Chapter 33: HANS: Chapter 34

When she says the name of the city, I nearly drag her over my knee.

I’m no stranger to the country. It’s beautiful. The people are kind. The food is some of my favorite on earth. But that city, that particular city, has been labeled the most dangerous city in the world the last three years running. Specifically for cartel violence and kidnapping for ransom. That city is not somewhere I want my Butterfly going. Ever. And definitely not without me.

But those facts aren’t something the average person would know. And if it wasn’t for my fascination with my beautiful neighbor, I wouldn’t know it either. But when I did my research on Cassandra, I did my research on the company she works for too. They have branches all over the world, but their biggest and newest manufacturing facility is in this particular city.

As someone who works in human resources, I didn’t think there would be any threat of her having to go there. That’s for product development people, maybe the salespeople for training.

But apparently, I need to up my game. Tap her phone. Hack her emails.

If I’d known about this more than a day in advance, I could’ve found a way to make sure she couldn’t go. But now…

“And where do you work, Hans?” Mrs. Cantrell asks.

Since I’m still staring at Cassandra’s profile, I watch her slowly turn to face me. She’s clearly curious about my answer but can’t really admit she doesn’t know.

In all fairness, I’ve never asked her about her job either. I just know the answer because… well, because.

“I’m a health inspector.” The lie is one I’ve had ready for years.

I don’t have to use it often since I don’t interact much with people outside my real profession, but I know more than enough about the inspector world to answer any question Mrs. Cantrell, or anyone else, might ask.

“Bet you go to some interesting places,” Mr. Cantrell says around a bite of bacon. “Explains the clothes.”

“Dad, there’s nothing wrong with his clothes,” Cassandra argues.

I feel a spark of warmth at Cassandra defending me.

Mr. Cantrell shoves the last bite into his mouth, holding his hands up. “I didn’t say there was. But a getup like that usually means military or construction. Health inspector isn’t exactly construction, but being in kitchens and basements and wherever else, you probably need durable clothes that clean easily.”

I lift a brow. He was paying closer attention than I figured. “You military?”

“Army communications. Served right out of high school, retired around your age so the wife and I could move back here and start a family.” His expression is nothing but soft as he looks at his daughter.

I’m not intimidated by a man in his seventies who used to serve in the army, but I am aware that I shouldn’t underestimate his observational abilities.

“Our little miracle baby.” Mrs. Cantrell smiles at Cassandra.

“Yeah, yeah.” My neighbor shakes her head. She reaches for the metal spatula and gestures toward my plate. “Would you like another slice?”

I look down and see I’ve finished every bite.

I believe Cassandra learned her love for food from her mom. But, and I’ll take this to my grave, her mother’s food is delicious rather than barely edible, so I nod.

A large slice of egg bake is set on my plate, and I waste no time digging in.

“How about your family?” Mrs. Cantrell asks. “Do your folks live around here?”

A twist of pain catches me off guard before I answer truthfully. “They passed away. A long time ago.”

Cassandra’s indrawn breath does something to settle that bit of pain.

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” Mrs. Cantrell’s voice is full of compassion.

I dip my chin, wanting to look at Cassandra but not quite daring to. I know she has big feelings. And her one inhale is enough to tell me that she’s going to have a look on her face that will make me want to drag her into a hug. Right here. At the table with her parents.

So long as they don’t ask me⁠—

“Any siblings?” Mrs. Cantrell asks the only question I don’t want to answer.

It would be so easy to lie.

I should lie.

“I had a sister. We lost her a long time ago too.” I set my fork down, needing a moment of stillness.

Cassandra tries to muffle a whimper at my side.

Mrs. Cantrell hovers her fingertips over her mouth. “Were they all in an accident?”

I almost smile. How different my life would be if it had been as simple as that.

“Mom,” Cassandra hisses.

“No accident.” I’m in it now. And a part of me feels like I owe it to my family to be honest right now. “My parents died of pneumonia.”

“Oh Lord,” Mrs. Cantrell lowers her hand to press over her heart. “At the same time?”

“Oh my god, Mom! You can’t ask that.”

I reach over and set my hand on top of Cassandra’s, where it sits on the table between our plates. “It’s alright.” I finally meet my neighbor’s eyes, and they’re as full of emotion as I knew they would be. “It was twenty years ago.” I turn back toward her mom. “A week apart.”

Cassandra’s hand tenses under mine, so I flex my fingers around hers.

Mrs. Cantrell wipes at her cheek. “Oh, Hans. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Before I can tell her it’s okay, and before Cassandra can remind her that she said not to ask, Mr. Cantrell leans forward.

“What happened to your sister?”

“Dad!” Cassandra slaps her free hand down on the other side of her plate.

When I meet the older man’s eyes, I have a gnawing suspicion that he wasn’t just communications.

“She was murdered.” The words drag against my throat on their way out.

What I don’t say is that we found her body two months before my parents gave up on living. And how, for four long weeks before that, we hadn’t known where she was. Hadn’t been able to find her or the people who stole her.

Both women at the table make sounds of distress.

I turn to Cassandra. “It’s okay.”

She’s shaking her head, and I watch one tear, then another, drip off her lashes. “It’s not okay.” She looks at her dad, vibrating with those big feelings. “You can’t just ask people stuff like that.”

“I’m fine.” I tell her the lie.

She stares up at me, not hearing. “I’m so sorry, Hans. We shouldn’t have⁠—”

“Cassandra.” My tone is stern, finally stopping her flurry of words. “It’s okay.”

I watch her lower lip tremble.

“I’m okay.” That’s closer to the truth.

Cassandra sniffs, and another tear rolls down her cheek, then she pushes her chair back and stands. “We’ll just be a minute,” she tells her parents, then grabs my hand and pulls me the way we came, around the corner and down the short hall to the front door.

“You don’t need to—” But she stops me by throwing her arms around my waist, holding me tightly.

My body stiffens. All my muscles still, with my arms held out wide.

Then I feel her chest hitch against mine, and I let old instincts take over. I hug her back.

With my arms wrapped around her, I lower my face to the top of her head and breathe.

Her feminine scent fills my lungs.

“I’m okay.” I whisper it this time.

Because I’m starting to realize that I’m really not. The loss of my family two decades ago is still raw. Even my memories…

I can’t think about any of them without thinking about their deaths. How they died. How I couldn’t… didn’t save any of them.

I close my eyes and hold Cassandra tighter.

The last hug I received was from my father. The night before he let the illness take him.

It wasn’t an embrace like this.

It was frail. Shaky.

And it ended with him pointing to a carved wooden box at the side of his bed.

A dying man’s wish.

“I’m so sorry.” Cassandra’s voice is a mumble against my chest.

I inhale her compassion, letting it trickle into the empty corners inside me. I rub my hand up and down her side. “Thank you.”

She shakes her head against me, and her back hitches against my hold. “I should’ve stopped them.”

I wrap my arms tighter around her. “Hush, Butterfly.” I press my lips to her hair. “Please stop crying.”

She sniffs.

“Want me to tell you why I call you that?” I ask her.

Cassandra nods.

“Because you remind me of one. Beautiful. Mesmerizing. Too fragile for this awful world.” I slide one hand up to palm the back of her neck. “A pretty little butterfly I can’t help but want to protect.”

She sniffs again, then leans back just enough so she can look up at me. “Is that really why?”

I nod. I thought it the first time I saw her.

“That’s really nice.” Her wet lashes glitter. “I’m not fragile though.”

I swipe my thumb across her cheek, catching a tear. “You’re like spun glass.”

The side of her mouth pulls up. She thinks I’m teasing her, but I’m not. She’s the most precious thing to me.

Cassandra brushes at my shirt. “Sorry for crying all over you.”

“It’s alright.”

Her hand stills against my chest. “I always wanted a sister.”

I place my hand over hers. Not sure how to answer.

“What was her name?”

I close my eyes.

It’s been so long… It’s been so incredibly long since I’ve said her name.

“Freya.” I say it so quietly that I can barely hear the hitch in my voice.

My throat burns, and I have to swallow twice before I can pull in another breath of air.

Cassandra tips her forehead against my sternum, and I’m sure she can hear my thudding heart.

“Freya,” she repeats. “It’s a pretty name.”

I nod my agreement, even though Cassandra isn’t looking up at me. Hearing someone else say my sister’s name is… I fill my lungs again. It’s cathartic. It… it makes her real, having someone else say it. Like not every part of her is gone.