Hard Beat

“I’m sorry, Beaux,” I sob out loud because I am so sorry, sorry I didn’t go back to her house that day. Maybe if I had, she would have confessed, never gone on this ill-fated mission, and would still be alive. And then of course the idea of the mission takes hold, and the images of the press briefing flash through my mind. The notion becomes a reality that somewhere in that twisting metal and demolished building was my once-in-a-lifetime.