Kitty fell against the wall. Her legs went from beneath her and she slid into a sitting position.

“Luke?” She spoke from behind trembling hands.

Nothing for a long moment, then a sigh, a groan. Kitty looked through the cracks of her fingers. She saw Luke crawl from beneath Johan’s corpse. He lay still for a moment, catching his breath.

“Luke . . .”

“Hey . . . hey, it’s okay, Kitty.”

She reached out her hand. He went to her side and took it.

Silence folded around them.

30
Where the Lows Don’t Go

(Six Months Later)

His new ride was a BMW M4 Coupé, five hundred horses under the hood and a custom paint job. It was too much car for the L.A. traffic—this thing needed a launchpad and open sky—but it wasn’t too much for Luke. He bought it new, right out of the showroom. He drove it like a boss.

They took Interstate 110 south. It was slow with volume, but that was fine; they were making good time. The radio was tuned to Real 92.3, at Kitty’s request, and she sang along to music that made Luke feel old and out of touch. “It helps with my nerves,” she had said. Luke had smiled and turned the volume up.

They followed the signs to LAX.

The basketball in her hands was a gift. It was emblazoned with the Lakers logo and covered in signatures. She and Luke had scored courtside seats at the Staples Center—a little thank-you for doing one of the late-night talk shows. They had met the team after the game, and Kitty had passed the basketball around. In the months since, it had become a promise, a symbol of intent, to one day hand it to her son in person. And it was this, as much as anything, that kept her going through the dark times.

“You’re going to rub the signatures off that thing,” Luke said.

“Oh, right.” She’d been rolling the ball between her palms and spinning it in her lap. Despite the music, she was still clearly nervous.

They joined the airport traffic and followed it at a crawl to departures. The constant blare of horns, and the roar of the aircraft, all but drowned out the radio. Kitty reached and turned it off.

“I can’t use him as my therapy,” she said, looking at Luke. “It’s not fair on him. He’s only seven years old.”

“You’re overthinking it,” Luke said, looking over his shoulder, easing into the right lane. “Just enjoy the moment. This is what you always wanted.”

“Only,” Kitty said, “if Levi wants it, too.”

“Everything we’ve been through, Kitty, and are still going through . . . trust me, when the good things come along, you’ve got to grab them in both arms. Hold them close.” He touched the brake and pointed at one of the signs “Delta, right?”