“Addison Drake?” the taller of the two officers asked me. When I nodded, he gestured to the door. “May we have a word in your room?”
I nodded hesitantly. I moved slowly to put my key in the lock and turn it. The door weighed a million pounds. “What’s this about?”
The officer pulled the door closed behind his partner, shutting us together inside my room. He eyed my bed. “Can you have a seat, please?”
“Why?”
“I have some very difficult news for you.”
Somehow my feet moved and I complied. I sat down gingerly, tension so tight in me I worried I’d shatter like glass if I moved too quickly. All I could think about was Luka. Please let this be all right.
The shorter officer stood motionless as the taller one began to pace back and forth, visibly nervous. Just as he was about to speak, there was a knock at my door. My brain went blank. What the hell was I going to do? What was Luka going to think when he walked in on two cops in my room?
I didn’t get a chance to try to send him away. The shorter cop opened the door. Luka blinked. His gaze swept over the uniform and badge, but he hid the alarm from his face. Only I could see the danger beneath.
“Addison?” Luka said, his wide-eyed gaze turning onto me.
I said it on a hurried voice. “They said they need to talk to me.” Could he hear the honesty, or did he assume this was an ambush?
“Are you a close friend with Ms. Drake?” the cop asked.
Luka took in an uneven breath. “I’m her boyfriend.”
The taller cop stopped pacing and scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Can you come in, please?” He motioned to my bed, wordlessly suggesting Luka sit beside me. Hyperawareness crawled along my skin as Luka sank down at my side. These officers had no idea who he was. So, why were they here?
The cop squatted so he was directly in front of me. “Addison. I’m terribly sorry to tell you that there was a fire last night at your parents’ home in Mokena. It spread very quickly.” The man’s eyes were deep with sympathy as he drew in a deep, preparing breath. “Your family did not survive.”
I blinked. “What?”
He didn’t repeat it, probably knowing he didn’t have to—this was a normal reaction and the person would need time to process. But I couldn’t process. He was saying my family was . . .? He couldn’t be right. I’d just seen them a few days ago, and everything had been fine.
The police had to be mistaken.
Luka’s arms curled around me.
As I stared at the cop and the other officer who lingered beside, both of their expressions stricken, I began to worry they hadn’t made a mistake. He’d said my name. They’d come here to my dorm room. What if what he said was true? An earthquake erupted inside and I shook with tremors.
Dead.
My family.
Gone.
“What?” I cried again, slamming a hand over my lips, trying to contain the emotion. I didn’t know what to do. Cold crashed over me, sucking every last molecule of warmth.
When tears spilled from my eyes, Luka pulled me tight to him, and his fierce grip made me break apart completely.
I faded in and out of sobs, swinging wildly from grief to disbelief and back again. The cops went over the details quickly and said an investigation into the cause of the fire had been initiated, but I vaguely acknowledged what else was said.
Mostly I sat on the bed while Luka held me and I tried not to die.
The police left once he was done asking them questions, and confirmed he’d stay with me. I cried quietly, unable to function. Everything hurt and ached. For a long while, we remained on the bed, where I found him shaking almost as much as I was.
Time passed, slow and unforgiving.
“Luce,” he said, pressing his lips to my forehead. “I’m so sorry.”
He held me so tightly, it hurt, but I was grateful. His strength held me together.
π
Luka took care of everything.
He notified my professors, made all of the funeral arrangements, handled the insurance and financial issues, and took care of the outpouring of support I couldn’t deal with. I just wanted to be alone. No, that wasn’t entirely true. I just wanted to be alone with him. I spent the next day in our bed, curled up in his arms, relieved he’d taken off work.
On Saturday, he made me eat something. Whitney was beside herself and had prepared a dozen dishes, wanting to offer comfort any way she could. I ate like a zombie and returned to bed.
My family was gone, as was the house. I had nothing left in the world.
Nothing except for Luka.
“You need to go back to class,” he said finally one night, “after the funeral. Some people will say it’s too soon, but they don’t know you. You need the normalcy. You need to focus on your goal.”