I park the Benz behind Jezebel's and head in. Lunch service was over an hour ago, so the kitchen is quiet save for the sounds of dishwashing. I head into the heart of the kitchen and find Beth mopping the tile floor.

"Hey," I call.

She whirls around, "Nick, what the hell are you doing here?" she asks, propping her mop in the corner. "He's not here with the handmaid in the middle of the day, is he?"

"No, Praise Be," I sigh. "You haven't heard about the handmaid round-up yet then hu?"

She shakes her head, "No, but that doesn't sound good. What is going on?" she asks, guiding them to the table and mismatched chairs.

"There as a salvaging this morning, of another handmaid, the women wouldn't do it," I explain.

A hand goes to Beth's mouth. "Oh no. What's happened to them," she asks.

I shake my head, "They won't be killed, but that's all I know. Whatever they do will damage them even if they as spared physically."

Beth puts her hand on mine. You handmaid, she's there?" she asks gently.

I look down and just nodded my head.

"I'm sorry Nick," she says softly.

I let a long breath out and pull myself together. "I got to get her out Beth," I whisper.

The Martha leans back in her chair, "A missing driver and handmaid…that's a tall order," she sighs.

"No, not me, just her is fine," I clarify.

"Even if it's just her, handmaids are hard to move," she says evenly.

I scoot the chair back and stand. I start pacing, worrying my fingers in my hair.

Beth stands and stops me with hands on my shoulders, "What's really going on?" she questions.

I lick my lips but finally meet her eye contact. "She's pregnant," I sigh.

Her eyes go wide but she doesn't let go of me. "Yours?"

I nod, biting my cheek.

"Your sure it's not the Commanders," she asks, leveling her eyes on me.

I roll my eyes. "The man has had two handmaids, a wife, and slept with nearly every woman here and nothing. Plus…he was having a hard time getting up recently."

"Ah," she says, letting her hands travel down my arms to hold my hands. "So, you weren't careful? You should have asked me for condoms," she admonished.

I laugh, but it holds no warmth. "It wouldn't have mattered seeing our mistress was in the room when she was likely impregnated."

Beth bits her lip, "Oh, I see," she mutters.

She lets go of my hands and places them on her hips. She's deep in thought, so I stay quiet.

"A handmaid is one thing, a pregnant one….that's going to take a lot of favors. I hope you have some banked away."

"I've got a fair amount," I assure her.

She nods, "Make me a list. I'll start sending out feelers through my Martha's who have Mayday connections."

"The sooner the better. Right now, she's in the Red Center, at least for a couple of days. It might be easier to move her from there than from the Waterford's house," I suggest.

Wheels turn behind her eyes. "Has she had her official screening at the doctor?" she asks.

I shake my head.

"Hm…I might have an idea."

"Yeah?" I ask, feeling hope for the first time.

"Mm hum. Look, are you sure you don't want to book two tickets out of here? If she's having your child, you should go too," she encourages.

"Canada won't allow me to stay, I'd end up in prison. I fought in the crusades, I'm a war criminal. Plus, June has a husband there, I'm sure she'll be just fine without me." I dismiss.

Beth's arms cross over her chest. "What about you, and what do you want? You clearly care about this woman, and there must be something there between y'all if you're willing to do all this. Look, there are tons of illegals in Canada. You could blend in, be a part of your kid's life and maybe even hers," she says sweetly.

I rub a hand over my eyes. Everything she's saying I've said to myself, but the truth is I'll just make things more complicated for her. "I was never part of the picture. I have plenty of sins I need to pay for here, and I'm not going put that on her or an innocent kid," I tell Beth, sounding resolved to my fate, even though I'm desperate for another option.

Beth just shakes her head. "Nick, you've never had an accurate picture of yourself," she sighs. "But I get it, and I'll do what I can."

I kiss her cheek and give her a tight hug. "Thank you, Beth," I mummer in her ear.

She steps back and looks up at me, "This handmaid better know how lucky she is," she smiles.

I just roll my eyes. "It's June, by the way. In case you need that info," I counter.

"I'll be in touch," she says.

And with that, we go our separate ways, each praying the other doesn't get caught.

A day and a half goes by before I come home to an envelope shoved under my door. I hastily pick it up and look over my shoulder before going in and closing the door. I lock it for good measure. I tear open the seal and a single scrap of paper flutters into my hands. A single word is printed on it in neat cursive. It's Beth's writing, I've seen it on inventory sheets and guest lists. It reads, "Manana". Tomorrow. Spanish is slightly

safer than English since Gilead attempted to eradicate the language when it took over, but still, this was a risk. I laugh at the thought, like all of this isn't a risk.

I reach into my pocket, pull out my lighter and go to the sink. Flicking the top open, I hold the paper to the flame and watch as the fire eats up the evidence. I drop the nearly spent fuel into the sink and stare down at it. No other instructions, not yet. Just the knowledge that tomorrow is the start of stage one. I push down the desire to get in the car and drive over to Jezebel's plead for more answers, but I know it would only fuck things up. Beth is meticulous, if she had more, I'd know more. So, I have to wait.

Time is its own torture device these days. I've tried to fill the past 36 hours with chores, even taking on some of Rita's work just to have something to do with my hands. Unfortunately, busy hands do not equate to a busy mind. June is ever present in my thoughts. Her safety, and the health of our baby, are the only things I seem to think about. Rita has tried to help, even snuck me a couple of shots of whisky last night in hopes it would help me sleep. It didn't.

Reaching up I turn the faucet on and wash the ashes there down the drain. As it swirls away I feel like I trade one anxiety for another. There is a plan, it's soon, but who knows if it will pan out. I walk over to my bed and slump down on the end. My hands fold and my head drops, and I begin to pray in earnest. "Hey," I start, but it feels too casual, "Heavenly father," I start again. "I know you know everything that's going on down here, and I'm very sure I'm not on your list of saints, but I also know that you're there. Most people down here give you lip service, but you know that right…" I stammer. "Anyway, I know I'm not due any favors or your grace, and my mother taught me there is no such thing as bargaining with You, so I'm not going to make fruitless promises, but I do ask you to look past me as the messenger right now. June needs you. She needs your protection. Her baby needs to grow up safely. For her sake, for the baby's sake, help her. Please." I plead.

A soft tap on the door pulls me from my prayer. I stand up, and look up at the ceiling, "Amen," I mutter.

I go to the door and find a guardian there. I know this kid. He's no more than 20 and he's someone who owes me. My pulse races. "Scott, hey how ya doin' man?" I ask lightly.

He shuffles a bit on his feet, "Good, uh good. Thanks."

He's new at this espionage stuff. "I didn't know you were working in this neighborhood now," I state.

His eyes light up at my opening, "Oh, I'm not here full-time, just today. I'm back on duty in Back Bay tomorrow, but it's a short shift tomorrow. From 2 pm to 3:30 pm. Why would you even bother, right?"

Back Bay, 2 pm. Quick pick after. Got it. "You see much action up around there these days?" I ask nonchalantly.

Scott swallows hard. "Uh, no not really. I'm posted at some abandoned buildings. One of them is this old garage called, Jim's or Jimmy's or something dumb like that. But it reminds me of you.

"Oh Yeah?" I ask filing away the name of the garage.

"Yep, I always think of you as a mechanic, with all the stuff you do yourself on the Commander's car," he says.

I nod, "Maybe in a parallel universe I am."

Scott smiles, clearly proud of his first-ever message being delivered. "Say, you have any lunch yet?" I ask. He shakes his head. "Well come inside, I'll have the Martha make you a sandwich or something," I say, guiding him down the stairs. This a ruse to introduce him to Rita, I hope he knows that.

"You're Martha's Rita right?" he asks.

I nod.

"I've heard she's an amazing cook, very talented in a lot of areas," he returns.

I raise an eyebrow. This kid might have a chance after all.

I deposit my newest contact in the kitchen and fetch Rita.

She follows me back to the kitchen and gives the kid a good once over with her eyes. She looks over at me and I can read the "Are you sure about this," on her face.

I give her a small nod.

"You like roast beef?" she asks.

"Ma'am, I'm not picky, just very happy to have a lunch that doesn't come in brown plastic," he returns respectfully.

Rita waves him into the chair at the end of the island, 'I'm not a ma'am, call me Martha or Rita, whichever you prefer," she instructs taking out a covered dish from the fridge.

"Yes, ma'am…I mean Rita," Scott says, his face turning red.

Rita joins me at the counter and rolls her eyes. "Give it a chance," I whisper. She makes quick work of two roast beef and horseradish sandwiches. She hands one to me and put the other on a plate and sets it in front of Scott.

"You're new in the neighborhood, right?" she asks, feeling him out.

He nods, "Yes, but it's not my usual beat. I generally only fill in if someone is out sick or something," he states, around a mouthful of food.

Rita fills a glass with water and puts it in front of him, her distress at his table manners clear. I bite back a smile. "Well, if you ever find yourself around here again, don't hesitate to stop by for a snack. I'm usually in the kitchen around meal times," she explains. I hope the kids pick up what Rita is saying.

He takes a long drink of water, then another bite of sandwich. "Mealtimes, copy that," he says.

Rita looks at me, a little worried. I just shrug. Either he got it or he will show up really looking for food.

Scott finishes his food and stands. "Thank you for the hospitality, Rita." He says. "I'll be sure to stop by if I'm ever in the area, especially since your food is as good as all the other Martha's say," he states with a smile.

Ah, he got it! Rita smiles, relief evident on her face. She grabs an apple and tosses it to the kid. "For later," she says.

He smiles, dips his head, and heads out to finish his rounds.

Rita claps in the chair he vacated. "Damn, he plays young and dumb well," she says under her breath.

I chuckle. "He has potential," I agree.

She sits up straight, "He came to see you?" she asks.

I nod slowly. I can't tell her much, I want to keep her safe, but she also needs to know something is in play.

A smile splits her face. "Well, Praise Be!" she smiles.

I couldn't agree more, "Praise Be."

After dinner, I make my way to the Commander's office. I need to make excuses for disappearing tomorrow afternoon and evening. I knock on the door and wait for his approval to enter.

"Come in," he calls.

I walk into the room and stop short of his desk. Hands behind my back, feet at attention. "Blessed Evening Commander," I state formally.

"Nick, good evening to you," he says, sounding chipper.

"Sir, I thought I'd go over tomorrow's schedule if you have a moment to spare."

He nods and points to a chair opposite his desk. I sit and pull a small notebook and pencil from inside my jacket. I open it and take in the items there, real and manufactured. "Sir, it appears you do not have council tomorrow, has anything changed?" I ask.

"No, nothing has changed regarding that. Good thing too, Mrs. Waterford and I will be going to the medical center to see our child for the first time," he states, beaming as if actually had anything to do with this child's conception. He must know he can't have children by now! Does he know it's mine and is playing some kind of sick game? It's not above him to do so. I bite my tongue and mind my neutral face.

"Oh, well congratulations sir," I state evenly and with respect.

He just stares at me and nods.

"Sir, would you be okay with another car service for that appointment tomorrow? I ask. "I've been getting some rumbling regarding my deliveries and believe the situation requires my in-person attention," I lie. This is a good lie; and I use it carefully. Fred requires his illegal booze and cigars to make his world work, so I know he will grant my request to "sort things out."

Fred steeples his finger under his chin but nods. "Yes of course, please go and get it sorted out. We wouldn't benefit from any delays, especially with the Chinese delegation coming into town next week," he states. "You're a good man Nick," he smiles. "For all your extra work, why don't you take the night off too? I'm sure you could find something to do at Jezebel's that is more interesting than here," he says.

He likes thinking he's being benevolent, it's an ego boost for him. Little does he know; he just gave me eight extra hours I'd think I had. "Thank you, sir, that's very kind," I return sounding very humbled by the offer.

Fred looks deeply pleased with himself as I head out of the office.

I head to the kitchen next, need to talk to Rita. I find her at the stove, taking her recently canned tomato sauce out of the canning pot. "Hey."

She looks up from her task, "Hi."

I come over to the stove and make as to help her move the large pot of hot water to the sink. "Do you think you could get me a few things that our mutual friend might need?" I ask my voice barely above a whisper.

Rita nods but continues where works, wiping each jar off with a towel. "What kind of things?" she asks softly.

"Coat, boots, some undergarments," I mutter, dumping the steam pot into the sink.

"There were some things from the closet that the mistress wants me to get rid of, and I can scrounge up the others. When do you need them?" she asks, her eyes darting to the hall in worry.

"Before noon tomorrow."

"I'll leave them for you," she agrees.

For a long moment, we just stand, staring at each other in the silent kitchen. We know there is no going back after tomorrow, but I see no regret in her eyes. She's all in.

The day dawns with little fanfare. It's cold but sunny. I try to eat the oatmeal Rita has prepared, but just end up pushing it around with my spoon. My nerves are too on edge to eat or even sit still. I wish now that I ran or something, anything burns off the nervous energy. I decided to do an oil change on the Benz, anything to pass the time.

Finally, my watch beeps, it's 12:30 pm and time to go. I go up to my apartment, wash up and grab the bag of clothing, boots, and coat and take them out to the car. I bury them under the seat and am pulling out of the driveway. The drive to the back bay is only 15 minutes, but with the checkpoints it makes the trip take twice as long. The checkpoint at Broadway and Windsor is quick, but by the time I arrive at the river crossing the traffic is backed up.

I sit restlessly, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel until I spot a guardian coming my way. I roll down the window and wave the guy down.

"Blessed Day," I greet the stern-looking man as he approaches. He just looks at me. "What's going on up there," I ask presenting my EYE ID card. When he takes it in, his demeanor changes instantly. "We're short a border guard this morning, sir. But if you pull into the right lane, we can get you through more quickly," he says, pointing to the lane reserved for emergencies and Eye's.

"Hey, thanks," I wave.

My new friend must radio ahead because I'm quickly ushered through the gate and am on my way in no time. It's a good thing too because I'm only about 5 miles out when the radio in the car comes to life to with the warning buzzing sound. *Attention all Guardian and Eye be on the lookout for a missing handmaid. 5 foot 4 inches, 120 pounds. Blonde hair, blue eyes. * The announcement repeats several more times before the radio goes silent again. Adrenaline floods my veins. She's made it out of the medical center. I pray diligently as I enter Back Bay. I study my map as I drive, and after several turns, I've located Jimmy's Garage. It's run down and abandoned. Pulling around the back of the building, I spot the garage bays. I get out and open the garage door, cringing at the squealing of the springs. I make quick work of pulling the car in and yanking the door down to hide the car.

I make a quick inspection of the place, its empty and cold, no June. Not yet anyway. I pace back and forth anxiously. Every silent second feels like a minute, and every minute and hour. Finally, at long last, I hear the door open and close at the front of the shop, and hurry to find her. She's backlit making her look like an ethereal being, it makes my pulse race. She spots me, her face is one of shock and joy. She makes her way quickly into my arms.

"Hey," I sigh. "You okay?" I ask, worried about what happened in the Red Center and what her trip here was like.

She holds me close, a hand on the back of my neck, and I feel her head bob up and down in affirmation.

I place a kiss on her shoulder, enjoying the feeling of having her back in my grasp. She kisses my neck and pulls away, to look at me, but she doesn't go far, she touches her forehead to mine, and we breathe each other in. This is the calmest I've felt in nearly a week.

"Where are we?" she asks.

"Back Bay," I tell her. "Come on, they're looking for you." I lead her out to the garage bay area where I've hidden my car and head towards it to get the back of clothes I've packed for her. "Get undressed," I urge. I hand her the bag, 'Put these on. We need to cut your hair." I tell her. It pains me to have to do it, I love her long locks, but the less she looks like her the better.

I go over to a toolbox and look at the map I've got spread out across the lid. I've been over the plan dozens of times, but the fear of her being caught still weighs heavy on me. "Can't get you out of the city, not yet" I tell her as she works on disrobing. "Someone will come to get you," I explain. I wish it were me who was taking her to the safe house, but that isn't even close to possible. "They have a place you can stay until it's safe to move." I look back at her now, in her tank top and stupid Gileadean underwear, and it hurts to know we'll be separated so quickly. "It won't be long. I promise."

Scissors, she's going to need scissors to cut her hair. I forgot scissors I realize. I leave her to get changed and go into the office to find a pair. I find a huge silver pair and go back into the bays to give them to her. She is standing in front of an old wood stove, watching her handmaid's outfit burn. I must admit it's pretty satisfying. "June, your hair," I say, handing her the scissors. She takes them, and I go to check the perimeter. We can't be too careful.

I do a quick circuit around the building and find it clear. I come back inside and into the bay, but when I see her my heart drops to my feet. She's covered in blood. "JUNE, what happened?" I yell, rushing to her side.

She looks up at me, not at all concerned. She tilts her head and pulls back her hair to reveal a deep gash along the top of her ear that's bleeding profusely. "You cut your ear tag off!" I shot, yanking off my jacket, my shirt, and finally my cotton t-shirt. I ball it up and hold it to her ear. She hisses. I look her in the eye, "What now it hurts?" I ask sarcastically.

I reach down and grab her hand and put it on top of the shirt. "Hold that, tight," I instruct. I go back to the car and open the back. The roadside emergency kit has some first aid stuff in it. I grab the box, then the bag of clean clothes I brought but she hasn't put on yet, and lead her to the office I found earlier. "Sit, let me look," I state, pointing at the ancient desk chair. She complies and settles right in. I pull the shirt away and find the bleeding has ebbed a bit. I open the kit on the desktop and rummage through it. I find a small glass bottle of rubbing alcohol, gauze, and some tape.

I look down at her and show he the alcohol. "This is going to hurt like a motherfucker," I tell her. She shrugs and I just shake my head. I crake the seal on the bottle and fill the cap with the clear astringent liquid. "Here it goes," I warn, dumping the cap full directly onto the cut. To her credit, she only grunts a little. I take a piece of gauze and clean up the area, and wipe it dry, before putting a clean bandage on it and taping it up the best I can. "There," I state when I'm finished.

She looks up at me, doing the courtesy of looking a little sheepish. "Sorry, I just…it had to go," she explains.

I nod, "I get it, but next time ask for help, won't ya?" I beg.

She smiles, "I'll try," she agrees.

I let out a breath and toss a thumb over my shoulder. "That's a bathroom, can I trust you to clean up and put on clothing without more bloodshed?" I ask.

"Hardy har har," she snorts, grabbing the bag I brought in with us to the office.

"Got to check," I smile.

She squints at me playfully for a moment, then goes into the bathroom.

I sink down into the chair she's just abandoned. My forehead goes into my hand, and my elbows on my knees. I hear the water run for a while then the flush of a toilet. A little while later, she reappears dressed in the clothing I brought. One of my khaki t-shirts, my gray sweats, and a pair of my black socks on her feet. "So, I have a question," she says, putting the bag back on the desk. Inside is another change of clothes much like the ones she has on.

"Yeah?"

"These are your clothes, right?" she asks.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Shopping is crap in Gilead these days," I tease.

"Oh, no I'm grateful, I'm just wondering where you got the bra and underwear from," she asks, her eyebrow raised in faux suspension.

I laugh, "Rita. She sent you a jacket and a pair of boots too, they're in the car," I tell her.

She saunters over to me and sits on the desk, putting her socking feet in my lap. "When are they coming?" she asks.

"I don't know for sure. Just after you were supposed to get here. That's all they would tell me," I confess.

"Who are they?" she asks.

I shake my head a look away, "Mayday," I answer quietly.

A laugh erupts from her, not the reaction I was expecting. "The people who are too reckless?" she asks playfully.

"Yes, I know I'm a hypocrite. They were the only people with a big enough network to get you out," I state.

She just smiles. "I can't believe you did all of this."

"You're not out yet," I warn.

She shakes her head, "That doesn't change anything," she counters, her eyes locked with mine. "I had a scan today, before the escape," she tells me.

A smile creases my lips. "And?" I ask with bated breath.

"Everything is fine, it is growing as it should. I didn't get to see it, but that is what the doctor said.

A smile splits my face, and my eyes fall to her lower abdomen. "How are you feeling?" I ask, looking back up at her.

"Okay. Just a little nausea in the afternoons, but it's early still. The morning sickness could get worst in the next few weeks," she said with a shrug.

I look down at her sock-clad feet and place a hand on top of one. "This isn't the ideal time to try to cross the border out of Gilead, is it?"

"There is no good time to flee an apocalyptic regime," she says off-handedly. "I think trying to get this child out, is a pretty good reason to try though.". June leans forward and grabs my chin and kisses me deeply. "I can't believe you did this for me," she says tenderly against my lips. I sigh and pull her into my lap. The chair protests. "The desk is probably safer," she mutters, into my neck. But I could give a damn about the chair. I pull her to me and let my hands work their way up the back of her shirt. A sigh leaves her lips as my fingers slide up and down her spine. Her hands go to my tie, tugging it loose, then to the buttons of my black shirt. She's just pulled the hem of my shirt from my pants when I hear the sound of someone outside the doors of the garage bay.

"Get in the bathroom and lock the door," I instruct, putting June on her feet.

"It's Mayday, right?" she asks, her voice a worried whisper.

I take my gun from its holster, "I need to check it out, don't come out until I tell you." I say, guiding her toward the bathroom. I hear a garage door open, "Go!" I demand.

With June tucked away, I creep silently down the hallway toward the bays. I peek around the corner into the garage and spot a middle-aged man in gray overalls and a black baseball cap. I come around soundlessly; my gun pointed directly at his head. "Identify yourself," I demand.

The older man jumps and spins to look at me. He goes pale. "I'm here for a pickup," he says, his hands shaking as he raises them.

"What are you picking up?" I ask, my gun still trained on the man.

"They don't tell me. They just tell me a pickup and where to drop it off," he says shakily.

"Who is "they?"

The man shuffles on his feet a second, sizing me up. "Who are you to ask?" he turns it around.

"I'm the one you'll have to go through if you're not with Mayday," I state, knowing I'm showing my hand but there doesn't seem to be an option. If I have to kill this guy cuz he's a spy, I will.

The older man's shoulder releases their tension. "Could you put the gun down, we're on the same side," he asks.

I hesitate, looking the man over. "Can I check you for a wire…weapons?"

He squints but nods. I keep my gun in hand until I've reached him. "Turn around, hands on your head, and spread your legs please."

The man does as I ask. I holster the gun and do a pat down of the man. He's clean.

I let out a breath. "Thank you," I state. "And I'm sorry," I add.

He turns to look at me. "I understand. Trust isn't something we can take lightly these days," he admits. "Are you my pickup?" he asks, clearly weary.

I shake my head and chuckle. "No, I'll go get her," I state.

I go back into the office and peck on the bathroom door lightly. June opens it a sliver and peers out. "All clear?" she asks.

"Yeah, I think so."

She steps out, "Wow, don't sound so positive Nick," she snorts.

I shake my head and run a hand through my hair. "This is crazy," I huff out.

"Yeah," she agrees.

I peer down at her, and my throat tightens. "I just want you to be safe."

She slides her arms around my waist. "What about you?" she asks.

I look up at the ceiling with it missing and water-stained tiles. How do I tell her that I'm worthy of saving, that she still has a chance a real life? "If I can not worry about you and the baby being safe, I can focus on staying alive too," I offer. It's weak and she's about to fight me when the man in overalls appears in the doorway. Out of habit, I step away from June.

"I'm really sorry to interrupt, but we really need to be going. I have deadlines I can't miss," the man says softly.

"Yeah, okay," I agree.

June looks worried, "What happens now?"

The man put a hand on her arm, "I'm going to put you in my truck and take you to the first safe location," he says kindly.

She swallows hard, and tears are in her eyes. "Okay," she agrees. She goes to reach for the bag on the desk, but the Mayday driver grabs it first. He nods at both of us and heads back down the hall.

June looks at me, a tear slips down her cheek. I reach up and brush at it with my thumb. Her hand covers mine and we just stand still for a moment looking at each other. Then she takes my hand from her cheek and we walk down the hallway and into the garage.

I walk her to where the man stands at the garage door, ready to pull it open and take June away. He reaches for the handle and I feel panic fill me. I try to push it down. "Where are you taking her?" I ask before he can pull the door open.

"I'm sorry I can't tell you that," he says.

"What? I'm the one who set this up. I need to know where she's going!"

"No, it's not that, I literally can't tell you. I don't get the location until I'm on the road," he says gently. "They do it to keep contacts safe, locations secure. I'm sorry," he clarifies.

I open my mouth to argue, but June squeezes my hand. "Nick, it's their rules."

Her eyes are deep blue in this light. I know she's right. That he's got to keep himself safe, and the network secure, but until this moment I didn't consider this could be the last time I'll ever see this woman, that I'd never see the child she's carrying. I'm overwhelmed. My breath is staccato as one hand finds her belly and rests there gently. Her hand joins mine and she squeezes it. The lump in my throat is huge.

Our Mayday operative clears his throat. "Miss, we must go," he says sympathetically.

June sniffs, nods, and straightens her back. I let my hands fall from her and she turns to the door. "Let's do this," she says.

The door is opened and the truck covered in pipes stands just outside of it. The driver goes over to the bed and pulls open the gate. He puts her bag in and holds a hand out to her to help her into the back. June takes it, and puts a foot on the bumper but stops. She looks back at me. She turns back and rushes to me, crashing her lips to mine. I wrap her up in my arms and feel the warmth that always accompanies her touch flood through me. The kiss comes to an end, though I can tell neither of us wants it to, but it must. Her forehead rests against mine, as she takes in ragged breaths. A moment later, she pulls away. "Take care Nick Blaine from Michigan," she says softly. And with that, she gets into the truck and lays down. The last thing I see before the gate closes is her blue eyes staring at me, tears on her cheeks.