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Someone moves in the crowd over his shoulder, a person standing and scooching down the aisle.
My eyes flick from Jasper to the man in motion and back again before my brain can even begin to process what I’m seeing. “Oh, right. Yeah, you’re— Oh my God.”
Arsen’s hand clenches against the base of my spine. “What is it?”
“I…” I stretch onto my toes, trying to figure out if I really saw who I think I just saw. “It was probably nothing.”
It wasn’t nothing.
Arsen grabs my hand. “You’re shaking.”
People are queueing up in front of Mom’s coffin, leaving flowers and paying their respects. Between the black-clad mourners, I catch another glimpse of the man.
This time, I’m sure.
I reach for Arsen, fisting my hand in his jacket because, otherwise, I’ll drop to the floor. “My dad is here.”
12
ARSEN
I planned every detail—I accounted for everything.
Still, he’s here.
Who the fuck let him in?
I curl an arm around Laila’s waist and put myself between her and the sight of her father. “Say the word and he’ll be thrown out immediately.”
She could say the word and I’d make this a double funeral without a moment’s hesitation—but Marie doesn’t deserve the dishonor of sharing a death date with her former husband.
Laila considers it for a long few seconds. For several of them, I’m worried my wife is kind enough to allow her deadbeat fuck of a father to stick around.
Then her mouth tightens. “I don’t want him here, Arsen.”
I wave Dominik and Gedeon over, but Jasper shifts into my peripherals. “He told me he was Laila’s dad. I thought?—”
My hand is clasped around his throat before I can process what he’s saying. “Youlet him in?”
“I didn’t know,” he squeaks in surprise.
Threefunerals in one day. What are the odds?
Then Laila squeezes my forearm. “Arsen, please! Not here. Not today.”
My fingers tighten around Jasper’s throat, daydreaming about murder for another heartbeat before I drop him and turn back to her.
She’s what matters. Not Jas. Not Charles.Her.
“Thank you,” she breathes.
I cup her face and stroke a thumb over her cheek. She’s letting me touch her, letting me help her. I’m sure it’s only because she’s too tired to argue, so I’m enjoying it while I can. “Go out through the side door. I’ll meet you there.”
She doesn’t argue, which is only further proof that she’s drained.
“Brother, I’m sorry. I fucked up,” Jasper croaks the second she’s gone. He looks as pale as Laila did when she stepped up to that podium to deliver Marie’s poem.
I grab his collar and yank him behind a large pillar. “Apparently, that’s your default setting: fucking up.”
