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She took care of me because I wasn’t doing a very good job of it. And for once I didn’t fight her on it. I just didn’t have the heart or energy to.

I stood in front of my closet mirror as I got dressed for my mom’s funeral. I’d tied the same knot three times. Every attempt looked wrong. Too loose. Too short. Too crooked.

“Jesus fuck,” I muttered as I yanked the tie free again. My hands weren’t cooperating. That was the problem, not the tie. The tie was a tie. My fingers, however, felt clumsy because I couldn’t stop them from shaking. Every failed attempt scraped against my already raw nerves, making it increasingly harder to complete the simple task. I started over only for it to be crooked all over again. “Fuck.”

I ripped it loose again as I caught sight of Sariah opening the bedroom door. I said nothing as I tried all over again to get the stupid tie to look right.

“Before you murder the tie,” Sariah said gently, crossing the room, “give it to me.”

She stopped in front of me, and I let my hands drop as an admission of defeat. Taking the tie, she flipped my collar up, looped the fabric around my neck, and started working the knot into place with the calm efficiency I lacked. I just stood there and let her. When she was finished, she tightened it just enough before folding my collar back down. Her hands smoothed over the lapels of my jacket, and for a moment, her palms stayed there.

Sariah glanced up at me, and the complicated emotions written across her face made something in my chest tighten. Grief, worry, love—too much of all three, and they were all directed entirely at me. I shifted under her stare, resisting the urge to step away and create some distance between us.

“I hate funerals,” I said quietly.

“I know,” she replied. “Do you remember when we met your family in Portland… that was… what? Seven years ago? I think it was eight.”

“Nine,” I corrected. “Nine years ago was Portland; six years ago was Florida.”

Out loud, it sounded pathetic. Three years separated those trips. That was three years I went without seeing my family. Three long years without seeing my mom. There were whole chunks of my adult life where I was the absent member of my family. And when I did see them, I only played the part I knew they expected of me. I didn’t share myself with them—not the real me. Hell, the last time I’d given excuses about renovations, work, and anything else I could think of to keep them from coming to my house. I always met them at their hotel instead.

While I’d done it to protect my sanity, the regret of lost memories weighed heavily on me.

“That’s right,” Sariah murmured, nodding slowly. “ Your mom went with me to get coffee one morning. She looped her arm through mine as we walked and told me that she’d never seen you smile as much as you did when you’re with me. And then she thanked me for making you so happy because more than anything, she just wanted to know that you were happy.”

The memory made my chest tighten. A fresh wave of tears burned my eyes, and I looked away, blinking rapidly. If I started crying now, there was no way in hell I’d be able to stop.

“She liked you,” I commented.

She always had. Maybe because Sariah had been one of the very few pieces of my life I’d allowed my family to know, even if it’d been a lie. Mom had never treated her like some temporary girlfriend I might eventually replace. She asked about her when we talked, remembered little details about her life, and sent her Christmas gifts every year.

“Well, of course she did. I’m extremely likable,” she retorted, and I let out a wet laugh. “She may have never had the chance to see you as you are, Rhodes, but she would’ve been happy to know what you’ve become… to know how happy you are. Nothing else would’ve mattered. Grieve her, but please, don’t let this be the thing that breaks you.”

A fresh wave of tears made my chest seize, and I looked away. I knew she was asking me to forgive myself—to grieve but not blame myself for my mom’s death—but I wasn’t sure I could do it. One day, but not yet.

CHAPTER 75

Theo

The church parking lot was packed by the time I pulled in. Cars filled every marked space, except the few saved for the family closest to the entrance, and spilled out onto the street in both directions. People in dark clothes made their way toward the doors in small groups. Seeing how many had come made my chest tighten. Mrs. Kennedy had been loved—something I knew already. Still, it felt different to see it laid out in rows of cars and people showing up to say goodbye.

Jude sat silently beside me as I parked next to Rhodes’ SUV. He’d barely spoken on the drive over, and Wyatt hadn’t tried to get him to. Neither had I. The radio played something quiet to fill the silence, but that was it. I killed the engine, and we sat there, waiting for Jude to move.

“I’m not ready for this,” Jude whispered finally. Wyatt leaned forward from the back and gripped Jude’s shoulders for reassurance.

“I know,” I whispered. For the first time in days, I could relate. The thought of saying goodbye to Mrs. Kennedy made the ache in my chest worsen. I’d known this was coming—we all had. But knowing there would be a funeral one day and being prepared for it were two different things. I wasn’t sure any of us were ready for the latter. How could we really?

We sat there, staring through the windshield at the tiny stretch of grass in front of us. People continued moving through the parking lot and gathered in little groups before disappearing through the church doors. Every now and then, someone I recognized from town walked past the back of my car. Everyone wore black and the same solemn expression as the person in front of them.

None of us were particularly ready to join them—Jude, especially. He sat beside me with his hands folded tightly in his lap as his gaze fixed straight ahead. As uncomfortable as I was, I didn’t try to fill the quiet hanging between the three of us. There was nothing I could say that could make this better.

A sudden knock on the passenger-side window startled me. I looked over just as Jude did. While I couldn’t see his face, I recognized Rhodes’ tattoos peeking out from under the cuff of his sleeve. My heart squeezed at the sight of him.

Jude didn’t hesitate. Quickly, he opened the door and climbed out. Wyatt and I followed just in time to see Rhodes drag Jude in for a tight hug. Something about the sight of it stopped me for a moment. Jude practically folded into his brother, one hand clutching the back of Rhodes’ jacket, while Rhodes held him tight.

Rhodes looked exhausted as he pulled back and straightened Jude’s jacket with a quick tug at the lapel. I wanted to go to him—to hug him. To comfort him. That instinct hadn’t gone anywhere over the last few days, no matter how much space I’d tried to give him, but there were too many people around. And it wasn’t about what I wanted. It was about what he needed, and so I stayed where I was. When he was ready, he’d come to me, and I had to respect that.

Sariah stood nearby, watching in the same way I did. I offered her a small smile and nothing else. I wasn’t supposed to know her. Not yet anyway.