Page 147 of Full Throttle

Ranya’s mouth tightened. “We have different opinions on that.” She looked at the Christmas tree. “One second of distraction, and it cost me everything. I wanted better for you.”

The street performer took a bow. Juliette watched as he packed up his things, trying to pull the right words out like scarves from a magician’s hat.

“Dominic is a distraction. I’ll acknowledge that. But life is filled with distractions. Doctors’ appointments and kids and really good books…” She raised her gaze. “I suppose what I’m saying is that it’s impossible to eliminate distractions, don’t you think?”

She wasn’t sure what she was seeking. Approval? Forgiveness? A pithy line to put on a Christmas card? For a moment Juliette wondered if Ranya might ask the same question that every reporter had asked—if she and Dominic were still together—but her mentor merely brushed artificial snow from her coat.

“Well,” Ranya said. “It’s your life.”

Juliette nodded. “Blake said you got a phone call.”

Something about Ranya’s face changed. “Yes, I have one more thing to give you. Wait here.”

Juliette watched her disappear into the building. The street performer held out his arms as a woman rushed forward to give him a kiss, looking relieved that he was still in one piece, and something in Juliette’s chest tightened.

God. Love was so terrible, wasn’t it? You worried about them constantly. Their dreams eclipsed your dreams, and their fears swallowed your fears. You let them walk around in this world like a second, pulsating heart, this Horcruxed bit of your soul that you were desperate to protect. They were something raw. A fresh, still-bleeding wound.

Why did anyone do it to themselves?

Her phone buzzed.

Hastings: Have you left yet?

Juliette smiled, tugging off a glove with her teeth.

Juliette: Heading to the airport now.

She paused, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Juliette: Also.

Juliette: Don’t be annoying about this later.

Juliette: But I can’t wait to see you.

Her phone dinged. A stupid little smile crept over her face.

Hastings: Oh, I’m going to be insufferable.

Hastings: Unbearable.

Hastings: I’m going to tell everyone that you’re obsessed with me.

Hastings: (I miss you too.)

Juliette pocketed her phone, her smile growing.

Oh yeah.

That was why.

The thing about love was that it also gave you strength. It was the voice at the end of the phone line. The late-night omelets. The “Did you pick up more dishwasher tablets?” texts. The tight hand in the hospital. The warm hug after a long day. The person who chased you into the howling rain, soaked to the bone, raging defiantly against the storm. The person. Your person.

Love was—for all its shortcomings—the only thing worth living for.

“Juliette?” Ranya called.

She turned. Ranya hurried toward her, her cane clicking on the cobblestone. A fat brown file was tucked under one arm.