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.”

                                                               — Washington Irving

October 1988

October in Austin is one of Andrea’s favorite times. The days are still sunny and bright, but the nights are cool and crisp. The leaves are changing shades to red and yellow, a few still clinging desperately to green. She loves the crunch of dry leaves under her ankle boots and the fresh fall scent they emitted. Despite the fact everything was dying and decaying, it was the start of something new. The leaves had to fall in order to make way for new ones in the spring. There could be no life without death and there was no greater display of that than in the fall.

Halloween is just a few short days away, which means that soon her piano piece will be due for this semester’s jury. Tonight, she had lost track of time working on it in one of the many practice rooms UT Austin had to offer. It didn’t help that with only a couple months left in the semester she had changed her piece after falling head over heels in love with El fuego nuevo last week after seeing it for art class. While she had always loved ballet, there was something about the composition that pulled at her soul. She’d felt mesmerized as she’d watched them dance, transported through time and space as the melody tapped a rhythm against her heart. Now she’s learning an entire new piano score and she has no one to blame but herself, but it’s going to be worth it. She knows it. 

Andrea shivers and pulls her sweater tighter around her as she makes her way to the apartment she shares with a friend just off campus. She hadn’t brought a warmer jacket because she wasn't planning to stay so late. She was shocked when the janitor had knocked on the practice room door to let her know the building was being locked for the evening.  Thankfully, the path from the music hall to River Oaks Apartments is well lit and well traveled. It also happens to take her by her favorite convenience store, where she can say a quick hello to her roommate and grab something to eat.

The bell jingles as she enters the store and Beth lifts her head up from the magazine she’s reading with a smile.

“Hey, Beth,” she says as the door closes behind her and she’s enveloped in the warmth of the store. “How’s your shift going tonight?” 

Beth had been one of the first friends she made at college. They’d sat next to each other during the freshman orientation, conversation flowing easily between them once they’d learned they were both native Austinites. Both of them had clear paths from the start. Andrea wanted to study music, piano specifically, and although she knew she’d never be a master pianist, she wanted to teach it one day. Beth also wanted to teach, but her focus was literature. She also had a beautiful voice and had decided to minor in music, which led to some shared classes.

Almost three years later and their dreams would be realities soon enough. Senior year would be here before they knew it and then their whole lives were stretched out before them. 

Beth shrugs and turns a glossy page without looking at it. “Need every penny for my semester abroad. What has you out so late?”

Andrea answers with a shrug of her own. “Lost track of time.”

Beth laughs and shakes her head. “That’s what happens when you change your piece with only three weeks left until juries.” She stands up from where she’d been leaning against the countertop. “Want a snack?” Beth gestures to the rolling grill beside her. It’s filled with slow-rolling hot dogs, jumbo dogs, and taquitos. The taquitos always look dry and unappealing, but the hot dogs look plump and juicy. Their smell hangs in the air mingling with the faint scent of stale chips and bleach. 

“You know me so well,” Andrea answers with a laugh of her own. “I’m just going to grab a drink. Are we still going to see Mystic Pizza this Saturday?” Andrea is already moving towards the back of the store where the coolers are as she tosses the question over her shoulder. She’s just grabbed a tamarind-flavored Jarritos when the bell jingles signaling the entrance of another customer. The cooler door closes with a snick just as she hears a deep voice.

“Empty the cash register.”

Andrea feels her heart stop and the blood drain from her face. She squeezes the neck of the glass bottle in her hand, the coldness of it keeping her rooted in reality.

“Hurry up!” the man yells. From where she is at the back of the store, Andrea can see Beth’s shaking hands struggling with the register. She can see the gun pointed at her face, can see the way the man’s hand wavers in uncertainty as he looks out the door he just came through. 

Andrea doesn’t know what to do, so she stays hidden behind the end of the aisle with Hostess snacks and Pepperidge Farm cookies. She crouches down, the hem of her blue dress skimming the floor. Most of her body is shielded by the display, but she can still see the counter as Beth hands over the little bit of cash that’s in the drawer.

“Where’s the rest of it?”

“That…that’s all there is,” Beth stutters, eyes glued to the counter top, seemingly afraid to look up.

The man slams his palm against the counter, making Beth jump.

“There’s gotta be more!” he yells.

Beth shakes her head, tears streaming down her face. “I’m sorry.”

“Where’s your purse?” 

“Un...under the counter.”

“Get it.”

Beth reaches blindly under the counter with one hand, keeping the other raised. Andrea hears things clatter to the floor before she sees Beth set a black pocketbook on the counter. 

“Open it.”

She empties the entire contents out. Andrea watches a lipstick roll off the counter and onto the floor before stopping at the beginning of the aisle. A few crumpled dollar bills flutter out of the purse, along with a compact and a zippered wallet. Without hesitation, the man sets the gun on the counter and grabs for the wallet, fumbling it open. Andrea can’t quite see what’s inside, but when the man yells in frustration she knows there’s no money in it. 

The man growls, running his hands through his dark brown hair before pulling at the ends. With another yell he slams both fists down on the counter. The gun, which had been perched precariously on the edge of the counter, wobbles before tumbling to the ground. A deafening bang echoes throughout the store. Andrea covers her ears and squeezes her eyes shut, hoping the noise that escaped her tightly pressed lips goes unnoticed. With her ears covered, the crunch of glass and the jingle of the bell over the door are muffled.

She waits for what feels like centuries before she opens her eyes again. Beth is no longer standing behind the counter and the man is nowhere to be seen. The gun is still lying on the floor, shattered glass all around it, the tube of lipstick lying near the handle. 

It takes Andrea several tries before she’s able to stand. Her heart is beating its way out of her chest as she makes her way down the aisle. “Beth,” she whispers, still terrified the man might return. “Beth,” she says again, the glass crunching under her shoes as she gets closer. Peering over the counter, she sees her slumped in the corner against the wall, eyes wide open and staring unseeing back at Andrea. The Jarritos bottle slips from her fingers and shatters against the floor, the tea-colored liquid splashing on her shoes.

__

After calling 911 from the payphone outside the store, Andrea sits down with her back against the brick wall and knees pulled up to her chest as she waits for the police to arrive. It doesn’t take long before she hears the wailing of the sirens and the screech of tires long before they pull up to the curb. Two patrol cars are first on scene, followed a minute or so later by an ambulance. It seems pointless though—she knows there's nothing to be done. She stares at her hands trying to will the image of Beth’s lifeless eyes out of her head, the small hole just off to the right side of her forehead, the trickle of blood trailing down her cheek, the splatter of blood and brain matter on the wall.

“Miss?” It takes Andrea a moment to realize someone is speaking to her. She doesn’t know how long he’s been trying to get her attention, crouched down in front of her, his Stetson held between his hands. There’s a shiny silver badge pinned to his chest, a star surrounded by a circle. 

“Yes, sorry,” she says, lifting a shaking hand to wipe at her face. Her nose feels like ice and her fingers ache when she moves them.

“I’m Ranger Reyes,” he introduces himself.

“Andrea Delgado-Estevez.”

“How about we get out of the cold and then I have a few questions, if that’s okay?”

“I don’t want to go back in there,” she whispers.

“You don’t have to,” he assures her. He stands to his full height before reaching out a hand to help her stand. His hand is large and warm. It covers hers entirely as he helps her stand. “You’re freezing. Here…” He puts his hat back on before he shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it around her.

“Thank you.” She pulls it closed and can’t help the shiver that goes through her as she begins to warm up. The jacket reminds her of home. It smells like the cologne her brother-in-law wears with hints of vanilla and mint. It always makes her think of baking with her mother and sisters, the warmth of the stove, and a pot filled with milk and whole sticks of vanilla bean simmering to make Mexican hot chocolate. She does her best not to start crying again.

“Let’s move over here.” He guides her over to the back of the ambulance with a hand at the small of her back, barely touching just hovering enough over the jacket to lead her. She takes a seat as a paramedic hands her a blanket to drape across her legs and then disappears. She watches as Ranger Reyes pulls a notepad and pen from his shirt pocket. 

“Can you tell me what happened tonight?” he starts. There’s a kindness in his eyes and a softness in his expression that soothes the most fragile of her nerves.

“I just stopped to see her and get something to eat,” Andrea says. Her eyes can’t seem to focus on any one thing. She finds herself staring over his shoulder at the darkened business on the other side of the street. The flashing lights illuminating partial window fronts. Big white letters on one of the windows are awash in bright blue and red: D-R-Y. She wonders what kind of business it is.

“Did you see anyone else when you entered the store?”

Andrea blinks at the question, her focus returning to the ranger once again.

Andrea shakes her head. “No, no there was no one else in there. Just Beth.”

“Okay,” he says, scribbling something in his notepad. “And what did you do after you entered the store?”

“I talked to Beth a little bit. She’s been working the night shift to pay for her semester abroad. She’s going to Dublin. Part of her English degree.” Andrea swallows, clears her throat against the tightness that’s threatening to suffocate her. “I went to the back to get a drink. A man came in…” she stops, eyes going a little unfocused as the scene replays itself before her. She blinks rapidly, moves her gaze to the warm, brown eyes of the ranger. It’s the first time she realizes how handsome he is and she hates herself for seeing it. “I’m sorry,” she gasps as the tears start to fall again. She sniffles. 

Ranger Reyes pats his pockets before he pulls a folded red bandana from his back pocket. “Here,” he says, handing it to her.

“Thank you,” she says, accepting it. She dabs at her eyes, wipes at her nose, and tries to get herself back under some semblance of control. She attempts to hand it back.

He shakes his head and puts a hand up to stop her. “Keep it.”

Andrea nods, sniffs once more, and continues with her story. “He had a gun, so I hid behind one of the shelves. Beth gave him everything in the register, but he said it wasn’t enough and he yelled at her.” she takes in a shuddering breath. “She gave him her purse when he demanded it, but she only had a few dollars.” She has to stop for a moment, breathing slow and deep. “He’d put the gun down on the counter to look through her purse and then…” Andrea trails off again. This time a sob tears itself from her and there’s nothing she can do to stop it. Just like she didn’t do anything to help Beth.

“It’s okay,” he tells her. “You’re doing great. Do you need to take a break? Can I get you some water?”

Andrea shakes her head, but continues crying into the handkerchief. Her shoulders shake from her sobs and she wants to scream and wail, but that’s not something she can do right now. She needs to get through this somehow. 

“Can I call someone for you? Is there someone that can come pick you up?”

“I’m fine,” she says, sitting up straight and taking a deep breath. “I can do this.” Once again she wipes at her eyes and her nose. “He got even more upset when there wasn’t more money in her wallet. He was so angry even though she was doing everything he asked. He slammed his hands down and I don’t really know what happened.” She sniffles, straightens her shoulders. “The gun fell and I closed my eyes. He was gone when I opened them and Beth was…Beth was…”

“Okay,” he says, writing some more in his notepad. “Did you only hear one gunshot?” 

Andrea nods. He scribbles again.

“Can you tell me what he looked like?”

“Um,” Andrea says, as she tries to think. “He’s White.”

“Was he wearing a mask?” he asks, when Andrea hasn’t said anything for a few seconds.

“No,” she says, shaking her head.

“What color hair did he have?”

Andrea closes her eyes, trying to picture him and remember. “Brown.”

“Did he ever turn around? Did you see his face?”

“Not really,” she rubs her hands over her arms underneath the jacket that’s still draped over her shoulders keeping her warm. “Just the side mostly. He kept looking all around.”

“Alright, that’s okay. Was he short or tall?”

“Um, tall I think. Taller than Beth. I’m sorry,” she says. “There’s not much I can tell you. I hid.”

“Hey,” he says as she starts crying again—not heaving sobs like earlier, but silent tears streaming down her face. “It’s okay. You did a good job. Hiding was good. There’s nothing else you could’ve done.”

Andrea nods, but she doesn’t believe him.

“Give me a few minutes and I’ll get you a ride home. Wait right here, okay?”

She stays where she is and watches him walk away. It’s the first time she’s noticed just how much attention this has brought. There’s yellow crime-scene tape up now, roping off the sidewalk in front of the store. People are gathered on the other side of the tape trying to get a look at what’s going on, whispering to each other, pointing every now and then. Andrea feels like she’s on display in the back of the ambulance, framed by flashing lights against a darkened sky. She wants to jump up and run. Her heart is pounding in her chest— she can hear it in her ears. Her fingers feel tingly, her legs disconnected from her body.

“Slow, deep breaths.” 

The ranger is in front of her again. He’s stooped down to her height, hand on her shoulder, as he coaxes her into breathing normally again. 

“There you go. That’s it.” His hand drops from her shoulder as he stands to his full height. She finds she misses the comfort of its weight. “My partner and I will give you a ride home.” He helps her stand and keeps a hand at her elbow as he leads her to the car. He opens the back door for her. She murmurs her thanks as she climbs in. Andrea watches him get into the front passenger seat and not the driver’s. A man older and taller than the ranger that interviewed her gets into the driver’s seat a few minutes later. 

“M’am,” he says in greeting, voice deep and thick with a Texan accent. “I’m Ranger Bridges. Sorry ‘bout all you’ve been through this evening.”

“Thank you.”

“If you’ll just give me the address we’ll get you on home.”

Andrea makes a split-second decision and gives him her parents’ address. She can’t bear the thought of going to their off-campus apartment all alone and crying herself to sleep. She knows it’s a bit of a drive from downtown Austin to the suburbs where she grew up, but neither of the rangers makes any comment.

The headlights illuminate the darkened house when Ranger Bridges pulls into the driveway. It’s well after midnight now and Andrea can’t ever remember feeling this tired in life, but she’s not sure if she will be able to fall asleep. She’s so lost in thought she doesn’t notice Ranger Reyes has gotten out of the car until he’s opening her door. A light turns on in the house as she walks to the front door, Ranger Reyes just behind her. The headlights must have woken her parents. 

“Thank you,” she says, when they reach the door.

“If you think of anything else don’t hesitate to call,” he says, handing her a business card. She holds it in both hands as the porch light is turned on and she sees his name in black print: Gabriel Reyes. The deadbolt on the door thunks as it’s turned and then the door is opening.

“Oh, mi amor,” her mother gasps. “What’s all this?”

Andrea falls into her mother’s arms, unable to answer before the sobs take over as she's finally able to let go. She doesn’t hear their conversation or see Ranger Reyes go back to the car or watch as they drive away. She lets her mother pull her into the house and tries not to think about how Beth can never go home again.

__

Beth’s funeral takes place only three days after her murder. Andrea has been given leave from school for the remainder of the semester, though the exact details had yet to be worked out with her professors. She wasn’t sure if that was what she wanted to do, but her mother convinced her it was necessary. The killer was still at large and her parents didn’t want her walking anywhere alone. 

Honestly, Andrea didn’t want to go anywhere at all, but she was doing her best to put on a brave face. Today she will go to the funeral, and after that she's due to meet with the police again. She looks over to her desk chair and the navy blue jacket folded over the back of it. It’ll give her a chance to return it to Ranger Reyes. 

Andrea turns back to face herself in the mirror. Her foundation does a poor job of hiding the dark circles under her eyes and how pale she seems to have grown in only a few days. It’s to be expected when she’s barely sleeping and hardly eating.  No matter what her mother cooks, her stomach churns whenever a plate is set in front of her, the usually comforting smells of her favorite foods in the kitchen make her nauseous. She’s spent most of her time in her room.

She runs her palms over the black dress, smoothing out invisible wrinkles. There’s a knock on her door and her mother opens it without waiting for permission. Andrea looks at her in the mirror watching as she comes to stand just behind her. 

“Are you ready, mija?”

“No,” she answers honestly. Her mother’s hands come to rest on her shoulders, rubbing back and forth, the fabric making a soft rustling sound as she does.

“I know, mi amor. But it’s time.”

St. Mary’s has always seemed out of place to Andrea with its central location in downtown Austin. Despite being a large Gothic revival building, it’s lost in between all the skyscrapers and modern city planning. It’s so different from San Jose, the parish she attended, which was built in the Spanish style and much smaller. It’s where her parents got married and where she hopes to have her own wedding someday. 

She wonders if Beth had wanted to get married in this church. She had shared Andrea’s dreams of finding a nice Catholic boy to settle down with and raise a family. Andrea feels the tears already starting, knowing none of Beth’s dreams will ever be realized. No semester abroad at Trinity College in Ireland. No graduation trip for the two of them to Madrid. No Ph.D. in literature. 

The pews were filled as Andrea entered with her parents. She knew that Beth’s murder had been the main focus of the local TV stations for the past few days, but she couldn’t have ever imagined such a turn out. She recognizes classmates of theirs sprinkled throughout the rows. Others must have been parishioners, or maybe friends and acquaintances from her neighborhood—Beth didn’t have much family. Her mother had died when she was young and it had just been her and her dad for quite some time. 

When Mr. Wilson, Beth’s father, had called to ask if Andrea would say a few words of remembrance, she had hesitated for a moment, but his broken and despondent voice left her with a clear answer. “Of course,” she said gently, feeling the relief in his stuttering sigh. 

“Would you mind terribly sitting with me?” he’d asked. How was she to refuse a request like that? It was impossible to imagine what he must be going through, the last of his family. This time there was no hesitation when she agreed.

Mr. Wilson was already there when she arrived, sitting in the first pew on the right, closest to the aisle. A large picture of a smiling Beth from her high-school yearbook was on an easel beside her polished cherry wood casket. An enormous casket spray of red-and-white roses flowed over the coffin. Bouquets of fall flowers littered the steps and surrounded the altar. Andrea didn’t think she’d ever seen so many flowers before. 

She would forever be grateful that her parents were in attendance with her. When they reached the front her mother moved to greet Mr. Wilson, enveloping him in a hug as soon as he stood. His large frame dwarfed her mother, but it still seemed to Andrea as if he collapsed into the hug. It made her wonder who was looking out for him—Beth had always worried about him being alone. In fact, she’d lived at home for the first two years of school before Andrea had convinced her to share an off-campus apartment and get a “real college experience.” They had just barely moved in before the semester started. They had almost three whole months of living on their own, Andrea no longer in a dorm and Beth no longer at home. It had felt like freedom, like they were real adults and not undergrads, just barely out of their teenage years. Now, she didn’t know what would happen with the apartment. In everything that had happened the last few days it wasn’t even something that had crossed her mind. She didn’t want to live in it alone and she didn’t want to live in it with anyone else either. 

Her mother’s hand squeezing hers broke her from her spiral about the apartment. Meeting Mr. Wilson’s eyes for the first time, Andrea feels the tears spring to her eyes and she knew they’d be impossible to stop for the rest of the day.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers as Mr. Wilson pulls her into a hug.

“I’m so glad she had you,” Mr. Wilson tells her, voice cracking at the end. Andrea doesn’t know what to say to that, so she just nods. Her dad shakes Mr. Wilson’s hand and then they’re all taking their seats. Andrea sits stiffly between her mom and Mr. Wilson, her back to the ever-growing crowd. The service begins with the opening prayer. The whole thing seems surreal as if it’s not Andrea herself living through this moment, but someone else. She can almost pretend she’s just attending Sunday mass as they go through the hymns and the readings. Her mind drifts during the homily, the deacon’s voice fading to the background as she stares at the casket.

She knows the color dress Beth is wearing—she had seen it at the wake the night before. She knows just how her brown hair is falling over the white, satin pillow, even though Beth wore it in a braid every day. She knows how her hands are folded over a chest that will never rise again, how her dark lashes are fanned against her pale cheek never to open again to reveal her sparkling blue eyes, how her lips are painted a red that Beth would have never picked out herself—too bright she would’ve said—but those lips will never part again.

Her mother’s hand tightens around hers and Andrea isn’t sure if she made some sort of noise, but all at once she’s aware of her surroundings again. She blinks as she register’s the deacon's voice and begins to make sense of the words he’s speaking.

“...we pray for our beloved dead. We remember them. We ask that the purgation that’s given to them pass quickly as they pass on this life to the next, that God give eternal rest to Beth, that he open wide the gates of Paradise. We come in order to be a part of that work, to help Beth as she moves onto the next life. Just as we share in the salvation of one another in this life, so we share in Christ the work of salvation into eternity.”

Andrea clutches her rosary in her pocket as the Prayers of the Faithful are begun, murmuring the response with the rest of the congregation as her fingers run over the smooth beads. Just like Beth she’d always done her daily prayers just as she’d been raised to do, but she realized she’d never given it much thought. It’s not that she wasn’t faithful or didn’t believe—just that it had been a check on a list of things to do during the day. It never occurred to her that her prayers were needed to help someone to move on. The only other death she’s ever experienced was her abuela on her father’s side when she was seven, too young to know what was happening.

Somehow Andrea is able to make it all the way through the prayers and communion and then it’s her turn. She keeps her head down as she makes her way to the pulpit, pulling out the carefully folded notebook paper to smooth out on the lectern. The microphone seems to be powerful enough to pick up any sound and the rustling of the paper is carried over the speakers, along with the clearing of her throat before she’s brave enough to lift her head and gaze out at the vast sea of unknown faces. Not all of these people could have known Beth. Their circle wasn’t this big. Her heart pounds in her chest, her hands shake, and she clears her throat again.

“My name is Andrea,” she says, hoping her voice doesn’t shake as much as it feels like it does. “Beth and I were best friends and roommates. She was truly extraordinary and I hope you all had the chance to know her. It’s said that in death all things are made perfect, but Beth was pretty perfect before death. She was the type of person that always seemed to know the right thing to say. I was always in awe of her ability to find the good in everything. Even on a bad day she always managed to find some piece of good to be thankful for and to keep smiling. She was a hard worker and an excellent student. She was studying literature and planning to attend Trinity College for a semester abroad in January. Beth seemed to always have an endless supply of quotes or poems for any given situation. 

“Beth also had the most beautiful voice. If you were ever lucky enough to hear her sing you know it’s true. She loved to sing and she did it all the time. She sang in the shower or while making dinner. She loved to have impromptu dance parties in the living room and sing Whitney Houston as loud as she could.”

There’s a collective chuckle from the audience, several people are dabbing at their eyes. She glances over to her parents, her mother’s encouraging smile. Mr. Wilson has his hand over his mouth and while his eyes are shiny with tears she can see all the love and memories he has in them. Her heart breaks all over again. 

Andrea’s voice cracks as she starts up again. “This semester Beth had been studying the Spanish Jewish poet Yehuda HaLevi. She would do her best to recite some of his poems to me, but her Spanish pronunciation was terrible and we’d end up crying with laughter more often than not. I’d like to end with one of his poems.” She clears her throat against the tightness in her throat threatening to silence her. She’s almost done, she tells herself.

“’Tis a fearful thing
to love what death can touch.

A fearful thing
to love, to hope, to dream, to be –-
to be,
And oh, to lose.

A thing for fools, this
And a holy thing,
a holy thing
to love.

For your life has lived in me,
your laugh once lifted me,
your word was gift to me.

To remember this brings painful joy.
’Tis a human thing, love,
a holy thing, to love
what death has touched.”

Andrea folds her paper back up in the silence that follows before making her way back to her seat. She thinks about all the things she didn’t say, all the things she couldn’t say. No one here knew how Beth turned on all the lights in the apartment at night if she was alone. No one knew how she burned the Campbell’s chicken noodle soup she’d made when Andrea had a cold a few weeks ago. No one knew about her crush on the boy that sat next to her in her Irish Lit class. Andrea wondered if he was here today, one of the nameless people in the crowd, here only because their lives were adjacent to a tragedy. 

These people would go home this afternoon and have a moment of sadness, contemplate the fragility of life, but then they’d go to bed and when they woke in the morning their lives would likely continue unchanged. She felt like only one of two people whose lives would be forever changed, the loss felt for the rest of their days, the emptiness of where she should’ve been, scarring only them. Andrea takes her seat next to her mother and quietly cries through the rest of the service. 

She feels like she’s in a trance for the rest of the day, as if something else is controlling her body as they move from the church to the cemetery and then to Mr. Wilson’s apartment for the repast. The number of mourners at the graveside had been limited to those closest to Beth and Mr. Wilson. With so little family, it was mostly made of parishioners and neighbors that had known them for years. They don’t stay for long and Mr. Wilson gives her another hug before she leaves and tells her she’s welcome to drop by anytime. 

“That poor man,” her mother says as they’re getting into the car. Andrea can’t help but think how empty and cold the apartment will feel to him once everyone has gone.

__

The headquarters for the Texas Rangers is a little over twenty minutes north of downtown Austin. The car ride is silent except for the low hum of the radio playing old Latin hits from the  ’50s and ’60s. Andrea makes sure to grab the jacket that’s folded on the seat beside her before she gets out of the car once her father has parked.

“I’m okay on my own,” she tells her mother when she moves to follow her.

“Are you sure, mija?”

“Sí, mamá.”

It’s a small brick building, only a single story tall. Andrea’s not sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t this. The Rangers always seemed so legendary— something more like the capitol or one of the high rise buildings downtown would feel more appropriate. 

She gives her name to the clerk behind the reinforced glass before taking a seat in one of the blue plastic chairs. She doesn’t wait long before a door off to her left opens and Ranger Reyes is walking through. This is her first time seeing him in daylight, though he’s just as handsome as she remembers. His warm brown eyes and soft smile put her at ease just as they did the first time.  

“Miss Delgado-Estevez,” he says. “Nice to see you again.” A look flickers across his face as if he realizes just what he said and the context in which she’s there. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I mean to say…”

“It’s okay and you can call me Andrea,” she tells him with a small smile of her own. It feels nice after almost an entire day of crying. “I brought your jacket.”

“Oh,” he says, seemingly surprised, like he hadn’t even realized it was gone. “Thank you.” He takes it from her and drapes it over his arm. Clearing his throat he says, “Why don’t you follow me and we can get started?”

“Of course.”

Ranger Reyes leads her through a small hallway and past an open area filled with desks and computers. The hard clicking of the keyboard was almost louder than the conversation between all the men. Two were smoking, cigarettes dangling precariously in their mouths as they spoke and laughed around them. Another man was leaning so far back in his chair Andrea feared he would fall at any moment and his cowboy boots would be flailing in the air for all to witness. Somewhere off to the right another man let out a loud belch. It startled Andrea so much she jumped.

“Sorry,” Ranger Reyes muttered, a red tinge to his cheeks. “There’s a room just down here we can use.”

The room turned out to be an interrogation room, just like the ones she’d seen on TV. A metal table sat in the middle of the room, a chair on either side. He pulled her chair out and gestured for her to have a seat. “Here Miss…” he cleared his throat and the red on his cheeks deepened. “Andrea,” he corrected.

“Thank you,” she told him as he moved to sit across from her.

He pulls a small notebook and pen from his shirt pocket, flipping open the notebook to an empty page and clicking his pen. “I know we spoke a few nights ago, but now that you’ve had a few days I’d like to go over what happened that night again.”

Andrea nods and runs her suddenly sweaty palms over the skirt of her dress. For some reason she’s nervous now, like she’s here because she did something wrong.

“You’re not in trouble,” he assures her. It’s like he can read her mind. More likely her face is just that expressive. As a child she could never get away with a lie, her mother always said her face was an open book. “You might remember something more now that the shock has worn off. Something you might consider a small detail could potentially be something bigger.”

“I wouldn’t say the shock has worn off,” she says and almost immediately regrets it. “Sorry, that was rude.”

“No,” he says with a shake of his head and a small smile. “It wasn’t and I understand your meaning. Let’s just start from the beginning. What were you doing before you entered the store that night?”

Andrea clasps her hands together under the table and shrugs. “I was walking home from campus.”

“Did you have a late class?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “I got caught up practicing in one of the piano rooms. The janitor let me know he was locking up the building. The store is on the way home and I was hungry. Beth normally gets…sorry…got off between 2 a.m. and 3 a.m. when she worked the late shift.”

“Did she work the late shift often?”

“Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. She didn’t work on Sundays and her Monday, Wednesday, Friday classes started later in the day.” Andrea tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear, shifts in her seat, and then re-clasps her hands underneath the table again. She watches as he scribbles in his notebook. She can’t read what he’s writing, but she attributes that to his terrible handwriting. 

“How long had she been working there?”

“Oh, forever,” Andrea says. “Since freshman year. She lived near there even before we moved in together this semester. During the summer she would work everyday except Sunday.” He nods and scribbles some more. “Do you think he knew Beth? Is that why you’re asking all these questions?”

“You said the gun fell and went off, right?” Andrea nods. “So, no, but we have to look into all possibilities. There was an ATM across the street with a surveillance camera, but it’s impossible to make out any facial features. We’re looking through past footage to see if he’s been there before.”

“The news said there’d been several convenience store robberies in the area, but Beth was the first person killed.”

“That’s right.”

“She never mentioned it. She never even acted like she was afraid to go to work.” It was hard for Andrea to believe that Beth would never have mentioned any robberies taking place. Beth wasn’t the type to take unnecessary risks. She was always worried about leaving her dad alone, had even hesitated about getting an apartment with Andrea because she didn’t want him to be “puttering around on his own” as she put it.

“There’s the possibility she didn’t know. The other robberies were further downtown. This is the first one this close to the university.” He opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something else, but then he closes it. He runs a thumb over his right eyebrow and her eyes are drawn to the ring on his pinky finger and the round turquoise stone. She wonders if he wears it for protection. If his abuela told him the same stories about warding off the evil eye and preventing terrible accidents or maybe he wore it to bring good luck like her mother said. Maybe he didn’t believe any of it and it was just a family heirloom. “Why don’t you take me through what happened when you entered the store?”

Andrea shrugs again. She feels like she’s been doing that a lot, but then she feels awkward and doesn’t know what to do with her hands. “It was just Beth when I went in. We said hi and she asked me if I wanted a hot dog and then I went to grab a drink. I was by the cooler when I heard the bell chime and then he was yelling at Beth to empty the register.”

“And what did you do?”

Tears drip out of her eyes as she answers. “I hid.” It’s barely spoken, just a hush of air in the room, a shame that Andrea will live with for the rest of her life.

“Hiding was the best thing you could have done,” he tells her. He sounds so earnest and she wants to believe him, wants to believe Beth wasn’t so terrified and hoping that Andrea would do something or say something, anything to save her. “If he’d known you were there I might be investigating two homicides instead of one.”

“Maybe he would’ve just left if he knew I was there.”

“Or maybe he would’ve just killed you both and counted it as a loss and moved on to the next store to rob,” he says, “The truth of the matter is that we won’t ever know, but if the situation were reversed wouldn’t you have wanted Beth to hide? Wouldn’t you have wanted her to stay safe?”

Andrea nods and swipes at the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“How about we take a break. Would you like some water?”

“Sí, por favor.” 

“I’ll be right back.” The chair legs scrape against the concrete floor as he pushes himself to his feet. He’s gone for only a few minutes, long enough for Andrea to try and regain some control of herself, and he’s got a styrofoam cup in one hand and a small box of tissues in the other. He sets both down in front of her.

“Gracias.” She reaches for a tissue first and wipes at her eyes, then her nose. Next she takes a few sips of water. “Okay,” she tells him. “I’m ready.”

“You said he demanded the money from the register and then when that wasn’t enough he wanted her purse. Is that correct?”

“Yes and she gave it to him. She did everything he asked.” That was the other thing that plagued Andrea’s every waking thought along with the shame of hiding. Beth had done everything he’d wanted and she still ended up dead. It hadn’t mattered in the end. It didn’t seem fair. 

“I know,” he assures her. “You said he put the gun on the counter and then when he slammed his hands on the counter it fell and that’s when it went off.”

Again Andrea nods. “Yes. I heard the gun go off and I closed my eyes and covered my ears,” she explains. “The counter shattered and I heard the bell over the door as he left, but I didn’t see it. When I opened my eyes Beth wasn’t standing there anymore, so I got up to check on her and she was…she was…”

“It’s okay,” he says as she stutters to a stop with a small sob. He pats the top of her hand that’s currently shredding one of the tissues.

“It’s still murder, right?” she asks, suddenly terrified that Beth’s murderer might get away with it. “He’s not going to get away with it because it was an accident, right?”

“It’s murder,” he assures her, his hand still covering hers and giving it a squeeze. “It happened during the commission of a felony. It doesn’t matter if it was an accident or not. He’s going to go to prison for a very long time.”

“When you catch him?”

“Yes,” he nods. “When we catch him.”

“Okay,” she breathes.

He seems to realize he’s still practically holding her hand and snatches his hand back, clearing his throat.

“I’d like for you to sit with a sketch artist if you have time today.”

“I don’t know how much I can describe him. I’m not really good at that sort of thing.”

“You’re probably better than you think. Would you be willing to try?”

“Okay,” she agrees.

“Good,” he says standing. He seems so tall to Andrea, an imposing figure when she’s feeling so small and fragile. “I’ll send him in. Can I get you anything else in the meantime? More water? Or maybe a coffee?”

“No,” she answers. “I’m okay. Thank you.”

“Thank you for coming in again today, Andrea. I know this hasn’t been easy and I’m very sorry you’re going through this.”

She doesn’t know what to say besides, “thank you.” He gives a sharp nod of his head and then she’s alone in the room. 

While she waits for the sketch artist, Andrea wonders if her parents are doing alright waiting in the car or if her mother has let her worry overcome her and entered the building to check on her. She feels a bit guilty that they’re just waiting in the car, but she was so relieved when her mother said they would drive her and that she wouldn’t have to go by herself. The last thing Andrea wants right now is to be alone. At home, she listened to her mother singing in the kitchen as she made breakfast or prepared dinner and to her father grumbling at the TV or thumping around in the garage, always looking for a project to keep him busy when he wasn’t at work. The sounds of home and other people had kept her sane these past few days, drowned out the thoughts swirling around in her mind and the replaying of that night over and over. As long as she had noise to focus on, she could pretend to be fine.

Now, she was sitting in a silent room, her thoughts racing, the memory of that night more vivid than ever now that she’d had to relive it in detail. Her palms feel sweaty again and she can feel her heart beating in her chest, hear it rushing in her ears. The door opens just when she’s starting to feel her breathing quicken and a middle-aged man enters. There’s a sketchpad tucked under his arm and a pencil behind his ear.

“I’m Ranger Tucker,” he introduces himself and shakes her hand before taking a seat. “I’ll try to make this as easy on you as possible.”

“Thank you, sir. I don’t know how much use I’ll be.”

“Don’t worry none ‘bout that. I’ll help you out. Let’s start with the basics and go from there.”

For the next hour Andrea does her best to describe the man that killed Beth and stole a total of $17 dollars. They start with his eyes and then the shape of his face and chin. He asks about his eyebrows and nose and his ears. There’s so many little details he’s able to pry from her that she would’ve never thought possible. At the end of it all he turns the sketch pad to her and she can’t help the gasp that leaves her mouth.

“That’s him.”

Ranger Tucker nods and tells her that she’s done a good job before he leaves the room and she’s alone again. Ranger Reyes returns within minutes,  not enough time elapsing for her to get herself worked up like she had before. He leads her back out the way she had come in and when she steps outside the sun is beginning to set. She blinks in the brightness of the evening sun, somehow the outside world seeming so much brighter than the fluorescent lights. 

“I’ll walk you to your car,” Ranger Reyes says, coming up behind her his hand hovering just over the small of her back like it had that night. His Stetson sits atop his head casting his face in shadow, but she doesn’t think anything could hide his brown eyes.

“Thank you.”

When they reach the car he introduces himself to her parents as he opens the door for her to get into the backseat. He tells her he’ll be in touch. She watches him walk back towards the building after he’s shut her door and her father starts the car. It takes well over an hour to get home in rush-hour traffic. The radio plays and the traffic report comes on every so often, her father groaning at one point when an accident is reported on their typical route. They end up on a backroad, Andrea staring out the window as the world darkens and the Austin scenery becomes shapes and shadows. When they finally make it home, Andrea goes straight to her room wanting out of her dress. She throws it into the corner of her closet never wanting to put it on again.

And then she waits.

Chapter Text

“ I believe--I know that ghosts have wandered the earth. Be with me always--take any form--drive me mad. Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! It is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!”

                                                                    — Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights

“This is so fucking weird,” Mateo says, taking a sip from the water he had grabbed. 

After establishing that Mateo could in fact both hear and see them, TK had demanded answers. Mateo explained that ever since he’d gotten drunk and hit his head he’d been hearing and seeing things he hadn’t been able to before. At first he hadn’t realized what was going on, but there’d been an incident one night with Nancy when he’d finally realized no one else could see them. Nancy had wanted him to go get a head CT, worrying about long-term effects from the concussion, but he’d played it off as a joke. 

Since then, he’d done his best to ignore it. He’d never tried to talk to any of the people and none of them seemed to notice him. He’d been hoping it was just something that would eventually go away. In fact, if he really thought about it, the last time he thinks he’d seen someone that wasn’t there was at the wedding. He’d caught a glimpse of a dark-haired woman by a tree just off behind Owen. Nancy had lovingly teased him about being a romantic when a few tears had fallen. Mateo had just wished he had some way of letting TK know that his mom was there.

When he’d heard TK today he’d frozen, not knowing what to do. He knew TK wasn’t dead—he had just been to visit him at the hospital.

“Who’s she?” Mateo asks before taking another sip, his hands still shaking.

TK shrugs. “Just met her.”

“I’m Beth.”

Mateo and TK both stare at her, waiting for her to elaborate. She rolls her eyes.

“I live…or well, lived, across the hall.”

“When did you die?” Mateo asks.

“1988.”

“Damn, you’re like old.” 

“Wait,” TK says. “Do you know George? I saw you in front of his apartment the night I was shot.”

“He’s my dad,” she says softly.

“Oh,” TK responds. “I’m sorry.”.

The three of them lapse into silence for a few moments, Mateo continuing to fiddle with his water glass. TK stares at the closed bedroom door.

“Why can’t I leave the loft?” TK asks, turning to look back at Beth.

“You can’t leave the loft?” Mateo asks.

TK shakes his head. “I mean, I could earlier. I went to the hospital. But I keep losing time and end up somewhere else. I tried to leave earlier, but I couldn’t get through the front door.”

Beth nods her head toward the bedroom. “He’s the reason you stayed, right?”

“Stayed?”

She waves her hands. “Didn’t go into the light.”

"Holy shit,” Mateo interrupts. “Going into the light is a legit thing?”

“Yeah. And if you choose not to go, you’re doomed to wander the earth for eternity.”

“Holy shit, really?” Mateo looks to TK, terrified on his behalf.

“No,” Beth deadpans. “But you're like, attached to the reason you stayed. So if you stayed for Carlos then you’re attached to Carlos. You go where he goes.”

“You mean I haunt him?” TK asks. Beth nods. “Then how come you can leave your dad? I mean, I’m assuming that’s who you stayed for.”

Beth shrugs. “Not entirely sure. But like all things do with age, it seems to weaken.”

“This is a lot,” Mateo says, tilting his head back against the couch and letting out a bone-weary sigh.

“Well, we’ve gotta fix it,” TK says, his voice speeding up like he’s trying not to panic. “Beth, how the hell do I get back into my body?”

Beth sighs. “I don’t know. I’m not, like, the knower of all things ghost.”

“But you’ve got to know other ghosts, right? Maybe they know!” TK says, the desperation evident in his voice. He starts pacing in front of the couch, thumb going to his mouth to chew on his nail. 

“There’s no ghost hotline. You don’t just dial up 1-800-GHOST. Most people don’t stay,” she explains. “Plus, I don’t know any other ghosts. We don’t really talk to each other. I’ve never even seen another one in the building until I saw you that night.”

They sit in silence for a moment when an idea pops into Mateo’s head. “What about unfinished business?” He pipes up. 

TK spins on his feet to look at him. “What?”

“So Nancy has me listening to this book right now, One Hundred Years of Solitude . And like, it’s about this family that starts this town, but they’re like all doomed, because they keep repeating history or whatever.”

Beth and TK stare at Mateo. “And?” TK prompts after a moment.

“Oh yeah, well, they’re like visited by ghosts and stuff because they’re supposed to learn a lesson or something. I don’t really know. I haven’t finished it yet. Anyway, it got me thinking maybe you’re supposed to learn something or finish something.”

“Finish what?” TK asks through gritted teeth. 

“I dunno, bro,” Mateo says with a shrug. “In all the movies, don’t they have to, like, solve their murder or whatever? Like there’s that one movie where the girl haunts the lady until they find her body and the wife figures out it was her husband that did it.”

“What the hell kind of movies are you watching?” Beth asks.

“It’s got Han Solo in it,” Mateo defends. Beth seems to nod her approval.

“How the hell are we gonna solve my attempted murder?” TK blurts out.

“We?” Mateo and Beth say together.

“No one can hear me and I can literally walk through fucking walls,” TK seethes. Yes, we.”

“Well, first we have to figure out a way to get you out of the apartment,” Mateo says.

“That,” Beth says with a smile. “I can help with.” TK looks at her expectantly. “You need an object. Something that means a lot to both of you. Something that symbolizes your relationship.”

“Like a wedding ring?” Mateo asks getting up from the couch. He sets his glass of water on the coffee table.

Beth nods. “Exactly like a wedding ring.”

“How the hell am I supposed to get your wedding ring?” Mateo whisper-shouts at TK.

“You don’t need to,” TK says, looking over to the closed bedroom door. “But you are going to have to go into the bedroom.”

__

Mateo holds his breath as he inches open the door, praying that the track is well oiled and it doesn’t squeak as it slides along. TK is already waiting in the bedroom by the dresser when Mateo tiptoes in. He waves him over. Mateo keeps an eye on the lump in the bed as he inches towards TK. 

“Here,” TK whispers, pointing to a small wooden box with a heart and a date carved into the top. “Open it. If you take the whole box he might notice.”

Mateo nods and then, as quietly and slowly as he possibly can, opens the lid of the box. The hinges aren’t used to being opened and the lid snaps upright with a smack of wood against wood. Mateo’s head swivels to check on Carlos. He hasn’t moved, blankets still pulled up over his head and the white-noise machine playing loudly next to him. Mateo returns his attention to the contents of the box. A gold key lies nestled in dark-blue velvet and he can just make out TK’s initials etched into the bow of the key.

“Take it,” TK hisses at him. Mateo obeys on instinct, clutching the cool metal in his fist. “Close the box and get out of here.” He nods and does as he’s told before tiptoeing back to the living room and easing the door shut behind him. He lets out a loud sigh of relief, sagging against the closed door.

“Did you get it?” Beth asks.

“Yeah, he got it,” TK answers, materializing through the wall. Mateo doesn’t ever think he’s ever going to get used to that. “Mateo, if you lose that key I will haunt you for the rest of your fucking life, got it?” 

“Of course, bro. But like, what is it?” he asks, turning it over in his hands and inspecting it. 

TK sighs. “Carlos had it made for me when he bought the loft.”

“Oh wow,” Mateo says. “So like, before the break up? I bet he did something super romantic when he gave it to you.”

“Wait,” Beth says. “I remember that. You were screaming at him about controlling your life.”

“Yes, yes there’s no need to rehash it,” TK says defensively. “Plus we’re married now. Obviously we moved past it. And how do you even know that?” TK asks Beth.

She shrugs before answering. “You guys aren’t exactly quiet. Plus, I like to know who’s moving into the building.”

“What else have you heard?” Mateo smirks.

Beth turns toward Mateo. “More than I ever wanted to.”

TK looks disgusted. “Oh my god! Are you watching us?”

“What? Ew, gross. Of course not,” Beth defends, wrinkling her nose. It’s not my fault you don’t know how apartment buildings work. Or windows.”

“Oh my god,” TK says, rubbing a hand over his face. “George,” he mutters.

“Don’t worry,” Beth tells him. “Dad just turns up the volume on whatever he’s watching or goes for a walk. He’s lost ten pounds and his cholesterol is down since you guys moved in.”

TK throws his hands up. “I can’t handle this right now.”

“Well,” Mateo says, “We’ve got the key. Where do you want to go? What’s our next move?”

TK shrugs. “I don’t know. I went to Gabriel the last time I needed help.”

Before anything else can be said the sound of a lock turning makes them all turn towards the front door. It slides open to reveal Andrea.

“Mateo,” she says warmly. “Buenos días. Have you been here long?”

“Oh, no ma'am,” he stutters out, trying his best not to let his gaze drift to TK or Beth.

“Oh my god,” Beth says as she moves next to him.

“What?” Mateo and TK say at the time.

“Qu é?” Andrea asks.

“Didn’t you say something?” Mateo asks.

“No, mijo.” she says, shaking her head. She moves further into the loft, setting down the reusable bags she has full of groceries on the entryway table and sliding the door shut behind her. “Are you feeling okay? Are you getting enough sleep? I know this last week has been difficult for everyone.”

Beth has moved to stand right in front of Andrea, a look of awe on her face. Mateo’s eyes are so wide he thinks they might pop out of his head.

“Here,” he nearly shouts, causing Andrea to jump and clutch at her neck. “Let me help you with those.” Mateo steps right through Beth to grab the groceries. 

“Gracias,” she says slowly as she watches him carry the bags into the kitchen to set on the island. Beth keeps pace with Andrea as she moves into the kitchen.

“Did you see TK this morning?” Mateo asks, still talking overly loud. 

“I did. They’re planning to remove the drain today. Have you heard from Carlitos?” Mateo shakes his head as he pulls things from the bags and sets them on the counter. Andrea puts it all away without hesitation, perfectly at ease in her son’s kitchen. 

“Beth, what are you doing?” TK asks as she keeps close to Andrea as she moves about the kitchen, eyes never straying from her face.

“I know her,” she says, softly.

“Yeah, she’s Carlos’s mom. She’s here all the time.”

“No,” she says. “I knew her from before.”

“What?” Mateo says, attempting to turn it into a cough when he remembers that he’s talking to ghosts. 

Andrea stops what she’s doing to look at him. “Mateo,” she clucks and raises the back of her hand to his forehead. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Great!” he says, the word sticking in his throat.

“Ask if there’s any leads,” TK says.

“I just,” Mateo starts, “was thinking about TK.” She nods sympathetically. “Do they know anymore about who may have shot him?”

She sighs and shakes her head. “No, but Owen has a meeting with Detective Washington later this afternoon. Hopefully, she’ll be able to tell him something then. She’s been trying to get in touch with Carlos, but he hasn’t been answering his phone.” Andrea looks over to the bedroom and sighs again. “If he doesn’t come out on his own today I’m going to make him.”

“Fucking finally,” TK says.

“You can’t talk like that in front of Mrs. Reyes,” Mateo hisses as quietly as he can. Andrea turns back to look at him, brows drawn together in worry. “Well,” Mateo says loudly. “I’ll leave you to it.” He starts walking backwards towards the door, reaching out with a fumbling hand until he has the handle in his grip. “Nice to see you, Mrs. Reyes. Tell Carlos I said hi.” He’s got the door open and is stepping outside and closing it as fast as he can, hoping to get away before she can respond to him.

“We’ve got to go to that meeting,” TK says as he walks down the hallway, no longer trapped within the confines of the loft. 

“Where’s Beth?” Mateo searches the hallway, but he doesn’t see any signs of her.

TK shakes his head. “No idea. We’ll worry about it later. Let’s go.”

__

The dust is thick. It coats his tongue and the back of his throat, makes him instantly yearn for water and to return to the safety and comfort of the kitchen. The ranch hands are exercising the horses, letting them stretch their legs and run around in circles. Carlos is just tall enough to see over the second slat of wood of the fence into the corral. His father has separated out one of the horses in another corral and is finishing tightening up the saddle.

“ ¡Ven aquí, Carlitos! (Come here, Carlitos!) ”

Carlos remains where he is, fists clenched tight around the wood fence. His father sighs. 

“Yo lo aguanto (I’ll hold him) ,” he reassures. “Súbete. (You climb up). ”

Carlos hesitates, but he can see his father growing more frustrated and he doesn’t want to disappoint him anymore than he already has. He climbs between the fence and carefully makes his way to where his father holds the horse.

“A lo mejor debo montar uno más chico. (Maybe I should have a littler one) ,” Carlos says. “O uno más viejo. (Or maybe an older one) .”

The black horse snorts and dances around as far as his father’s hold allows him.

“Este es el caballo para ti. (This is the horse for you.) ”

The statement leaves no room for disagreement, so with shaking hands and legs, Carlos approaches the horse. He’s barely able to reach his foot up to the stirrup to pull himself up, but his father keeps a hand on his back and the other tight on the rope until he’s settled in the saddle.

“Ahora, dale la vuelta alrededor. (Now, take him around the fence.) ”

Carlos grips the reins tight, the leather cutting into his palms. The horse remains in place.

“¿Quién está a cargo, tú o el caballo? (Is the horse the boss or you?)”

Carlos gives a little kick and the horse jolts forward, but it’s worth it for the smile on his father’s face.

“Muy bien, mijo. Ahora, aprietalo con las piernes, no zapatées tanto. (Good job, mijo. Now squeeze with your legs, don’t kick too much.)” Carlos does as instructed as the horse continues in a circle around the fence. “Bien. (Good.)” He settles into an easy canter and makes several more loops. He’s never seen his father so proud. He sees his mama out on the porch, apron covered in flour. He waves at her, his father’s pride bolstering his own.

Carlos doesn’t know what happens, but between one second and the next the horse is bucking and he feels himself soaring through the air before he lands in a heap on the dirt. He coughs dust coming out of his mouth to mingle with spit and make mud. His knees and hands hurt and his hat has tumbled off. 

His father calms the horse and grabs the rope. “Vuelve y móntalo, Carlitos. (Get back on, Carlitos.)”

Carlos wants to cry. He can feel the tears forming behind his eyes, the tightness in his throat. He shakes his head. “No,” he tells him.

“Si dejas que el miedo te controle, nunca vas a hacer nada. Ahora, vuelve y móntalo. (If you let fear rule your life you’ll never do anything. Now get up and get back on him.)”

Carlos stands up, brushing dirt from his arms and legs as he sniffs. He doesn’t want to cry in front of his father. He stays standing where he is, little arms crossed over his little chest. His father sighs, rubs the horse’s nose. “Si no lo vuelves a montar, siempre le vas a tener miedo. El miedo no es malo, mijo, pero no puedas dejar que te controle. Nunca te va a respetar si no te das a respetar. (If you don’t get back on him you’ll always be afraid. It’s okay to be scared mijo, but it’s not okay to let it control you. He’ll never learn to respect you if you give up the minute he tests you.)”  His father pauses, turns to look at him instead of the horse. “And you’ll never respect yourself if you give up now. So, get back on him.”

__

“What are you doing, Carlitos?”

Carlos paws at the covers around his head, forces them down.

“Dad?” he mutters, rubbing both eyes with the heels of his hands. He blinks a few times for good measure as the room comes into focus. A shape comes into view, standing at the foot of the bed. 

“Are you going to let fear live your life for you?”

“No, sir.”

“Then get up.”

Carlos startles awake with a gasp, heart racing, his father’s voice still echoing in his ears. He throws the covers aside as he sits up, curls wild and unwashed, just like his clothes and bedding. He hates to think his father will see him like this. 

But there’s no one at the foot of the bed.

He sits for a moment, his eyes blinking rapidly in the brightness of the day. He hears someone out in the kitchen and realizes he has no idea who it might be. People have been coming and going and he’s lost track of everything. His legs feel weak and shaky as he stands and stumbles his way to the door like a newborn foal. 

“Oh, mijo!” his mother greets him with a watery smile once he’s slid open the bedroom door. The stale air from the bedroom follows him into the living room where she meets him, wrapping him in her arms. It doesn’t matter how old or tall he’s gotten over the years—he always feels like a little boy when she hugs him, like he can curl up in her lap and let her rock him from side to side until the entire world disappears and all his hurts are healed. The tears flow easy as he clutches at his mother and gives in to the desire to be nothing more than to be a child again.

She pulls him to sit down with her on the couch, her hands running along his back and arms and hair as he cries against her shoulder. He doesn’t know how long they sit like that, how long it takes him to stop crying.

“I had a dream,” he finally says into the silence, head still on her shoulder. “About Dad,” he clarifies. “Do you remember when I was learning to ride?”

“Of course, mijo,” she soothes. “You refused to come in until well after dark, determined to master that horse. I had to make your father drag you in.”

He sniffles. “I didn’t want to though, at first. I was so scared of the horses, but Dad made me anyway.”

Andrea sighs, placing her fingers on his curls before kissing the top of his head. “I know you might not have always understood your father, but he did love you. Very much.”

“I know, mam á . I know,” he says. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a better son.” It’s barely a whisper, his voice thick with emotion from all the regret that threatens to suffocate him. 

“Mijo, what do you mean?”

“I tried so hard to be the perfect son, but in the end I failed. I never snuck out. I got good grades and graduated salutatorian. I was top in my class at the academy. I bought a car and then a house. I hit every milestone I was supposed to.”

“Oh, Carlitos.” Her hands come up to cup his face as her thumbs swipe at the tears that are still falling. “Is that what you think we wanted? A perfect son? Mijo, all we ever wanted was your happiness.”

“I’m so sorry.” He closes his eyes and tries to stem the flow of tears. It’s been days since he cried, only existing listlessly in the bed. Now, it’s as if his body is determined to make up for it. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to stop crying now.

“What for?” Andrea presses her forehead to his. “This isn’t on you. We’re the parents. You were always my sweet, shy, quiet boy. I’m sorry we didn’t notice how much we were hurting you. I’m sorry you thought the silence meant you weren’t loved.”

“It’s too late now. He’ll never know.”

“Oh, cariño. He knew. We knew.”

He sits up straight and her hands fall from his face. Carlos sniffs and rubs at his cheeks with the back of his hand. “I didn’t get a chance to be a good husband. If TK never wakes up…”

“Hush,” she tells him with a gentle pat to his leg. “We’ll pray for him. It worked last time. You must not give up on him. That boy loves you. If there’s a way for him to come back to you, he will.”

__

TK isn’t sure he understands the ghost thing yet. He can’t open a door, but he can walk through a wall and he can’t drive a car, but apparently he can sit in one. It seems like when doesn’t think too hard about something, he’s capable of doing it. 

He hopes it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that Mateo had slipped TK’s key onto his own keyring when they’d gotten down to the car. TK still felt a little strange that it was in Mateo’s possession. The key was something he held almost as sacred as his wedding ring, something no one else had ever touched besides him and Carlos. Now, it hung carelessly next to a key to Nancy’s place and the key to his dad’s place. There was also a Captain America shield keychain that clinked against it with every bump and turn. Everything was held together on an Astros lanyard, his literal world on a string. 

TK loves Mateo—he’s a good fireman and a caring friend. He’s always there when someone needs him, always eager to do anything he can to help out. Still, TK finds it hard to comprehend that Mateo is the only person that can help him, the only thing standing between him and the afterlife. It’s a lot of trust to have in someone who sets five separate alarms to wake up, burns water because he forgets he started cooking something, and gets lost while running in the neighborhood. 

“It’s gonna be okay, man,” Mateo says, as if he can read TK’s thoughts. He tries to start a conversation at one point, but seems uncertain about what to say and eventually turns the radio up louder. Bad Bunny filters through the speakers and Mateo’s fingers keep the rhythm on the steering wheel. It reminds him of Carlos and he just wants to go back. Go back to his wedding day, back to his honeymoon, back to the car ride home. He wouldn’t fall asleep this time. He wouldn’t take for granted the way Carlos’s hands curl around the steering wheel, the way his fingers tap along to the beat of whatever song is playing, the way he glances over at TK every so often and just smiles. All the little parts of their relationship, all the mundane daily happenings of life that used to make him long for a little bit of excitement. He’d give all that he has for another boring day with the love of his life. 

They get to the house at the same time as Owen and Mateo parks next to him in the driveway. 

“Mateo,” he says with a smile after he’s gotten out of the car. TK can tell it’s his fake happy voice. He looks tired, but at least this time he’s dressed normally and his hair is styled. 

“Hey, I was just at the loft and Mrs. Reyes said you had a meeting with the detective.”

“Yeah, in an hour,” he answers after consulting his watch. 

“Can I go with you?”

Owen raised an eyebrow. “You want to come with me?”

“Please,” he wheedles, his gaze earnest. TK knows it’s almost as impossible to turn Mateo down when he’s like this as when Carlos uses his big, soulful brown eyes. “There’s not a lot I can do to help out, but I thought maybe I could be there for you.”

He is surprised by how good Mateo is at this. He wonders if he’s been underestimating him. 

Owen’s face softens, and his smile is a little more genuine this time. “Of course you can come. I’d be glad for the company.”

__

They leave after Owen takes the time to use the bathroom and wash his face. He tells Mateo it’s because he’s fallen behind on his regimen the last few days, but Mateo can see the tear tracks. He wonders if something went wrong with the drain removal.

It’s weird to think about TK dying when he's standing right next to him. He wants to ask TK so many questions. Can he feel his body? Does he know when something is happening? Are the clothes Mateo sees the same ones he was wearing the night he was shot? And what about Beth? Was she in the same clothes she died in, or what she was buried in? Or does that only happen when you die? TK doesn’t offer much—he just stares forlornly at the bathroom door.

When Owen is ready to leave, Mateo follows him out to the truck. He doesn’t know what to do about TK, so he opens the back passenger door. 

“Mateo, you can sit up front,” Owen says, giving him a weird look. 

“Oh, right yeah.” He shuts the door once TK is in and then climbs into the passenger seat himself. “Sorry,” he mumbles, as he pulls the seatbelt across his chest.

Owen turns in his seat, hand going to grip Mateo’s shoulder, a solemn look on his face. “He’s going to pull through this.” It’s clear to Mateo that Owen needs him to believe this. He nods.

“I know, Cap.”

“Good,” he says, turning to start the car. “Good.”

The drive to the station is relatively quiet. Mateo wishes he was better at filling the silence, but he doesn’t know what to say, especially since TK is sitting in the back seat. 

Detective Washington is there to greet them once they’ve entered the building. Mateo has never been here before, but Owen seems to know the way as they wind through the halls. There’s a board like he’s seen in television shows that has TK’s picture taped to it along with the photos taken at the loft from that night. There’s also a picture of Gabriel Reyes on the board and what, Mateo assumes, are pictures from the night he was murdered. It’s awful, but he can’t stop looking at it.

“You think they’re connected?” Owen asks when he sees the board. Detective Washington ushers for them both to take a seat at her desk. 

“We aren’t ruling out the possibility,” she answers as she takes a seat. 

“The last I heard there weren’t any leads for Gabriel’s murder.”

Mateo notices TK is also focused on the board as Owen and Detective Washington talk. It’s eerie seeing TK stare at his own attempted murder. An officer walks right through him and Mateo is fascinated with the way TK seems to flicker before becoming whole again, though he’s still vaguely see through. TK pauses, as if he can feel Mateo watching him, and moves to join the conversation.

Mateo tunes back into the end of whatever Detective Washington had been saying to Owen.

“Because the loft is downtown, there’s more cameras for us to look at. A few people in the building had Ring doorbells. All the footage is being reviewed and all leads are being followed. As of right now, there’s no reason to believe it’s connected to Ranger Reyes’s murder, but I don’t believe in coincidences,” she explains. 

“Of course it’s not a coincidence,” Owen says. “Two shootings under similar circumstances and involving the same family doesn’t just happen.”

She nods. Mateo is amazed at how calm she’s able to appear. He wonders how she manages listening to distraught grieving family members.

“We’re looking at cases that Carlos and Ranger Reyes worked on together, along with all of the cases they’ve each been involved in on their own. Even though Gabriel worked a lot of high-profile cases and  Carlos is a patrol officer, there could be someone out there with a vendetta. That’s why it’s really important I get a chance to talk to him.”

Owen sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “I know. We’re working on it. His mother is going over today and she’s determined to get him out of the apartment.”

“Well, let him know I need to speak to him as soon as he’s up to it.”

Owen nods and stands. Mateo takes that as his cue as well. TK sighs next to him. “Well this was basically pointless,” TK says as Owen shakes Detective Washington’s hand and thanks her for her time.

“Sorry that wasn’t very useful,” Mateo tells Owen once they’re back at the car. Owen opens his mouth to respond, but is interrupted by the chiming of his phone. He fishes it out of his pocket to read the message and smiles.

“Andrea says Carlos came out of the room and they’re heading to the hospital in a bit.” Owen taps out a reply. “How about I drop you off at home before I join them?”

TK swallows and nods, and Mateo finds himself nodding back. “Okay.”

__

Carlos and Andrea are already in the room when Owen and TK arrive. TK hasn’t been in the room since that first night when it all happened and he can’t help but stare at himself, trying to catalog any and all changes. He’s still intubated. He still seems to have a million tubes and wires running everywhere…except for one. The drain is gone, a piece of gauze taped to his head to mark its absence. Normally, he would say that’s a good sign, but he’s not breathing on his own and he hasn’t felt any change. If he’s getting better shouldn’t he feel something? Anything?

“The drain is out,” Carlos says. TK lets his attention be pulled to his husband. He looks better now that he’s showered and changed into jeans and a green T-shirt that reminds him of the one Carlos was wearing the night they first met. He’s never wanted to be able to touch Carlos more and his chest aches with the need. All week the only thing he’s wanted is for Carlos to get up and now he’s standing here, right in front of him, and it hurts almost more than watching him lay in bed. 

“Baby,” TK tells him, voice thick with tears. “I’m here. I promise. I will never, ever leave you.”

Carlos looks at Owen. “That means he’s getting better, right?”

“It’s probably better if the doctor explains. I don’t really understand it all,” Owen says. TK knows that’s not a good thing—it should just be a simple “yes.” He wonders what kind of complications there were. “The doctor usually comes by in the morning and then again in the evening once they’ve changed shifts. That’ll be in another hour or so. Enzo has been calling in for the evening round.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been here,” Carlos tells him.

“You’re here now,” Andrea says, hand rubbing up and down his back. “That’s what matters. Come sit, mijo. Visit with your husband.” Carlos moves to take a seat in the chair that’s been pulled up near the bed. TK watches him hesitate for a moment. His hand hovers above where TK’s own hand rests on the bed, but with a deep breath he takes it between his own and leans down to press a kiss to his knuckles.

TK looks at his own hand and feels nothing. All of a sudden he feels impossibly tired, an exhaustion like he’s never felt before. He closes his eyes for just a moment and feels that tugging on the back of his neck.

__

Carlos has never felt so untethered, completely out of control of his emotions. He feels like a pendulum, constantly in motion. He swings wildly between uncontrollable sobbing and debilitating numbness. These days, there’s no in between. His mood can shift as quickly as the gears in the Camaro, never stumbling or catching on one another. Grief turns to anger turns to numbness like he’s accelerating on the highway, headed for a destination he’ll never reach. It’s not something he lets anyone see, though. He moves through his days by rote. He starts by getting up and going to work. He’s been on 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. desk duty since he returned, agreeing with his captain that he’s not ready to be on patrol. Then, he goes to the hospital and sits with TK until visiting hours are over. On the weekends he spends the entire day at TK’s bedside. Sometimes he reads to him, both TK’s favorite books and the ones Carlos wanted to share with him but never had the time for. Other times he puts on the shows they always watched together, holds his hand, and narrates what’s happening. He promises they will watch them all over again when he wakes up.

TK was moved out of the ICU and down to a long-term care floor not long after the drain was removed. The doctors had said he should be improving, as the scans didn’t show any brain damage, the swelling had gone down, and the bleed healed. But for some unexplainable reason, TK couldn’t tolerate breathing on his own. Every attempt to wean him off the ventilator had failed. After the drain was gone, there was no need for the arterial line in his wrist or any of the other IVs he had. He was left only with the central line in his chest.There’d been talk of inserting a trach and a feeding tube, but Carlos knew TK hadn’t wanted any advanced measures like that. It was something they had discussed in depth after he’d moved into the loft. 

Carlos knows holding on for over a month is something TK probably wouldn’t want, but he keeps reminding himself that TK has woken up from comas before and this one wouldn’t be any different.TK believed in medicine, but he’d also seen how patients could linger and how it impacted their families. He was specific in his wishes, so even though Carlos wanted to go along with the doctors’ suggestions, he does his best to live up to TK’s wishes and refuses any new procedures. He just can’t bring himself to take him off the ventilator. It feels too much like giving up, and Carlos can’t give up on TK, not when there’s still hope. 

Carlos knows everyone on the floor now. He brings in flowers and cards for birthdays for the nurses and techs and housekeepers. He supplies food for the Fourth of July for those that work the holiday. He knows they take good care of TK, changing him and bathing him and turning him. They wash and brush his hair and take care of his teeth. Every day, a physical therapist comes by and moves his arms and legs. 

Carlos has never seen TK so skinny, like he’s wasting away before his eyes. They keep him fed though with a giant bag of murky-looking liquid that the nurse had told him was called TPN, so he’d be able to research it on his own. It’s all the nutrition TK requires, and it goes through his central line. 

Carlos knows more about turning schedules than he ever thought possible. He’s constantly worried about bedsores, knowing how dangerous a wrinkle underneath TK can be. For all the bad things that have happened, they’ve been lucky so far. He wonders when the luck will run out, and how long this will go on, or can go on, or should go on.

Tonight is Sunday and he works in the morning, so Carlos presses a kiss to TK’s forehead and strokes a hand through his hair, before saying goodbye and heading home. He showers and gets ready for bed, knowing tomorrow will be the same all over again.

__

TK finds himself back in the loft, sun streaming in through the windows. He spins around a little disoriented at first. It was evening when he was with his dad, Carlos, and Andrea at the hospital. Did he lose a whole day this time instead of a few hours? He goes into the bedroom, but the bed is made and Carlos is nowhere to be found. He must be at the hospital. 

“Beth,” he calls out, not knowing what else to do. He wanders out into the hall and across to a familiar door. Sticking his head in he calls out for Beth again.

“Oh, there you are,” she says, appearing in the living room from the bedroom. “Dad’s just taking his afternoon nap. You can come in,” she invites. TK steps all the way in then. He’s been inside George’s apartment before—once when Carlos helped to fix a problem with the dryer, and another time for dinner as a thank you for fixing the dryer. 

“Did I miss an entire day?” TK asks. 

Beth shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s kind of hard to keep track of time. It’s been more than a day though.”

The thought sends a bolt of panic through TK. “What? How? Where did I go?”

“We’re made of energy TK. It’s why lights flicker and batteries drain. If you use too much you’ve got to rest and recharge. I don’t know where we go exactly. I just know we’re not here.” 

She takes a seat on the couch, which frustrates TK. How can they be both incorporeal and corporeal at the same time? He swears being a ghost doesn’t make any sense. 

“Don’t think about it too hard,” she says, seeming to sense his confusion. “It’s when you start thinking about things that you start falling through things. I want to sit down, so I’m sitting down. I want to walk through the door, so I walk through the door.”

In a weird way, TK understands that, like when he sat with Mateo in the car. He joins her on the couch and sighs, laying his head against the back of the couch…that he can’t even feel. He hopes he never gets used to any of this the way Beth seems to have done. 

“It’s so strange having someone to talk to,” she tells him. “There’s a lot of things I miss, but being heard and seen is at the top of my list. You never realize how much you take just existing in the same space as someone for granted. I guess I just always thought I’d have more time.” She laughs, but there’s no humor in the sound. “I guess everyone does, though.”

“Yeah,” TK agrees. There’s not much else he can say. He knows how fragile and precious time is. He’s suffered losses he thought he’d never recover from. He’s been in comas and cheated death before. If anyone should understand the fragility of time and life and love, it’s him. 

And yet, he still took it for granted. He always found himself falling back into the same old rhythms, like lazy Sunday mornings, hello and goodbye kisses, Thursday night Catan. It never failed. After a few weeks of taking in every sunrise and stopping to smell every flower and promising himself he’ll always revel in the shape of Carlos’s hand in his, he forgot. But that’s life, isn’t it? Going through the routine and cursing the mundane until something comes along to tilt the world on its axis and you remember the mundane is what makes life worth living. 

Beth breaks the silence. “When I was alive I used to have the same nightmare. Something terrible would be happening and I’d open my mouth to scream, but nothing would come out. Not a single sound. The night I was murdered I didn’t scream. I didn’t even try—there wasn’t any time. And now,” she sighs. “Now I’m cursed to a silent existence. No matter how long and loud I scream, no one will ever hear me. I always wonder if it was prophetic, my dream. It’s strange the things you think about when you have an eternity to think about them.”

They lapse into silence again. TK has never been the best at knowing what to say and he’s truly at a loss. He doesn’t want to spend forever with only his own thoughts for company, only able to watch the people he loves live their lives.

“Sorry,” Beth says. “I didn’t mean to be such a Debbie Downer.”

“It’s okay. Must be strange to finally have someone to talk to.”

“It really is,” she agrees.

“Hey,” TK says, gesturing to the lamp. “You mentioned lights flickering. How do you do that? And do you know how to move things?”

Beth nods. “Like I said, it all takes a lot of energy. The lights are a little easier because you can use their own energy. Moving things is a bit more difficult. You’ve got to be really angry and focus it all on the object you want to move.”

“Well, I’ve got plenty of anger,” TK says.

Beth gives him a small smile. “I imagine that’s a product of being a ghost so young.”

“How old were you?” TK asks. “When you died.”

“Twenty.”

Before TK can respond there’s sound coming from the bedroom and the door opens, George shuffling out and heading for the seat TK currently occupies. He is quick to stand up before he has to experience that icy chill that happens whenever anything passes through him. 

“I’m gonna go wait for Carlos in the loft,” he tells Beth. It’s too weird for him to be here with George up and around. He feels like he’s intruding. 

She nods as George picks up the remote and switches the TV on. “It’s Monday night so we’ll go to bingo at the senior center, but I’ll be back later tonight,” Beth explains. 

TK gives a little wave goodbye and heads back. There’s an ache in his chest as he thinks about George. He’d known he was a widower, but he’d always figured he had children out in the world that checked in on him or visited, grandchildren he could dote on. TK thinks about Carlos, and how he doesn’t want this to be his future. TK can’t let this be his future. He has to figure this out and get back to him. There’s no other option. 

The clock in the kitchen says it’s ten to 6 when there’s the sound of the key in the lock and the door is sliding open. TK is surprised to see Carlos in his uniform, but then work would be a way for Carlos to keep busy. That’s how he copes when things are upended—he needs a routine or he’s lost. He goes through the usual motions, leaving his shoes by the door and keys in the dish before heading into the bedroom. Not long after, TK hears the shower start up. He’s about to go wait for Carlos in the bedroom when he hears a sound at the door again and he waits, wondering if his dad or Andrea or even Mateo might be checking in. He misses everyone.

The door slides open slowly and only enough for a man to slip through. He’s dressed in jeans and a black hoodie with the hood up over his head, casting his face in shadow.

“Hey,” TK finds himself saying even though he knows he can’t be heard. “Who are you? What’re you doing here?”

The man passes right through him. TK turns to see him heading for the bedroom. He follows, trying to grab the man by the back of his hoodie to yank him back, but his hand just keeps disappearing right through. He’s plenty angry right now—he should be able to do what Beth said.

The bedroom door lets out a high-pitched squeak as the man opens it slightly, pausing in the doorway. TK doesn’t know if he hopes Carlos heard or not. He’s too vulnerable in the shower, no way to defend himself. There’s no sound of the shower door opening or the water turning off and the man continues inside. He reaches into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie and when TK sees his hand again, he’s holding a gun. 

His entire world stops.

“No!” he yells. The lights in the room flicker. The man looks up and around. It gives TK the strength he needs and he swipes out with his arm at the lamp on the dresser. His hand still passes right through, but this time instead of an icy feeling there’s a burning that starts in the middle of his palm and spreads out. It smacks into the side of the man’s head before falling to the floor and shattering.

“Fuck,” the man groans quietly grabbing his head. He doesn’t hang around, just turns on his heel and gets out of the loft as fast as he can. 

The shower has turned off and he hears Carlos in the bathroom. “Hello?” he says. “Is someone there?” Carlos hadn’t closed the bathroom door completely so TK sees his fingers wrap around the edge to push it open. For a moment Carlos seems to be staring right at him. He reaches a hand up to cup his jaw and lets it hover just above him. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine he’s really touching Carlos.

TK shakes himself out of it and realizes that man is the key to everything. He hopes he’s not too late and runs out of the bedroom towards the kitchen window that looks out onto the street. There’s a man crossing the road and he turns to look up at the loft once he’s on the other side. It’s impossible for TK to make out his face, but he knows it’s him. The man jogs further down the street before he gets into a car. The sun has just begun to set, so TK can make out the make and color: a dark green Honda Accord.

“Shit!” he hears Carlos yell from the bedroom and he runs back in time to see him hopping towards the bed, the other foot held in his hand. He must’ve stepped on some glass. “What the hell?” Carlos mutters as he looks from his foot to the broken lamp on the floor. 

TK watches as Carlos puts on some clothes before grabbing the broom and dustpan to sweep up the mess. Carlos is tying up the trash bag when he sees the front door is open an inch or two. He walks over and closes it, twisting the lock. TK watches the look of confusion morph into resignation as Carlos sighs and rolls his eyes. TK knows he’s probably thinking he needs more sleep and forgot to close the door all the way behind him. Carlos is always so good about closing and locking the door, though. It’s TK that’s forever not closing it properly and not worried about locking it. “We live in a locked building,” TK would tease.  “Are you worried our neighbors are going to rob us? Maybe George wants that new painting you bought to hang behind the desk?” The building doesn’t seem so safe to TK anymore.

Carlos goes about getting ready for bed. TK watches from his side of the bed, sitting against the headboard. He reads a chapter of his book before putting it on the nightstand along with his glasses and then switching off the light. There’s a gap from where the curtains haven’t been closed all the way and a sliver of moonlight spills silver across the bed. Carlos’s breath evens out and he’s content to watch him sleep for a bit. TK runs his fingers through Carlos’s hair. He can’t feel its softness or smell his shampoo. He’s trying to remember the last time he ran his fingers through Carlos’s hair and he can’t. Had he that day they came home? Or maybe it was the night before? And now that he’s thinking about that he’s trying to remember the last time they kissed. Was it when they were leaving the hotel? Maybe Carlos had given him a quick kiss before he’d gone to shower. He just can’t remember. And he can’t cry. And he can’t feel Carlos underneath his hands. 

“I love you,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion, throat tight from tears he can’t shed. Or maybe he can—maybe he just doesn’t feel them either. “I’m right here, Carlos. I told you I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” 

TK closes his eyes, just to get control of himself, and he knows it’s a mistake the second he feels that familiar tugging on the back of his neck, and he’s gone.

—

Carlos blinks awake. The loft is dark and empty, but he swears he heard TK’s voice. A cool breeze ruffles his hair. It’s gone almost the second he feels it. “TK,” he whispers into the darkness.

—

TK doesn’t think he loses too much time this go around. When he appears back in the loft, Carlos is drinking his coffee before heading out for work. TK follows him—he just wants to be near him. It’s hard to focus on the fact he needs to be trying to find out who tried to kill him when all he wants is to be with his husband. They’d only had one week together. He’s been in a coma the majority of his marriage. It doesn’t seem right.

Carlos climbs into the Camaro and TK sees his own car still parked in its spot. Carlos must be taking care of it because it doesn’t look coated in dust, like it's sitting empty for too long. The Camaro reverses smoothly out of the parking space and TK watches as it drives down their street before making a left onto the main road. His gaze stops on a man standing across the street, smoking a cigarette. His face is visible: no hoodie today, just jeans and a tattered old dark T-shirt. 

TK's breath catches in his throat when it feels like the man looks directly at him, and all at once it comes flooding back. He’d set his water down on the peninsula on the way to open the door, and hadn't bothered to look through the peephole before sliding open the door. They hadn’t even locked it yet—they’d barely been home for five minutes. 

“Hi,” TK had greeted him. “Can I help you?” Between one blink and the next he’d raised his arm and fired the gun. TK had half a second to process and had started to turn away when the bullet grazed him.

For a moment TK can’t breathe. He watches the man lift the cigarette to his mouth and take a drag, his gaze focused somewhere above TK. It takes a moment for him to realize it’s the kitchen window of their loft.

“Hey!” TK yells. He takes off across the street without a second thought. A car rushes through him and his entire body goes icy. TK ignores it and continues on. The man throws the cigarette to the ground, putting it out with the toe of his boot. He’s just reached the other side of the street when the man turns and walks away. TK follows. He turns the corner and the sidewalk seems impossibly busier. People are rushing through TK before he can attempt to dodge them. The icy feeling begins to be almost painful, but he ignores it. 

The man climbs into the same beat-up Accord he saw last night. TK puts on a burst of speed to catch up to him. The car is already in drive and he’s just started to pull away from the curb when TK launches himself through the car door and into the backseat. The man eases the car seamlessly into traffic and begins driving away. TK looks out the back window, the apartment building just barely visible over the tree lined streets and businesses. He watches until it fades from view when the man makes a left-hand turn. He’s surprised to find he can stay with the man – now more than ever, he knows this is his unfinished business.

They head north. TK sits in the middle of the backseat, hoping somehow to become corporeal long enough for the man to glimpse him in the rearview mirror like some kind of horror movie, butTK doesn’t get that lucky. He’d love nothing more than to jerk the steering wheel beneath his hands or pull on the seat belt so tight it dug into the man’s neck. TK doesn't think of himself as a violent person, but he’s never backed away from a fight. If he was able, he’d definitely give this man a run for his money. Who is he to think he can just come into their home and upend their lives? What would’ve happened to Carlos if TK hadn’t been there? He doesn’t even want to think about it.

About twenty minutes later the man parks across the street from a Chinese restaurant, near a laundromat and a pawn shop. It’s definitely not a part of town TK has visited since moving to Austin—it feels more like New York. There’s a car in the alley up on blocks. The side of the street they parked on has a 6-foot chain-link fence around a basketball court that has seen better days. Weeds are poking up through cracks in asphalt.

TK follows the man out of the car and to a door that’s next to the laundromat. He realizes it’s an apartment building when they enter the lobby with all the mailboxes. There’s no elevator, so TK follows him up the stairs and down a long hallway to apartment 419. The apartment isn’t much to look at, but TK doesn’t care about the sparse furniture or the peeling paint.  He’s focusing on the wall the man stares at after he grabs a beer from the fridge, popping the top and taking a long drink. . The bottom of his stomach drops to his feet when he sees all the pictures.

“Who are you?” he screams at the man. “What do you want from us?” Beth had said anger was the best way to move objects and get lights to flicker. TK feels filled with rage, so it should be easy. He puts a hand against the light switch for the kitchen and the overhead light glows brighter before emitting a loud pop. The man swears and looks up. Next TK takes a swipe at the chair and it falls over on its side. It’s not as satisfying as the kitchen light, but it scares the man and brings a certain amount of joy to TK. 

“Fuck this shit,” the man says, making a beeline for the door. He opens it, but TK uses everything he has to slam it shut again. The man turns and looks wildly around the apartment, his dark eyes crazed. He tries the door again and manages to get through it before TK can slam it shut again.

“Dammit!” he yells, once the man is gone. What the hell is he going to do now?

—

“Beth!” he starts shouting once he’s in the hallway. “Beth!”

“What?” she asks, coming out into the hall from her own apartment.

“I found him! I found the guy that shot me! How do I get to Mateo? I need to tell him!” He can’t stop yelling. Normally he’d attribute it to adrenaline pumping through his body, but he doesn’t know what to call it. He’s got no idea what this guy wants with him and Carlos, but that doesn’t matter—he’s found him. He just needs Mateo so he can tell Detective Washington and the man can be arrested and he can finally go home to Carlos. It’s all within his grasp now. 

Beth is smiling at him. “That’s great,” she says. “You just have to think about the key he’s got and wherever he is you should appear.”

“You’ve got to come with me,” TK says. “I’m not any good at this ghost thing. I need your help.”

She glances back at the door to her apartment. “Yeah,” she says. “Okay. I can leave him for a little bit. Take my hand,” she says, holding it out. TK looks at her a bit skeptical but does as instructed. It feels like holding a block of ice, but his fingers don’t go through her palm like he was expecting. “Okay, close your eyes and let yourself be pulled to your key.”

TK thinks about the key, and how Carlos gave it to him, and then how Carlos gave it to him again after coming home from the hospital. He thinks about how Carlos had moved him in, his shirts hanging on his own side of the closet next to his hoodies, his sneakers stacked neatly on the shoe rack at the bottom of the closet. There’s a tugging sensation on his chest, like someone is yanking him forward, and when he opens his eyes he’s standing in the bunk room of the firehouse.

—

“Ah!” Mateo yells, falling to the floor from his bed where he’d been sitting listening to something on his AirPods. He pulls one from his ear as he stares wide eyed at TK and Beth.

“Mateo…“ TK starts.

“What the fuck?” Mateo hisses, scrambling to get up. He looks out the bunk room door and doesn’t see anyone so he keeps going. “Where the hell have you been? I thought you were brain dead!” he whisper-yells.

“I’m sorry,” TK says, looking a little startled.

“You’ve been gone a month and you’re sorry? We’re barely holding it together here. The doctors have been trying to talk to Carlos about taking you off life support. They’ve basically given up on you. Even Cap is starting to agree with the doctors.”

“What?” TK gasps.

“You can’t breathe on your own and no one knows what to make of it because according to all the tests or whatever you should be fine now.”

“You can’t let them do that!” TK yells.

“How am I supposed to do that when you haven’t even been here?”

“Well, I’m here now!”

“Okay,” Beth says calmly, moving to stand between them. “Okay, it’s going to be alright now because TK has a lead. That’s why we’re here,” she says, looking pointedly at TK.

“Yeah, right. He broke into the apartment last night and I think he was trying to kill Carlos.”

“What?” Mateo shrieks.

“Babe, you okay?” Nancy asks, poking her head in the room. Mateo looks at her, eyes wild, before smoothing his expression into a smile. 

“Yeah, sorry. This book is crazy.”

She smiles at him. “I’m glad you’re liking it. Let me know when you’re done so we can talk about it.”

“Yeah, babe,” he says. He’s saved from having to say anymore when the tone goes off for medical. “Be careful,” he calls after her, breathing a sigh of relief once they’re alone again. “So where is this guy?” he asks. “And who is he?”

“I don’t know,” TK tells him. “He doesn’t look familiar at all and I don’t know his name, but I do know where he lives. When I left he was leaving too, so we need to go now before he comes back.”

“I can’t,” Mateo says, gesturing to the room around them. “I’m at work.”

“Then come up with an excuse. We don’t have time to waste.”

Mateo groans and rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay.” He pulls the other AirPod out of his ear and puts them in their case before tossing them on his bed. TK and Beth follow him to Cap’s office where he asks for an hour to go run a personal errand. Cap looks like he wants to ask Mateo a question and he hopes it’s something he’s able to answer. He’s got no idea what to tell him the errand is if he asks. But then Cap is just nodding his head and granting permission before getting back to his paperwork. 

Once everyone is in the car, TK gives him the address. Mateo types it into his phone and sees that it’s just shy of half an hour away with traffic. “Oh man,” he says, as he pulls out of the parking lot. “We’re gonna be cutting this close. Cap is gonna kill me.”

“If you catch who did this to me, I think he’ll give you a pass,” TK says.

The apartment building is on the northside of downtown. It’s definitely a bit more run down than where TK and Carlos live. The ground floor is a laundromat. The door to the building is just to the left of it and leads into a small room with mailboxes. There’s something sticky coating the floor and the bottoms of Mateo’s sneakers pull away like they’re being ripped from velcro. There’s no sneaking around in this place.

“Fourth floor,” TK tells him, heading up the stairs along with Beth. Mateo heaves a breath and follows. It smells like stale cigarette smoke and mildew. The carpet lining the halls is stained more than not and the light at the end of the hallway lets out wisps of sound as it flickers. The walls are thin and Mateo can hear everything happening in the apartments he passes. A couple arguing in the first one, loud rap music from the next, a baby crying in another and so on until they reach the apartment they’re looking for.

TK disappears inside with Beth and a few moments later he sticks his head back out to let Mateo know there’s no one inside. Mateo tries the doorknob, but it’s locked. He looks around, but the hallway is empty and this isn’t the type of place to have cameras. He takes out his wallet and grabs a Subway gift card. Twisting the door knob, he wriggles the card between the door jamb and the lock until he’s able to push the door open.

Once inside there’s not a lot to look at. There’s a stained twin mattress on the floor with a tattered blue blanket; an old box television sits on top of a red plastic crate. 

“Over here,” TK says. He’s next to a single plastic chair that’s tipped over and an ashtray on the floor overflowing with cigarette butts. It’s the wall that grabs his attention. It’s covered in photos and newspaper clippings, with a photo of Gabriel Reyes that has a giant red X through it. There’s pictures of Carlos at work and at home, along with a few where TK is in the shot, but it’s easy to tell he’s not the primary focus. There’s pictures of people Mateo recognizes from the wedding—Carlos’s sisters, he thinks. However, most of the pictures are of Andrea. Some at the grocery store, at home, in her car, with Carlos, with Gabriel, with her daughters. There’s even one of her at Gabriel’s funeral, the camera zoomed in so the anguish on her face is captured. A bit of Carlos’s shoulder is in it.

“Oh my god,” Beth says.

“TK,” Mateo says, stepping closer to look at a few of the pictures. “You’re barely in these.”

“I know. I think he was really after Carlos. It explains why he broke in last night.”

“Damn,” Mateo is having a hard time comprehending what he’s seeing. “It’s like he hates the entire Reyes family.”

“You’ve got to call Detective Washington and get her down here.”

“Yeah,” Mateo says, fumbling out his phone, eyes still glued to the wall.

“Look at this,” Beth says from the kitchen where she’s wandered.

Mateo and TK join her and see a stack of mail on the counter. Mateo pokes through it all, every piece has the same name on it. “Do you know a Frank Halloway?” Mateo asks.

“No,” TK says, with a shake of his head.

“Oh my god,” Beth says.

“What?” Mateo and TK ask at the same time.

“That’s the name of the man that killed me.”

“What? But what does that have to do with me and Carlos?” TK asks.

Mateo pulls up his contacts and finds Detective Washington before clicking on the name to dial the call. 

“That’s what I was trying to tell you that first day,” Beth says as Detective Washington answers.

“Detective Washington!” Mateo says, words tripping one over the other in his haste to tell her what he’s found. “You’ve gotta get down here. I found him! His name is Frank Halloway and he drives a dark green Honda Accord and he’s got all these pictures in his apartment. You’ve gotta…”

“Hey!” 

Mateo jumps at the sound of the deep voice, phone dropping from his hand.

“Run, Mateo!” TK yells at him. He takes the advice and shoves the man out of the doorway before taking off down the hall. The man stumbles back from the push, but is quick to recover and runs after Mateo.

Mateo takes the stairs, jumping the last few to get to the landing quicker before using the handrail to swing himself around to the next set. He bursts through the side door that leads out into the alley, chest heaving.  There’s barely a second to catch his breath before the door is opening behind him and he’s stumbling forward. Mateo turns just in time for the man to shove him up against the brick of the other building, fists bunched in his shirt, gripping tight.

“Who are you?” he demands, shaking him.

Mateo struggles in his hold. “Get off me, man.”

TK appears at his side, trying to help, but his hands keep going right through the man. Beth is on the other side, but instead of trying to get the man off him, she knocks the lid off a trash can. It goes flying across the alley and lands with a clatter on the asphalt. The man—Frank— looks toward the noise and it gives Mateo a chance to shove him away, breaking his hold.

Frank turns back to Mateo and throws a fist, catching him on the right side of his chin. Mateo stumbles back, but he doesn’t go down. He turns to run, not wanting to get into a fist fight with a murderer, but he’s dragged back and thrown to the ground. The back of his head smacks against the curb, pain bursting across the back of his skull as his vision starts to dim.

“Mateo,” he hears TK yell, but he can’t make his eyes open back up. A heaviness falls over him, and he succumbs to the darkness.

Chapter Text

“I had discovered, just as the ballads and novels promised, that some loves really were forever. It was the time you had together that wasn’t.”

                                                    — Beau Taplin, Ballads and Novels

January 1989

The first day of class dawns cool and crisp. The leaves have all fallen, leaving behind bare branches for drips of ice to cling to in the early morning before the sun warms everything just enough to turn it wet and cold. The first day of class dawned brighter and earlier than normal for Andrea. Now that she was going to be commuting from home, it required an earlier start. Her father dropped her off at the music building before heading to work, promising to return for her when his shift was done. It would mean more time spent on campus, but Andrea had decided to use that time for practice. If anything, she could always sneak up to the theater balcony and take a nap. 

It feels strange to be back on campus. Everything is impossibly normal. The buildings all stand in the same place, her professors and classmates are all familiar. She walks the same route through campus as she always has… but it feels different. She supposes she’s the thing that’s different about it. 

Andrea makes it through her first day of classes, and then her second, and before she knows it she’s made it through an entire week. When her father parks in the garage, it’s nearing 6 p.m. She knows dinner will be ready, and then she’ll help her mother clean the kitchen, and then they’ll settle in the living room to watch the latest episode of Dallas . It’s the same routine every night, with a different TV show depending on the day of the week. It’s slowly driving Andrea mad. 

The house is quiet after the buzz of the holidays. Her oldest sister and her family have gone back to Branson. Lucy is finishing up her last semester at UCLA and won’t be home again until the summer. When the phone rings on Saturday morning, Andrea leaps to grab it from where it hangs on the receiver in the kitchen. 

“Hello?” she answers, twirling the yellow cord around her index finger and leaning her shoulder against the kitchen wall. Her father continues to sip his coffee, not looking up from the paper. Her mother is washing a frying pan in the sink.

“Hello, is Andrea Delgado-Estevez there?”

“Speaking.”

“Oh,” the man on the other end clears his throat before speaking again. “This is Ranger Reyes.”

“Ranger Reyes,” she says, standing up straight. Her mother turns off the water in the sink and her father puts down the paper. “Hello. How are you? Do you have an update?” she asks all at once and then shakes her head at herself. Her finger has gotten tangled in the cord and she shakes it loose. 

“Yes,” he answers. “I do have an update. We have a suspect in custody and if you’re available we’d like to do a lineup today.”

“Today?” She looks from her mother to her father, who nods. “That should be fine. I can be there in an hour.”

“Great. I can come pick you up,” he offers.

“Oh, no you don’t have to go through all that trouble. I can drive myself.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Yes, I’ll be fine. I’ll be there soon.” Andrea says goodbye and hangs up the phone.

“Y por qué te llamó?”

“They made an arrest, mamá.”

Her mother wipes her hands on a dish towel before walking over and pulling her into a hug.

“Oh, mi amor. Thank goodness. I have been praying every day that they would catch him.” She kisses Andrea on each cheek and then hugs her again. 

“I have to go down to ID him,” she says. “Can I borrow the car?”

“By yourself? No, your father will drive you.”

“Pero, mamá, I’ll be fine.”

“Tomás,” her mother says to her father, completely ignoring her. He’s already pulling his coat down from the hook in the hall, keys in one hand.

“You’re not going alone,” he says. Andrea sighs. Her father’s word is final.

__

Her father follows her into Ranger headquarters, where Gabriel is already waiting for them in the lobby. He introduces himself to her father and shakes his hand before leading them back. It’s just the same as she remembers it. It’s only been a couple months since she had last been here—the day of Beth’s funeral. On the drive over, she kept thinking about how this would be the first time Gabriel would see her in jeans and not a dress. Part of her wondered if she should have changed first. It was such a silly thought, but one she couldn’t get out of her head.

They’re brought into what seems to be a small side room. Ranger Bridges is already in there along with two other people Andrea has never seen. The three of them crowd in with the others. 

“This is ADA Anders and Walter from the public defender's office,” Gabriel says as he points to them. Andrea says a quiet hello to the men and then he explains how it’s going to work and if she has any questions. When she doesn’t, he presses a button on the wall that must signal they’re ready. A door opens in the adjacent room and Andrea watches as six men file in. 

Her heart races as they turn to face her. She rubs her sweaty palms on her thighs, the rough material of the jeans helping her focus. Her father is a comforting presence at her back. He’s always been a man of few words, but he’s always reliable, and has always watched over her and her sisters. Andrea has never questioned his love for her. 

“Take your time,” Gabriel tells her. “When you’re ready, state the number of the man you saw.”

Andrea takes a deep breath and steps forward, closer to the one-way mirror. She knew him the moment he entered the room. His face haunts her nightmares, reminds her each day that Beth is gone. This is important though—one of the most important things she’ll probably ever do in her life. She takes the time to look at each face before she says, “number three.”

No one says anything, but she watches as Gabriel once again pushes the button. The door in the other room opens and the men begin to file out. Before anyone can say anything, the public defender is opening the door to the hallway just as a ranger is escorting the suspect by. Andrea freezes, eyes wide as he stares at her. She can’t breathe. She can’t move. She’s back in the convenience store and huddled behind the aisle all over again.

“Hey,” someone is yelling, but she’s not sure who and then her view is blocked and she can breathe again. She realizes the broad shoulders belong to Gabriel. His back remains to her as he yells at the public defender before slamming the door closed.

“Are you okay, mija?” her father asks, turning her around to face him. She nods, not sure what to say, and he pulls her into a hug. “What was that?” he demands.

“Our apologies, sir,” Ranger Bridges says. Andrea pulls herself out of her father’s hug, not wanting to seem like a little girl in front of Gabriel. She tugs at the hem of her shirt and then at her sleeves, trying to put herself in some semblance of order.

“I’m sorry that happened,” Gabriel says to her. “But he’s going to be in jail until the trial and he doesn’t know your name or who you are.”

“Okay,” she says with a nod. Gabriel walks them to a different door and waits with her while her father gets the car. She wishes he would say something, but they are only alone for a minute before Ranger Bridges comes over and she tries to tune out their conversation. When her father pulls up, she gives them a quick wave before running to the vehicle, ready to be done with this place. That doesn’t keep her from looking back at Gabriel as they pull away, though.

—

Two weeks go by without incident. Andrea settles into her classes and continues to create a new routine, one that doesn’t involve Beth. Most of her time is spent in the practice rooms when she isn’t in class. Her piano piece has come along well. To make up for last semester her jury will need to include two pieces, so soon she’ll need to select her second piece and begin practicing it. She can’t seem to move on from El fuego nuevo, though. 

She finishes the last few notes of the piece before wiping the few tears that have fallen from her face. She needs a break. After putting her music folder in her bag, she picks it up and heads out, hoping a walk will be a good way to clear her head. 

The cold air is a stark contrast from the warmth of the building. She takes a deep breath and lets it fill her lungs, willing it to cleanse her as she exhales. With no destination in mind, she sets off. 

She looks up to find that her feet have carried her on the path she walked every day last semester. Andrea hasn’t been down this route since that evening. They must’ve reopened the store by now. She briefly wonders how long they kept it closed. Unable to help her morbid curiosity, she continues on. Mr. Wilson’s apartment isn’t too far from the store—she could always drop by to see him. Her mother has been taking over food every Saturday and visits with him, andAndrea has found it in herself to go a handful of times. 

When she reaches the storefront it looks as if nothing has changed. She doesn’t know what she was expecting—a shrine in Beth’s honor? A “permanently closed” sign hung on the door? Not able to bear looking at it anymore, she turns. 

Andrea doesn’t know what it is that makes her look across the street. A flash out of the corner of her eye? Intuition? A whisper of a voice in her mind? At first it’s just a man standing across the street, smoking a cigarette. She watches as he exhales, smoke lingering in the air as he throws the butt on the ground. Her breath catches in her throat when their eyes meet. Recognition for them both seems instantaneous. For a moment she’s frozen, feet rooted to the spot. The man takes a step off the curb. A passing car honks. Andrea blinks, life returning to her limbs with the rapid beat of her heart and she runs.

Andrea doesn’t wait for the light to say it’s safe for pedestrians to cross. She barely spares a glance to check for cars before she’s sprinting across the crosswalk. There’s another street to cross and then she’s back on campus. She doesn’t look behind her to see if he’s following. That’s what they always do in horror movies right before something terrible happens. 

The campus seems deserted even though it’s late afternoon and there’s still classes going on. A couple of students are walking along in the distance, but they seem too far away to help. She’s starting to develop a stitch in her side—she’s not used to running this much. She turns, hoping to lose him between the various campus buildings. When she sees a university police officer, Andrea almost sobs with relief.

“Help!” she yells, as she waves frantically and runs towards him, her backpack slapping against her. She’s barely able to stop when she reaches him and his hands go to her shoulders as she pants. “There’s a man,” she gasps. 

“Okay. Take a breath and calm down, miss. Then you tell me what happened,” the officer instructs. He seems annoyed, like she’s some hysterical female. Andrea looks behind her and doesn’t see the man. The officer probably won’t believe her.

“I need a phone,” she says, turning back to him. “I need to call the Rangers.”

“The Texas Rangers?” the officer questions in disbelief.

“Yes,” she says desperately. “I’m a witness for them. Please,” she adds, softer, hoping a change in tone will get him to react more quickly.

“Okay,” he says, looking up and over her head. She turns to look as well, but only sees a handful of students walking. “Okay, come with me.” He leads her to the small building used by the university police. The secretary there helps her make her phone call while the officer that escorted her there disappears into the back. She speaks with one of the secretaries for the  Rangers who tells her Ranger Bridges and Ranger Reyes are out on a call, but that she’ll let them know immediately. Andrea hangs up the phone, but doesn’t feel any better.

“Do you mind if I wait in here for my dad to pick me up?” she asks. “He comes after work, around five.”

“Of course, dear,” the woman says with a reassuring smile. “Would you like some tea?”

Andrea nods her head and the woman gets up from her desk. Andrea takes a seat in one of the chairs against the wall and prepares to wait. When she’s brought the mug of tea she wraps her hands around it, leeching the warmth from it into her still shaking hands. She loses track of time as she sits there, mind drifting as she stares at a poster across from her about joining the Austin Police Department.

“Andrea,” a voice says, breaking her out of her thoughts.

Looking up, she’s surprised to see Gabriel. She sets her now cold mug of tea aside. “Ranger Reyes,” she replies automatically.

“Are you okay?”

She nods. “I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry this happened. Apparently he was released a few days ago on bail. They technically don’t have to notify us, but they normally do out of courtesy. If I’d known…” he trails off, looking down at his feet before he looks back up at her. “Again, I’m truly sorry.”

“He knows me,” she says. “He knows where I go to school.”

“Yes,” he acknowledges. “But I’ve filled in the university police. They’ll be there to escort you between classes and we’re going to have more patrols around the campus. We’ll need a copy of your class schedule. I’ll be here everyday if I have to,” he vows.

“Okay,” she says, feeling safer already. “I can write down my schedule.”

He nods. “Are you done with classes today? I can drive you home.”

“Oh, my dad picks me up after he finishes work.”

“I can give him a call. Let me drive you home.”

Andrea agrees. After writing down her schedule for the university police and Gabriel, she follows him out to the parking lot. He opens the passenger side door for her and she gets in, placing her bag at her feet. The same radio station her father listens to plays softly when he starts up the car. It makes her smile as he reverses out of the parking spot. 

It feels eerily reminiscent of the drive home all those months ago, but this time Gabriel fills the silence with questions about her classes, which leads to the topic of her major, and before she realizes it she’s talked for fifteen minutes about the theory of music education.

“I’m sorry,” she says, as he takes the right into her neighborhood. “I didn’t mean to bore you.”

“You didn’t,” Gabriel assures her. “I like listening to you talk.” A small laugh escapes her as a touch of red stains his cheeks. “I just mean–-” he starts.

“Thank you,” she says instead. “For helping me.” Andrea doesn’t just mean the investigation and the drive home, but the way he puts her at ease and makes her feel safe. There were times she thought she’d never feel that way again. 

“Anytime,” he says, turning to look at her. He stares for just a moment too long and then clears his throat. “It’s my job.”

She smiles and almost asks if he drives all his witnesses home, but she doesn’t want to know. She grabs her bag and opens the car door. It seems to shake him from his stupor and he fumbles to turn the car off. “Oh, sorry,” he says, unbuckling and opening his own door. “Let me just…” He meets her on the other side of the car, holding the top of the door as she climbs out and then shutting it behind her. 

“Thank you, again,” she says, twisting the doorknob. 

“Take care, Andrea,” he says. He pauses for a moment after turning to head back to the car, but he doesn’t say anything, just gives a little wave and continues on. Andrea goes into the house, shutting the door behind her. She watches through the living room window as Gabriel climbs back into the car before driving away.

__

Valentine’s Day is a cold and dreary day. Andrea wakes with a feeling of dread settling deep in her stomach for no reason. She dresses for the day, wishes her parents a happy anniversary, and eats breakfast. The feeling persists, and her mother seems to notice something is wrong.

“Why don’t you stay home with me, mija?” 

“I can’t miss class, mamá.”

“You work so hard,” she dismisses. "One day won’t hurt.” 

Andrea doesn’t need much more encouragement than that and agrees. Her father kisses them both goodbye before heading into work and she helps her mother clean the dishes from breakfast and they spend the rest of the day on the laundry. Her parents always go out to dinner for their anniversary—the same reservation at the same restaurant for almost thirty years, so there’s no dinner to prepare. She tries to distract herself by helping her mother dress and curl her hair and pick out lipstick. 

Once her father is home it only takes him a few minutes to shower and change. The smell of his aftershave wafts out into the hallway with the steam from the shower. Before they leave, he gives her some money to order a pizza and tells her to lock the door behind them. 

The drizzle that persisted all day has turned into full-blown rain, wind whipping at her mother’s coat as they dash to the car. She watches them pull out of the drive before she shuts and locks the door, leaving the porch light on. Thunder rumbles in the distance and lightning crackles across the sky. The feeling of dread that she woke up with this morning climbs back up to her throat and she swallows around it before shutting the curtains in the living room so she won’t feel so on display. 

After calling in her pizza order, she curls up on the couch with one of the many afghans her abuela has crocheted over the years. This one is red and yellow and orange, bright colors all faded from years of use and yarn made soft from thousands of washes. Tuesday night means there’s not a whole lot to choose from on television, but there is the usual movie on CBS. It’s not quite time for it to start, so she’s stuck watching some new show about a high school journalism class. 

The movie is just starting when headlights flash behind the curtains, followed a few minutes later by a knock on the door. Andrea completes the transaction as quickly as possible, handing over the cash and taking her pizza as the storm outside grows fiercer by the minute. The house creaks and groans around her, rain lashing at the window and wind howling through cracks and door jambs. As she settles back on the couch, Andrea turns up the volume on the movie to drown out the sounds. She’s had a few bites of her pizza when there’s a loud crack followed by the hum of electricity slowing down,ending in a loud thump. Andrea swallows the bite she’d just taken, wishing she’d thought to light some candles or grab a flashlight. The kitchen seems a million miles away. 

Knowing she has to be brave, she stands up from the couch. With a hand out in front of her, she stumbles her way towards the kitchen. Her shoulder bumps into the doorway as she turns into the dining room, brushing against a chair. She feels the shift from carpet to linoleum under her feet and knows she’s reached the kitchen. A bump against the kitchen table ricochets her against the counter and then she’s feeling her way along past the sink and to the last drawer by the door leading to the garage. Andrea fumbles in the drawer until she feels the plastic of the flashlight and is pushing the button to turn it on.

Her heart is still thundering in her ears, louder than the storm outside, but she breathes a little easier as she heads back to the living room. There’s nothing to do now but wait for her parents to come home or the power to come back on, whichever happens first. She’s almost there when there’s a loud creak from behind her. She freezes. The thunder rattles the windows, lighting flashing through the closed curtains as Andrea debates with herself. Did she really hear something? Does she really want to turn around? 

It feels like an eternity that she stands there, unable to make a decision, straining her ears to hear for any sounds beneath the loudness of the storm. Her foot starts to cramp from where she’s paused midstep, toes on the floor and heel off the ground. She lets out a breath through pursed lips as she tries to make herself relax and continue on her way. She’s barely taken a step when there’s a loud bang from the kitchen and the rattling of the junk drawer. It blocks the door to the garage when it’s left open, something that has gotten her in trouble before. In her haste to get the flashlight and get back to the living room, she hadn't closed it. She’s more scared than she’s ever felt in her life as she waits to hear her father’s cursing and her mother’s admonishment, but it never comes. Instead, she hears the bang and rattling of the drawer again. 

With the flashlight guiding her way, she runs for her room. The hallway seems endless before she reaches her room, the last door on the left. She closes it behind her as softly as possible, holding the door knob so the click of latch won’t be as loud. Once it’s closed, she pushes the button in to lock it and then props her desk chair to fit underneath the knob. 

The blood rushing in her ears seems to drown out all other sound. She can’t tell if someone has gotten in the house yet. She can’t breathe, her chest heaving with each shallow exhalation she takes. Her fingers are starting to tingle. Looking down she sees the flashlight is still on, shining underneath the door of her bedroom. She fumbles to turn it off, dropping it in her haste with a loud thunk. It rolls underneath the bed, the beam of light pointing towards the head of the bed, illuminating a box of her summer clothes. 

Andrea drops to her knees, reaching under the bed to grab it when her hand tangles in a cord. A phone cord. She has a phone in her room. How could she have forgotten? Her father installed it her senior year, much to the consternation of her older sisters. What had she done to deserve her very own room and her own phone, they had grumbled good-naturedly, the way older siblings do when the youngest is given what they were denied. 

Lighting flashes through the blinds and her eyes land on her desk. A white business card is tucked into the corner of the mirror that hangs above. Andrea grabs for it, knocking the mirror askew with her shaking hands and tipping over her “Somebody in Austin Loves Me” mug full of pens and pencils. They scatter across her desk, rolling off onto the floor. She pauses, trying to listen to see if she made too much noise. She needs to get herself under control. Taking a deep breath, she wills her heart to slow down as she picks up the phone and huddles in the small space between the nightstand and the wall.

The dial tone is almost enough to make her weep with relief as she covers the ear piece with her hand, worried it might be too loud in the silence of the house even with the storm that’s raging outside. The beeps of the numbers as she dials seem loud enough to pinpoint her location and she pushes them as lightly and quickly as possible. The line rings twice before a warm, deep voice answers on the other side.

“Ranger Reyes, how can I help you?”

“Hello,” she whispers, a white knuckle grip on the receiver. “It’s Andrea.”

“Andrea, what’s wrong?” His tone changes, deepens into something more authoritative, that immediately helps to calm her thundering heart. 

Her voice shakes as she explains, “I think someone’s trying to break in.”

“Where are you? Can you get out of the house?”

“I locked myself in my room.”

“Okay,” he says. She can see him perfectly in her mind, standing by his desk, running a hand through his hair like her father does when he’s frustrated. “Okay, I want you to find something, anything, to protect yourself with. Then get under the bed and do not move. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she says, trying to think of what she has in her room that might be of use. 

“Good. I’m-” There’s a click and then nothing.

“Hello?” she whispers as loud as she dares. “Gabriel? Hello?”

Andrea tries to think of how long it will take him to get here. Ranger Headquarters is half an hour away without traffic. If he uses lights and sirens, how much quicker can he be? Twenty minutes? Fifteen? Also, it’s raining, making it inherently more dangerous than on a cloudless night. 

She’s on her own until he arrives. 

Staying low to the ground, she crawls over to the desk and opens the drawer slowly. Reaching inside, she pulls out the good fabric scissors. Then, she crawls under the bed and clicks off the flashlight. 

Then she waits.

What seems like hours passes while she’s huddled under her bed. She’s just starting to wonder how she’ll know Gabriel has arrived when there’s a loud crash from further in the house. It sounds like glass breaking. Andrea presses her lips together as tight as she can and raises her hand to cover her mouth. She does her best to stop breathing. More banging follows. Whoever it is isn’t trying to be quiet and it scares Andrea even more. She realizes the crashes must be the other doors in the hallway and she can’t help but count.

Crash. That’s one. Her oldest sister’s room.

Crash. That’s two. The hall closet that holds all the linen.

Crash. That’s three. The hall bathroom.

Crash. That’s four. Her parent’s bedroom.

There’s a beat of silence longer than the others and then…

Crash. That’s five. It’s not her door, so it must be her parent’s bathroom.

Andrea swears she stops breathing as she waits for the inevitable crash against her own door. The silence drags on, suffocating her. Andrea knows she’s supposed to wait under the bed, but now that the only door left for the intruder to break open is hers she can’t just lay there anymore. What if he gets in? As quietly as she can, she scoots out from underneath the bed. She crawls to her bedroom window still clutching the scissors to her chest as she goes. She pulls herself up using the window ledge and carefully unlatches it before sliding the window up.

Andrea turns to look at her bedroom door, swearing she heard a noise. Several things happen all at once. A crash against her bedroom door and a flash of lighting as she’s turning back to her window that illuminates a figure in front of her. She opens her mouth to scream and a cold hand closes over her mouth before the scream can escape.

“Shh, shh. It’s me, Andrea. It’s Gabriel.”

She takes a few shuddering breaths, her mind calming enough to process that it’s Gabriel on the other side of the window. She moves back against her closet door as he climbs in. His muddy boots land on her floor with barely a sound for such a large man. He steadies himself with a hand on the ground as she throws hers around him in relief, his other arm going around her waist to return the hug. Andrea clutches at his jacket, not caring that she’s soaked through now. His hat drips cold water onto her back, but none of it matters. 

“It’s okay,” he whispers to her. “I’m here now. You’re safe.” His hands move to her shoulders and he pulls back a few inches to look at her. 

“I know you’re in there!” Her bedroom door rattles on its hinges. The chair jammed under the doorknob squeaks in protest. “I’m not going to hurt you! I just want to talk! I didn’t mean to kill her! I never meant to hurt anyone! I just needed the money!” 

“It’s him,” Andrea gasps, not quite believing it. “He knows where I live. How does he know where I live?” She can feel herself panicking. She wants to show Gabriel she can be brave, but she’s shaking too much and her mind is racing as fast as her heart and her breaths are more like shallow gasps of air.

“It’s going to be okay,” he tells her, hand on her cheek. “Stay right here,” Gabriel whispers before he stands. Andrea wants to beg him to stay with her, but she knows that she can’t. Instead she huddles by her bed, eyes peeking over the top to watch the scene unfold and fingers clutched in her abuela’s quilt. 

Gabriel’s hand moves to his side and she watches him draw his gun as he approaches the door. He pulls the chair out from under the door before moving it out of his way. There’s another bang on the door. Andrea jumps, but Gabriel seems unaffected as he moves closer, hand reaching for the doorknob. Another bang and the door splinters this time, swinging open to ricochet off the bedroom wall.

“Freeze!” Gabriel shouts. “Texas Ranger!”

The man is carried in by the momentum of smashing the door and either doesn’t care or can’t stop before he’s tumbling into Gabriel and they both go down. Gabriel glances off the edge of the bed before falling to the floor, gun clattering out of his hand. The man reaches for his gun, but Gabriel is quicker as he throws a punch that lands on the man’s jaw. His fingers wrap around the handle of his weapon just as the man recovers and throws a punch of his own. Gabriel throws his elbow back as the man attempts to go for his gun again, catching him in the eye. The man stumbles back and Gabriel manages to regain his footing. 

“On the ground!” he yells, gun trained on the man. He’s panting against the wall, one hand covering his left eye. He raises his other hand in the air before getting to his knees in defeat. 

“I didn’t mean it,” he says. “I wasn’t going to hurt her.” Gabriel ignores him and grabs the cuffs from his belt.

“Hands on your head, interlock your fingers.” The man does as instructed. Gabriel cuffs one wrist and then brings that arm down behind the man’s back. He has to holster his weapon before grabbing his other arm to bring it down beside the other and latching the other cuff. 

In the scuffle he lost his hat. Andrea sees it on the floor at the end of the bed. 

“Your hat,” Andrea says, hesitating as she picks it up from where it’s crushed on the ground.

“It’s okay,” Gabriel says, moving the few feet to stand in front of her. “It’s just a hat.” He pauses, his hand coming up to her arm, thumb rubbing soothing circles on her bicep. “Are you okay?” he asks. She stares up at him, wide eyed, feeling drawn in. He must feel it too because he sways towards her. They’re a breath apart. She can see tiny flecks of gold in his irises. Her eyes drift closed, her face turned up towards him.

“Dios mío! Andrea!” her mothers screams echo from down the hall. Gabriel takes several steps back and Andrea feels colder than she has all night. “Andrea!” her mother yells again.

“I’m alright, mamá,” she calls back, unable to look away from Gabriel.

Her parents appear in her doorway. Her mother clutching at the gold cross around her neck. “Oh, my baby,” she says, rushing to pull Andrea into her arms. The wail of sirens fills the air. Andrea returns her mother’s hug, eyes still focused on Gabriel over her mother’s shoulder.

“I’ll go fill in the responding officers,” Gabriel says, finally looking away from Andrea and down to the handcuffed man. “Get up,” he says, wrapping an arm around his bicep to help him stand. “Sir,” he says with a nod to Andrea’s father as he passes him in the doorway and then he disappears down the hall.

__

Andrea changes her dress four times the morning she’s scheduled to testify. Nothing seems right. She’s just slipped on the first one again when there’s a knock on her bedroom door. She knows it’s her mother and tells her to come in.

“Are you ready, mija?” her mother asks. Andrea is eerily reminded of the morning of Beth’s funeral.

“No,” she answers, just as she had that terrible morning. 

“It’s going to be okay mi amor. Just this one day and you’ll never have to see him again.” Her mother rubs her arms in reassurance and Andrea leans for a hug which her mother freely gives.

“Okay, mamá.”

Her father drives as always. Andrea stares out the window at the familiar scenery, cars filled with those going about their normal day. Traffic is just starting to back up when they make it over the bridge, but it doesn’t take too long to make the right on 10th and then it’s just a couple blocks to the parking garage for the Travis County Courthouse.

There’s a reporter and a cameraman standing on the sidewalk leading to the courthouse as she’s escorted in between her parents, her mother’s arm wrapped firmly around her shoulders. It all feels surreal like she’s in someone else’s body, living someone else’s life. Ranger Reyes and Ranger Bridges greet them outside of the courtroom. They’re joined a few minutes later by the District Attorney.

“Hello, again Andrea,” he says, shaking her hand and then her mother and father in turn. “It’s going to be just like we went over last week. Your name will be called and you’ll enter and take the stand. I’ll ask my questions first and then the public defender will be allowed to cross examine you.” Andrea nods her understanding. Every part of her is shaking and she feels if she opens her mouth her voice will shake too.

The  Rangers follow the DA into the courtroom. Gabriel gives her a nod and a reassuring smile before the door closes behind him. Her mother leads her over to a wooden bench while her father paces in front of her. She chews on her bottom lip and then on her thumbnail before her mother notices and admonishes her, taking both of her hands between her own.

“Tomás,” she hisses. “Stop pacing. You’re worrying Andrea.” He scoffs, but stops pacing to stand beside the bench, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Andrea doesn’t know how much time passes before the door is opening and she’s being directed into the courtroom. Her fists are clenched at her sides as she walks down the aisle. Her eyes skip over the crowd before landing on Gabriel. She takes a deep breath as she takes a seat on the witness stand. The room is filled with people and she sees Mr. Wilson sitting in the row just behind the district attorney. He smiles at her when their eyes meet and Andrea feels tears already forming. How is she ever going to get through this?

She goes through the process of laying her hand on the Bible and reciting the words. The questions asked are easy to answer—it's the remembering that’s difficult. She goes through what happened that evening and how she hid behind the end of one of the aisles. When asked to identify the perpetrator of the robbery and subsequent murder she points to the defendant. Andrea hasn’t looked at him until then. Her breath catches in her throat at the anger in his eyes. She finds she can’t look away, trapped by his murderous glare. He has a fist clenched on top of the table and even from where she’s sitting she can see it shaking.

The district attorney gets her attention again, but her heart is racing now and her hands have started shaking. She looks to where she knows Gabriel is sitting and his brown eyes help calm her. He nods and smiles as if to tell her she’s doing a good job and she exhales a shaky breath as she focuses once more. For a moment, after the District Attorney sits back down, she thinks that’s it and that she made it through, but then the public defender is standing up and she remembers there’s still more to come. 

“So while the robbery was taking place you hid?”

“Yes,” Andrea answers.

“But you still were able to see everything that happened?”

“Yes.”

“What about when you closed your eyes?”

“I’m sorry?” Andrea asks, not understanding the question.

“You testified that you closed your eyes.”

“Yes,” she agrees.

“Then you couldn’t have possibly witnessed everything by your own admission.”

“I only closed my eyes at the end,” she explains. “When the gun went off.”

“So despite closing your eyes you believe you witness everything?”

“Objection your honor,” the DA says, sounding almost bored. “Repetitive.”

“Sustained,” the judge says. “Move it along.”

Andrea’s mind is racing. He won’t stop bringing up the fact that she hid. He finds a new way to word the same question and the DA continues to object. He asks about why she hid and if she ever thought about helping Beth and why didn’t she try and do anything. These aren’t new questions. She’s asked them of herself countless times, but it’s different coming from someone else. It’s different having the whole world know about her cowardice. 

When it’s finally over, her shaking legs are barely strong enough to carry her down from the witness stand and out of the courtroom. She bursts into tears the minute she sees her mother.

“Oh mi amor,” she says, wrapping her in a hug. “Tranquila, mija. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

The door opens behind her, but she barely registers it.

“I just wanted to make sure she was okay,” she hears Gabriel say.

“What happened in there?” her father asks as her mother leads her away. She doesn’t know where they’re going until she hears a faucet running and she picks her head up from her mother’s shoulder to find they’re in the bathroom. Her mother wets a paper towel, wrings it out, and then wipes carefully at her eyes and cheeks. When she feels more composed and her mother has kissed her cheek they leave the bathroom together.

Gabriel is still standing there with her father. “You did really well, Andrea. Don’t think about anything he said in there. Hiding saved your life. It was the smartest thing you could’ve done.”

“Thank you,” she says softly even though she doesn’t believe it.

“Thank you, Ranger Reyes,” her mother says, arm still securely around her shoulders. “We’re going to take her home now.”

“Of course,” he says. 

As she walks away with her parents she turns back just before they reach the exit to see Gabriel watching them leave. She wonders if she’ll ever see him again as she walks out into the midday sun. 

__

A week after her testimony, she finds out that the jury only deliberated for half an hour before a guilty verdict is reached. Andrea hears about it from the safety of her home with her parents by her side. When she watches the news later on she sees Mr. Wilson looking shocked, tears streaming down his face, as the District Attorney turns around to shake his hand. She catches a glimpse of Ranger Reyes in the background standing next to Ranger Bridges just before her father changes the channel at her mother’s request.

It’s over.

—

A little over a month after the verdict, the semester is nearing its end. Andrea’s already completed her written finals for his classes. All that’s left is her semester jury. 

Andrea never looks out into the audience before she takes the stage. She knows her parents are out there—they always are. It doesn’t matter to her how many people are crammed into the seats of the theater, but she also doesn’t want to look at them before she has to play. Her name and pieces are announced by her piano professor and with a deep breath she walks out onto the stage. She takes a seat on the bench, gets her music ready, and then pauses with her fingers poised perfectly above the keys. Her eyes dart to the audience seemingly out of her control and she spots him standing near the exit in the back, leaning against the wall, Stetson in his hand. She bites her lip against a smile, looks back at her music, and starts playing.

As she plays El fuego nuevo her fingers move confidently over the keys. As she holds the keys down for the final note goosebumps breakout on her arms and a warmth spreads through her chest. She can’t shake the feeling that someone is sitting next to her on the piano bench. As the final note fades to silence she realizes this is the first time she’s played the song and been at peace at the end. She can’t help smiling before launching into her second piece. 

Her mother has a bouquet of yellow roses waiting for her. She kisses her on the cheek as she takes them. Her father is next, pressing a kiss to her other cheek.

“Well done, mija,” he tells her.

“Thanks, dad. Did you like it mamá?”

“It was beautiful, mi amor. You play like an angel.” Her mother pulls her into another hug and kiss. “Your father made reservations at that Italian place you like.”

Andrea turns to her father, The smile she’s had on her face since the end of the recital grows even brighter. “Really? You’re going to eat pasta for me?”

He rolls his eyes and grumbles good-naturedly under his breath. A polite cough followed by an “excuse me,” interrupts her laughing. 

“Ranger Reyes?” her father questions in surprise, eyebrows raising up to his hairline. 

“Hello, sir,” he says, shaking his hand. “And it’s Gabriel, sir.”

“What brings you here?” her father asks. Her mother tuts at him before grabbing him by the elbow.

“We’ll go get the car, mija. You can meet us out there when you’re ready. It was nice to see you again, Gabriel.” Her mother tugs on her father’s arm to move in, mumbling to him under her breath in Spanish. The soft sounds of their arguing follow them through the crowd. 

Andrea turns her attention back to Gabriel, looking up at him as he stares at the hat he’s turning in his hands.

“That was really beautiful,” he tells her, finally looking up from his hat and into her eyes. “I don’t know that I’ve ever heard someone play like that before.”

Andrea smiles at him. “You don’t go to church, Ranger Reyes?” she teases.

“Oh, well,” he looks back down again, rubbing a hand against the nape of his neck.

“I’m just teasing you, Gabriel,” she says, taking pity on him. He chuckles and looks back up at her. There’s a long moment where they stare at each other before he clears his throat again and stands up a little straighter, as if he’s working up his nerve. Andrea waits patiently.

“I was hoping I could take you to dinner.”

“Oh,” Andrea says, “well, my parents are taking me out to celebrate tonight.” She can’t help, but tease him a little bit more.

“Of course,” Gabriel says, scratching at his cheek that’s beginning to turn red.

“But,” she says, a smile on her face. “You can take me tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

“I like living. I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow, but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing.”

                                        - Agatha Christie

Mateo groans and blinks against the light shining in his eyes. 

“Babe.” He hears a familiar voice calling to him, from very far away. “Hey, open your eyes and look at me.”

His eyes finally seem able to focus on the face in front of him and he groans again as a sharp pain pierces through his head. “Nance?” he asks. “What’re you doing here? Did I oversleep?”

“Looks like you hit your head again. Can you tell me what day it is?” Tommy asks. She’s on his other side and he tries to turn and look at her. He’s not sure how long it takes him to realize he can’t turn his head because someone is holding it in place.

“Don’t try and move your head, buddy.” He rolls his eyes as far up as he can and sees Judd. It makes his head ache so he closes them for a moment.

“Where’s TK?” he mumbles. Mateo blinks his eyes open just in time to see Nancy and Tommy sharing a look he can’t decipher at the moment with the pounding in his head.

“He’s in a coma, kid. Remember?” Judd asks.

“Where’s my phone?” Mateo asks, flailing his arms as he tries to find it. “I have to call Detective Washington.”

“Mateo, you’ve got to keep still,” Tommy says, voice firm. “You did call Detective Washington. They’re upstairs right now, but the only thing you’re going to be doing is going to the hospital.”

“But TK -” he starts to say.

“You can visit him after they’ve looked you over,” Nancy tells him, squeezing his hand. 

“Let’s get him on the backboard,” Tommy instructs.

Mateo is rolled onto his side, the yellow board going behind him to be rolled on top of. Then he’s lifted onto the gurney. Nancy holds his hand as they wheel him to the ambulance and then load him inside. 

“I'll drive,” he hears Tommy tell Nancy before she’s climbing in next to him. She gets to work starting an IV and hanging fluids as Tommy flips on the lights and sirens before pulling out onto the street. Mateo doesn’t think the lights and sirens are really necessary, but he knows better than to comment when Nancy has that look on her face.

“Do you remember what happened?” she asks as she strips off her gloves and takes his hand in hers.

“I was with TK,” he answers, eyes feeling heavy and drooping closed every few seconds just to make himself flutter them open when Nancy squeezes his hand. “We were trying to figure it out.”

“Figure what out, babe?”

“Why he did it,” he mumbles, finally losing the fight against the pull of the darkness. 

—

As afternoon fades into evening and the natural light flooding the loft fades enough for the need for artificial light Carlos sets the tray down on the coffee table as he waits for his mother and Owen to show up. It’s nothing like his usual elaborate spread, but he can’t have guests over and not have something to offer. It’s just a platter of some meat and cheese, a few olives…all things that were already in the refrigerator. 

It seems normal, but it’s not right. Nothing is right. They’re supposed to make a decision today, one that Carlos has been putting off. 

Yesterday, the doctors sent TK for an MRI and did an EEG and a host of other tests. They all showed the same thing: TK wasn’t improving. There was no sign of higher-level brain function. 

Carlos couldn’t understand it. He’d watched when the doctor pricked TK’s feet, saw the way TK’s hands would ball into fists and turn away from his body. Apparently, that didn’t mean what Carlos thought it meant. Tommy had explained to him that it wasn’t a good sign when he’d updated her last night after calling his mother and Owen. At least, she tried to. Carlos steadfastly refused to believe that any kind of moving wasn’t a good sign.

There’s a knock on the door and he moves to answer it with one final look at the coffee table, sliding the door open to be greeted by Owen. 

“Hi, Carlos,” he says, pulling him into a hug.

“Mom should be here soon.” Owen follows him into the loft after he’s closed the door. Carlos hasn’t felt this awkward around his father-in-law since he and TK first started dating, but he’s at a loss of what to say. They both know why they're here. He watches Owen wander the living room, looking at pictures and running his hand over the various tchotchkes on display. There’s no wedding pictures displayed yet. Carlos doesn’t know if there ever will be. Their wedding photographer had emailed over the proofs and the CD had arrived in the mail a few days ago. It was still sitting on the desk unopened. Carlos hadn’t been able to look at any of them yet.

There’s another knock on the door. This time it’s his mother. He can tell she’s already been crying. She’s forgone any makeup, not even lipstick, and for some reason it’s the saddest thing he’s ever seen. Tears spring to his eyes and while he knows the night is going to be filled with them he was hoping to keep them at bay a bit longer.

“Oh, Carlitos,” she says when she sees them after kissing him on each cheek. She holds his face between her hands, thumbs stroking his cheeks.

“Hi, Andrea,” Owen says, coming up behind Carlos to greet her. Andrea turns and pulls him into a hug with one arm, her other arm still around Carlos. The three of them stand like that for a moment in the doorway before Carlos is clearing his throat and ushering them into the living room. He closes and locks the door behind him before joining them.

Carlos takes a seat between them on the couch. The food in front of them remains untouched. They sit in silence for a moment. Owen is the one to finally break it.

“I think we all know what has to be done,” he says softly, staring at a spot on the coffee table. “He always said he didn’t want to linger.”

“I know,” Carlos says. He takes a shaky breath and exhales, not able to look either of them in the eyes. “I know he wouldn’t want to live like this. He’d say it wasn’t even living. It’s just...I just…I don’t exist without him.”

“Oh, mijo,” Andrea says at the same time Owen says his name, each of them just as heartbroken as the other.

Owen rubs a comforting hand on his shoulder as his mother takes his hands in hers.

“I know it doesn’t seem like you can,” Owen starts, “but you’ll make it through this. You’ll go on. You have to.” Owen’s gaze is somewhere else. Carlos can tell he’s not seeing the loft, but some other scene unfolding before his eyes. “His memory will live on through you.”

“Owen,” Carlos says, voice cracking. Owen turns to look at him. “I can’t be the one…” He trails off, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Owen tells him. “It’s okay, I can do it. I’m his father.” Owen continues rubbing his shoulder. Andrea lays her head on his other shoulder. He doesn’t know how long they sit there together, crying and comforting each other when there’s another knock on the door.

Carlos wipes at his eyes as Owen stands and turns to look at the door. “Are you expecting anyone?” he asks.

“No,” Carlos tells him. “Everyone knows what we were doing tonight.” Carlos reaches into his pocket and fishes out his phone. He taps on the screen, but there’s no notifications. “I don’t know who it could be.”

“I’ll get it,” Owen says, with a wave of his hand at Carlos in a gesture to remain where he is. “Hello, can I help you?” Owen asks as he slides the door open.

“God dammit!” Carlos is quick to stand at the expletive. Owen’s hands are in the air as he steps backwards into the loft and Carlos is able to see why as the man follows him in holding a gun. The man reaches behind him to slide the door closed with a loud thunk. The latch just manages to catch, preventing it from bouncing back open.

“Dios mío.” He’s hesitant to take his eyes off Owen and the gunman, but he turns to see his mother with her hand over her mouth, white as a sheet. Owen is forced back around the couch until he’s joined Carlos and Andrea again. The gunman keeps a wide berth and comes to a halt in the space between the living room and dining room. It puts him closest to Andrea and Carlos’s hands itch to move her behind him. Owen is on the other side of the coffee table, too far away to be much help.

“What do you want?” Carlos demands. He watches as the man swings the gun to focus on him instead of Owen.

“You,” he spits. Carlos doesn’t ever remember seeing this man before in his life, but the hatred emanating from him is palpable. 

Andrea gasps. “No. Why are you doing this?”

“You ruined my life!” he screams, shaking the gun at Andrea.

“Hey! Don’t you point the gun at her!” Carlos yells, throwing caution to the wind and stepping in front of his mother. This man has already taken two people from him—he won’t let him take a third. Frank steadies the gun as he aims it at Carlos’s head. Carlos just stares him down.

“No, Carlos,” Andrea says, voice shaking. “It’s me you want,” she pleads with Frank. “Please don’t hurt my son.” Carlos feels her pushing at his back, but he won’t budge. He keeps an arm stretched behind him to keep her shielded. 

“I know!” Frank shouts. “I had thirty years to think about killing you. I dreamed about finding you and knocking on your door and my face being the last thing you ever saw.” 

He sighs, but the gun stays steady. “When I finally got out I did everything I could to try and find you. How was I to know you went and married the bastard that arrested me? I didn’t even know if you’d still be in Austin. Then I stumbled on an article about Ranger Reyes teaming up with his cop son to put a serial killer behind bars. Imagine my shock when there was a family photo to accompany the article and there you were smiling in between them. It was supposed to be you opening the door for that package!” He uses the gun for emphasis, attempting to point it at her over Carlos’s shoulder, but he just moves to keep his mother hidden. 

Frank doesn’t seem to care as he continues. “Everything had been falling into place. It was meant to be. The manager at the halfway house had gotten me the delivery job and I changed my route and I waited. Then that goddamn ranger opened the door instead of you! I thought everything was ruined, but then I saw you at the funeral.” His voice grows colder. “I saw how miserable you looked and I realized I could make you suffer just as much as you made me. Your son was sitting next to you and all your daughters. He was the easiest to find first. The wedding slowed things down, but I waited outside every night for you to get back from your honeymoon and when you finally did, it wasn’t you that opened the damn door!”

“Amazon hires convicted murderers as drivers?” Owen asks, a skeptical look on his face. Carlos has never been more grateful for Owen’s ability to be absurd. Frank takes his eyes and the gun off Carlos and moves it to Owen.

“Well, I didn’t kill her with my car,” Frank says. Carlos takes the opportunity to make his move. 

—

TK had stayed with Mateo all the way to the hospital. They’d done a CT which had shown a small subdural hematoma. They were keeping him for observation and a repeat CT in the morning. It would more than likely resolve on its own, as long as Mateo stopped getting head injuries. It felt strange that they should have the same diagnosis, but TK’s had been much more severe and involved more complications. Once he’s made sure Mateo is settled into his room, he knows he’s got to get back to Carlos, figure out where Beth went, and hope that Detective Washington got Mateo’s message and responded.  

TK finds himself back in the loft just as a shot rings out. All he can see is Carlos and Frank struggling on the ground. His father has moved Andrea off towards the bedroom, blocking her with his own body.

“Carlos!” Andrea yells.

TK can’t tell if anyone was hit by the bullet, but Carlos is still fighting, his hand wrapped around Frank’s wrist slamming his hand against the floor to get him to drop the gun. Frank manages to knee Carlos in the back. He lets out a grunt, but doesn’t let go. Using his free arm, he throws an elbow and catches Frank’s nose. Blood immediately begins to pour from his nostrils and he howls in pain. 

TK can’t figure out what he should do to help. The pair roll right through where he’s standing next to them, but Carlos manages to keep the upper hand. The gun goes skidding across the floor. Beth comes through the door just then looking around frantically until she spots TK. 

“Beth, I don’t know what to do!” he yells at her, worry lacing his voice as Frank lands a punch across Carlos’s jaw. 

“Oh my god,” she says. “Okay, um…here take my hand.” She holds her hand out towards TK and he does as instructed just as Carlos and Frank run into the dining room chair that’s seated at the head of the table. “Just try and get really angry.”

“Trust me,” TK says through gritted teeth. “I am.”

Beth closes her eyes and the lights in the loft start flickering. It’s enough to make Frank pause and Carlos lands a punch that makes his head snap back against the floor with a resounding thud. Carlos staggers to his feet, breathing heavily. Frank is out cold. The light over the dining room table dims and then starts gradually getting brighter and brighter until it’s as if the sun is sitting in their loft. The hum of electricity is audible, growing so loud that Carlos puts his hands over his ears just as there’s a loud pop (which makes Andrea yelp) and then shards of glass from a shattered lightbulb are raining down on the table. 

Silence fills the loft as Beth lets go of TK’s hand. Carlos is panting in the space between the living room and dining room. Owen has Andrea pressed against the closed bedroom door, still shielding her with his body, her hands resting on his shoulders. Before anyone has time to get their bearings the loft door is sliding open and George is entering, cell phone in hand.

“I thought I heard a gunshot,” he says to Carlos.

“You did,” Carlos tells him as he finds the gun and picks it up. He ejects the clip and then the round in the chamber before setting everything down on the console behind the couch. “But it’s okay now.” 

“Mr. Wilson?” Andrea asks in disbelief as she steps out from behind Owen.

George blinks at her a few times. “Andrea?” He looks between her and Carlos. “Is Carlos your son?”

Andrea nods as she walks closer. TK steps out of the way so she doesn’t walk through him. He watches as the two of them share a hug. “I had no idea you still lived here.”

“Mom, you know George?” Carlos asks. George looks over to Carlos before his eyes travel down to the man at his feet.

“Good God,” George says before Andrea can answer. “Is that…?”

“Yes,” Andrea tells him.

“I think I need to sit down.”

Owen is quick to grab the chair from behind the desk and bring it over before he and Andrea help George ease into the chair.

“Dad!” Beth shouts moving to kneel beside the chair.

“Mr. Wilson,” Andrea says. “Are you okay?”

He nods. “I’m okay. Just a bit of a shock to see him after thirty years.”

Soon the loft is buzzing with people. Detective Washington arrives with uniformed officers that handcuff Frank and take him away. Paramedics arrive soon after and start looking over George, checking his vitals and doing an EKG. He fusses the entire time, swearing that he's fine.

Detective Washington moves Carlos and Andrea over to the couch to speak with them. TK leaves Beth with her dad and moves over to hear the conversation better.

“The pieces of this puzzle are just starting to come together for me,” Detective Washington says. “Can you tell me how you know Frank Halloway, Mrs. Reyes?”

“He’s the man who murdered my best friend. He was trying to rob the convenience store she worked at,” she whispers. She pulls her hand from the pocket of her jeans, hand clasped firmly around her rosary. TK wonders how long she’s been praying as her thumb and forefinger seem to be stopped on a bead pretty far from the cross. 

“Mom,” Carlos starts, but doesn’t say anything else. TK can see he has a million questions, but is refraining for now.

“That’s how I met your father,” Andrea tells him, turning to look at him, as if Detective Washington isn’t even there anymore. “He’d just become a ranger. It was his first big case. I didn’t know it then though. He seemed so confident and sure of himself. “ She smiles at some memory. “Gabriel caught him and I testified against him,” she says the last bit to Detective Washington. “He got thirty years and went to prison and I never really thought about him again. I missed Beth of course,” she says. “I still do. I would think about her whenever something momentous happened. When I got married, when I started having kids. All the things she missed out on herself. But I never thought about him or what he must be doing or thinking. I didn’t even know he was released. And if your father did, he never told me.”

“He probably didn’t want you to worry,” Carlos tells her.

“There’s the chance he didn’t know either,” Detective Washington interjects. “He served his time and was released. Since he wasn’t out on parole they wouldn’t have informed anyone of his release.”

Andrea closes her eyes as tears fall down her cheeks. TK can’t imagine what she’s thinking. Probably wondering if knowing he was free would’ve made a difference, would’ve changed anything that happened in the last few months. 

“I’ll give you two some time,” Detective Washington says, closing her notepad. She heads over to where Owen and George are with the paramedics, probably to get their own version of the events. Another officer is photographing the gun on the console table.

“You said you testified against him,” Carlos says and TK’s focus is brought back to them. Andrea nods. “So you witnessed it?” She nods again.

“I hid while he murdered her and I have been ashamed of it all these years. To know I’m responsible for what happened to your father and now TK…” She closes her eyes and clutches her rosary tighter. Her lips move as she recites a familiar prayer, but no sound escapes. “So many lives destroyed.”

“Mamá,” Carlos says and TK watches as he takes her hands in his, the rosary dangling between their clasped hands. He wishes he could offer some sort of comfort of his own. “None of this is your fault,” he tells her. “He was always going to rob that store whether you were there or not.”

“Your father would still—”

“You would have never met him,” Carlos says before she can finish. 

TK watches as her tears fall silently, not knowing that her shoulders are shaking from the weight of her decisions: the decision to change her music piece, the decision to stop for something to eat, the decision to accept a dinner invitation from a handsome ranger. All connected, all bound one to the other and so on down the line until Carlos was saying hello to a beautiful stranger in a honky tonk, like puzzle pieces fitting together or dominoes being laid down—remove one and the entire thing is ruined. He knows how terrible it is to live with the burden of a choice that would undo all the wonderful things life has brought. It’s as if they were always meant to end up here, in this room, in this moment. 

TK lets his hand hover over her shoulder, not quite touching, showing comfort in the only way he can right now, hoping she knows how grateful he is despite all the pain and heartache. Carlos is worth every minute.

Andrea picks her head up from Carlos’s shoulder, eyes red and cheeks wet. TK swears she can see him. “Do you feel that?” she whispers.

“Feel what mamá?”

She shivers, eyes looking around the room as TK drops his hand back to his side. “Nothing,” she says. “Never mind.”

—

After Owen convinces George to let the paramedics take him to get looked over, TK follows Beth back to her apartment.

“I can’t believe all of this,” she tells him. TK agrees. It’s hard to believe that the same man that killed Beth is the reason he’s standing in front of her right now, able to talk to her.

“Beth,” he says after a few moments. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah,” she answers. “Of course.”

“Why’d you stay?”

She shrugs. “I don’t really know anymore. I didn’t realize at first what was happening. I thought he’d missed and I survived, but then Andrea…” she trails off. “I think in the beginning maybe I stayed for her. I didn’t want to leave her alone, but then once the police showed up I didn’t know what to do, so I went home. I was there when they knocked on the door and told my dad, and he was so upset and so alone. After that I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him and I just stayed.” Beth looks around the apartment, her mind somewhere else. TK wonders if she’s remembering that night all those years ago.

“But they found him,” he says. “There was a trial and he went to jail. That means you don’t have any unfinished business. You never wanted to move on?”

She shakes her head but avoids looking at him. “He’s all alone.”

“Carlos and I can watch out for him,” he answers softly. “You shouldn’t stay here. You deserve to rest. You must be so tired.”

She nods, eyes shiny with tears. “I am,” she whispers.

“Then go. I promise we’ll take care of him. Besides, you'll need to be there to greet him when it's his time.”

“I’m scared,” she admits.

“Me too,” TK tells her honestly. “But maybe it wasn’t all about figuring out who shot me. Maybe it was about helping you.”

Beth nods before throwing her arms around TK. It’s possibly the coldest hug he’s ever experienced in his life, but it’s nice to be able to touch someone and feel it. As they continue to hug TK feels a warmth spreading from Beth to himself starting with where his hands are on her back. When he pulls away he sees a light shimmering just like he had back in the trauma room the night he was shot. This time, though, someone steps through it. It’s a woman about Beth’s height, with the same hair and eyes. Beth turns to look as well and chokes on a sob.

“Mom,” she says.

“Hi, sweet pea,” she opens her arms and Beth flings herself into them, crying. Her mother strokes her hair and murmurs into her ear before looking up at TK with a smile. He returns the smile with a watery one of his own. His chest aches for his own mother. Beth manages to pull herself together to turn back to TK.

“Thank you,” she tells him. “For everything. Make sure he doesn’t get too lonely.”

“I’ll go to bingo with him every Monday if I have to,” he assures her. She laughs and nods.

“TK,” her mother says, voice soft and melodic. He wonders if that’s how it was when she was alive or if the afterlife has softened it. “Thank you for bringing her back to me. I have a message for you as well. Your mother says it’s not time for her sweet boy to join her yet, but when it is she’ll be there to greet you.” She cups his face in her hand just the same as his mother always had, thumb stroking along his cheek and down to his hairline. It seems like it’s been ages since he’s felt someone else’s touch. He can almost believe it’s his mother standing in front of him. “Go home,” she tells him. “Go home to Carlos.” 

With a kiss to his cheek she turns, arm around her daughter, and together they step through the light. It shimmers too brightly to look at and he raises a hand to shield his eyes before it blinks out and he’s left standing alone in a living room nearly identical to his own. TK suddenly feels exhausted as if the events of the day have finally caught up to him. Against his better judgment, he lets his eyes close as he sighs, feeling that tugging on his neck that means he’s about to lose time. 

—

TK hums as Carlos’s fingers run through his hair. He can feel and hear the steady beat of Carlos’s heart against his ear, his head resting on Carlos’s bare chest.

“I missed this,” he whispers as he traces lines along Carlos’s abdomen and down to the elastic of his sleep pants.

“Me too.” Carlos presses a kiss into his hair.

“You’re so warm.”

Carlos chuckles and TK feels himself rise and fall with the movement. “You just had hypothermia. I’m a perfectly normal temperature.” 

TK huffs. “You always run warm, like a damn furnace. It’s why I could never wear anything more than underwear to bed.”

Carlos outright laughs at the statement. “You never wore anything to bed because you were always too tired to put anything back on. And you always want to fool around in the morning.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it.”

Carlos presses another kiss to his hair. “I do,” he says softly, his hand going to hold the one TK has laying on his stomach. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” TK presses his own kiss over his heart.

“We need to talk about it,” Carlos says after a few moments of silence. TK lifts his head to look at Carlos and Carlos’s hand moves from his hair to cup his neck, thumb rubbing against his jawline.

“The breakup?” TK asks, not sure why they need to discuss it even more than they already have. He’d thought they’d said everything they needed to.

“No,” Carlos says, thumb tracing his lips. TK darts his tongue out to lick at the pad of his thumb. “You’ve been in two comas since I’ve met you and we’ve never talked about what you want if it…if it sticks.”

TK sits up fully, pulling his knees under him so he’s kneeling beside Carlos. “My dad knows,” TK says.

“If we’re doing this, Tyler, if we’re all in then I need to know too.”

TK sighs. He knows Carlos is right. It’s just such a depressing topic when they were having such a nice night. 

“I’m okay with life-saving measures,” he says. “Chest compressions and intubation and all of it, but if there’s no hope, if there’s no chance then I don’t want to be a vegetable. I don’t want to linger.”

“Okay,” Carlos says softly, rubbing TK’s forearm with his hand. 

“And I don’t want a feeding tube,” TK says so loud the words echo in their room. “They freak me out and the tube feeds smell terrible. I can have TPN, but that’s it. Promise me!” TK jabs a finger in his side.

“Okay,” he says with a laugh. “I don’t know what that means, but okay.”

“What about you? What do you want?”

“Hmm,” Carlos says, biting his lip as he thinks about it. TK sees the glint in his eyes a second too late and Carlos is pulling him down and rolling on top of him. TK shouts a laugh. “You,” Carlos says before kissing him.

“No fair,” TK says a bit breathless when they part for a moment. “How come you can deflect the question?”

“I’m not the one always ending up in comas.” 

TK’s laugh is swallowed by Carlos’s mouth.

—

The next morning comes too quickly for Carlos. He showers and dresses slowly, knowing once he reaches the hospital there’ll be no turning back. His movements feel robotic as he ties his shoes. He foregoes any coffee or food, his stomach protesting audibly at the thought of either. He’s at the hospital by the agreed upon time and sees Owen’s truck and his mother’s car and Nancy’s jeep. A few rows over he spots the Ryders’ truck. He seems to be the last one there. He turns the car off and sits for a minute, letting the song on the radio finish, looking for any excuse he can to prolong going in. When the radio station switches to a commercial for a local car lot he opens the door, cutting off the sound abruptly. 

Everyone is waiting in the lobby when he enters, faces solemn. Enzo is pacing back and forth, bouncing Jonah in his arms. He looks exhausted. Owen had said they were catching the red eye last night in order to make it in time. Nancy’s eyes are red rimmed. Judd has his arms wrapped around Grace as he stands behind her. Carlos wishes fiercely he had someone to hold him through this, but the only person that could do that is laying in a bed upstairs waiting to have his life support turned off today. 

“Where’s Mateo?” is what ends up coming out of his mouth. He feels so stupid after he says it. He should be saying something else, saying a few words about TK or thanking everyone for being there.

“He got injured yesterday,” Nancy tells him. “I didn’t want to bother you with it with all that’s going on. He’s in the observation unit.” She sniffs and seems to realize she’s rambling. “Sorry,” she says. “I’m gonna tell him after. I thought it’d be better for him this way.”

Carlos nods. He understands. He wishes someone else could live through this day for him and tell him afterwards. Owen steps forward then, clearing his throat before he says anything. 

“The room is pretty small, so the doctor suggested everyone go in to see him and say their goodbyes and then Carlos, Andrea, Enzo, Jonah, and I will be there when,” his voice breaks and Tommy wraps an arm around him. “So probably best to go in pairs. Take as much time as you need.”

As a group they head up to the long-term care unit. Everyone on the unit seems to know what’s happening today. It probably shouldn’t surprise Carlos at this point. There’s no other visitors in the waiting room and all the patient room doors are closed. Hardly anyone is sitting at the nurses station— one of the secretaries he’s gotten used to seeing. She nods hello to him as they walk by. TK’s nurse for the day is Jane, a young girl barely out of training, but she’s been wonderful with TK. Maggie, one of the more experienced nurses, is with her. He wonders if this will be Jane’s first time navigating this.

“Take all the time you need,” Jane tells him. “Just let us know when you’re ready.” She winces at the last words as if she regrets saying them, but doesn’t know what else to say.

“Thank you, Jane,” he whispers. Then she and Maggie are moving off to wait against the wall of the room. There’s silence among the group for a moment before Marjan speaks up.

“We’ll go first,” she says, Paul’s hand in hers. Carlos nods and off they go to the room. His mother takes his hand and pulls him over to a chair to sit. The TV is playing in the background, volume so low it’s almost inaudible. A couple on the screen are touring a condo. The closed captioning shows one of them is complaining about the color of the walls. Carlos puts his head in his hands and tries not to think about how he and TK won’t ever remodel the bathroom like they’ve been talking about for the past year. 

Someone takes a seat on the other side of him. He thinks it’s Owen based on the hand that rubs his shoulder. The time passes in silence except for Jonah, too young to understand why everyone is being so quiet. He fusses until Enzo puts him on the ground and then he’s toddling over to Carlos and wrapping his arms around his legs. Carlos ruffles his hair. Jonah blinks wide green eyes at him and Carlos’s breath shudders out as he bites back a sob, not wanting to upset Jonah by crying. Enzo is quick to scoop him up, mumbling into his hair as he rubs a soothing hand up and down his back.

Tommy and Nancy head in when Marjan and Paul have come out and then Judd and Grace go in. Judd’s eyes are red and he can’t seem to stop sniffing when they finally return to the waiting room. Grace has her arms wrapped around his middle, head laying on his chest. Judd presses a kiss to the top of her head and something inside of Carlos’s chest breaks. He wants to scream. He wants to toss a chair at the TV and break the screen. Instead he stands when Owen and his mother stand.

Silently, he follows the two nurses out of the waiting room and towards TK’s room. Maggie disappears for a moment while Jane opens the door and ushers them in. TK looks just as he did the day before and the day before that. Pale and limp, eyes closed, chest rising and falling with the whir of the machine next to him. He follows Owen to the left side of the bed. The gold of TK’s wedding band catches the light from the window and Carlos feels the first of many tears fall as he reaches for his hand. It’s warm in his, but doesn’t squeeze back when he does. It doesn’t seem right that they should be doing this when TK is still warm, when he’s still breathing, when his heart is still beating. He lets TK’s hand go to wipe at his eyes.

The doctor and Maggie join them, the door shutting softly behind them.

“I’m very sorry,” the doctor tells them. Carlos nods, not trusting himself to say anything else. “I’m going to deflate the balloon that’s keeping the tube in place and then I’ll remove it. There’s no pain involved in this. He won’t feel it,” he explains.

“He promised he’d never leave me,” Carlos whispers, voice thick with emotion as the doctor spreads out a disposable pad on TK’s chest.

“Oh mijo,” Andrea says, taking his hand between both of hers. “He’s not leaving you. You’ll see him again.” On his other side Owen is gripping his hand so tight it should hurt, but he barely feels it. 

“Stop!” Mateo shouts, bursting through the door, only to stop just inside the room, hands on his knees as he pants for breath. There’s a white bandage encircling his head and he’s wearing a hospital gown and basketball shorts. Paul and Judd appear in the doorway just behind him.

“Sorry,” Paul says, a hand coming up to rest on Mateo’s shoulder. “He ran right past us.”

Mateo steps forward, shaking off Paul’s hand. “You can’t do this,” he pleads. “He’s still here. He’s not gone.”

“Mateo,” Carlos says, voice heavy with exhaustion. “What are you talking about?”

“TK!” he yells. “He’s still here! He’s been here the whole time! He’s been trying so hard to figure out how to get back into his body. It’s why we’ve been investigating what happened, how we figured out who the shooter was, how we figured out everything. Me and TK and this other ghost, Beth.”

“Beth?” Andrea asks, face pale as her hand clutches Carlos’s arm and she wavers on her feet.

“Mom?” Carlos says in alarm. “Here, sit down.” He pulls a chair closer and guides her into it before he turns to Mateo. 

“Mateo, this isn’t the time.”

“But - “

“I know you’re grieving. We all are,” Carlos says and TK knows that look, has seen it a hundred times before. It’s his determined look, his I-won’t-be-swayed-by-anything-you-say look. Andrea always teased him about being just like his father when he got like this. Once he’d made a decision, he rarely could be swayed, and he had finally made this decision. TK couldn’t fault him for it either. Three months with no improvement, no signs of life? Of course this is the choice he would make. TK had always told him he didn’t want to be a vegetable and in Carlos’s mind he’d probably already hung on longer than he thought TK would have wanted.

“I’m sure that whatever you think you saw or heard…”

“He’s still here, Carlos. You have to believe me.”

Carlos sighs, tears in his eyes as he says, “I wish I had your faith, Mateo.”

“Bro, it’s not faith.”

“It’s time,” Carlos says. He moves to stand next to Mateo, putting an arm around his shoulders to pull him close. Owen’s hand rests on Andrea’s shoulder and her hand covers his. Enzo holds Jonah close to him on the other side of Owen. Paul and Judd are still frozen in the doorway, but they’ve been joined by Grace, Marjan, Nancy, and Tommy. His entire family is here. Everyone he loves.

—

TK watches helplessly as the scene unfolds before him. No one can see him now, no one can hear him. Beth is gone and he can’t blame her for going, and is happy that she finally did. He can’t imagine how lonely she’d been for thirty years with no one knowing she was there just as TK is now. He watches as everyone gathers around as he’s extubated, waiting for him to take his last breath, waiting for him to die.

Once the tube is out a weight settles on his chest, just like the first time he’d refused to go into the light. It feels impossible to move or to breathe. He’s not ready. There’s so much more he has left to do, so much more love he has to give to Carlos. He can’t leave him. Everything grows white and blinding, warmth envelops him for the first time in what feels like ages. He blinks against the brightness, spots forming behind his eyelids as he squeezes them shut before opening them back up. The light softens…he feels weightless.

“Mijo,” he hears a familiar voice call. TK turns his head to find Gabriel standing in the vast white nothingness with him. He looks the same, maybe a little younger, the stress and worry of life having melted from his features leaving only behind lines of laughter instead of strife. 

“Gabriel,” he whispers, can’t quite believe his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what, TK?” he asks.

“For leaving Carlos. I tried so hard to stay.”

“Then try harder.”

“What?” TK feels himself say, confused at the way Gabriel can be smiling when all of this is happening.

“Is it your time, TK?” he asks.

“I don’t want it to be. I’m not ready. I want to live.”

“Then live. The choice is yours.”

“I’ve tried,” TK cries.

“You weren’t ready before. You are now. You’ve done what you need to. Now, the choice is yours,” he says again. “I couldn’t have asked for a better man for my son. Go, live your life, grow old together, love him more and more each day.”

TK’s crying now. For the first time in what feels like forever he can feel the wetness on his cheeks. “He misses you so much.”

“I miss him too. Take care of him for me.”

“I will.”

“Now, go,” Gabriel says. 

TK breathes, air filling his lungs. He coughs. Over the sounds of his gasps and the blood rushing through his ears he hears Carlos.

“TK!” There’s a warm hand on his cheek, a thumb stroking his cheek. “Baby, can you hear me?”

It takes more effort than he feels like he has to blink open his eyes. Carlos lets out a watery laugh when their eyes meet before he presses a kiss to his cheek and then another and another. “My miracle,” he whispers in his ear.

He’s not sure how long it takes him to respond. “You’re Carlos,” TK finally manages to rasp, voice scratchy with disuse as his eyes close again, too tired to keep them open for more than brief periods of time. “I’m TK.”

Carlos takes in a shuddering breath and exhales on a sob.

TK licks his lips and swallows before he is able to continue, the first few words inaudible other than small gusts of air, but that last word rings clear. “Soulmates.”

“Yeah, baby,” Carlos says, pressing their foreheads together, his tears wetting TK’s cheeks. “We are.”