Nan. Is. Gone.
Sorry for your loss.
Those words hold no real weight. This man works in a funeral home. He makes a living off other people’s grief, tears, and crippling sadness. I’m sure the phrase rolls off his tongue as easily as a police officer’s rehearsed Miranda rights, automatic and empty.
“No, thank you,” I manage, my voice thinner than I’d like. “After I’ve had more time to consider options, we can move forward…but everything will be very low-key.”
Nan wouldn’t want a fuss.
“Of course, ma’am. Take your time. We’re here if you need anything.” He rises from his chair and moves toward a pair of ancient French doors, opening them with a quiet creak before gesturing for me to follow.
The foyer of the funeral home is just as somber as the office with dark wood floors worn smooth with time, heavy burgundy wallpaper, the faint scent of lilies and furniture polish in the air.
I don’t like the feeling this place gives me. It’s not creepy in anAddams Familykind of way. There’s no dramatic thunder or cobwebs hanging from chandeliers.
But death and despair cling to every surface all the same. It’s in the stillness. In the quiet. In the way the air itself feels heavier when you breathe it in.
A wave of nausea rolls through my stomach. The chiming of a grandfather clock echoes off the walls, startling me.
But not nearly as much as what I see when I step out onto the wide Victorian porch.
Parked across the street—a truck. An old white Chevy Silverado 4x4.
The screen door slams shut behind me with a sharp thwack, but it barely registers.
Because the driver’s side door of that truck just opened, and the man climbing out of it steals every ounce of air occupying my lungs.
Each fiber of my body goes still as I stare across the street at someone who looks an awful lot like an echo of my past—the part of my soul that still lingers in this town.
This feels like an out-of-body experience. I’m aware of the pressure beneath my feet as I step down the porch stairs one by one, but it doesn’t feel like I’m the one controlling my movements. My eyes stay locked on his.
Eyes I haven’t seen in ten years. Eyes that have haunted my dreams for a decade. The distance between us closes without my permission.
And then suddenly…
I’m standing toe to toe with the love of my life.
Only I’m certain I’m not the love of his.
Not anymore.
CHAPTER 5
collins
THEN
I throwa dark gray hoodie over my head and creep out the front door as quietly as possible. After tossing and turning for hours, I gave up. There was no use trying to sleep with her eyes haunting me. The ones that are so blue it’s like she stole a piece of the ocean to keep for herself, only to share with those lucky enough to see inside her soul. And I don’t know what it is about this girl that has me so sick, but that’s exactly how I feel. Like I’ve caught some sort of relentless illness. From the first time I saw her about to knock on my front door something inside me shifted, and started to grow roots. Especially since Laken Fest.
Nothing special was said, we were just getting to know each other, but I didn’t want the night to end. It’s been almost a week since that night and we haven’t crossed paths once since; I’ve been so busy working with my brothers. It being the beginning of summer, everyone’s in need of some sort of yard work and our landscaping business is really taking off and keeping us busy.I bust my ass day in and day out to prove I’m worthy of my position there.
Landscaping was never on my list of things to do with my life, but my brothers had already started working with our dad before he died. Dad had his own business and now it’s up to us to keep it going. Something I know he’d be proud of.
Losing a parent is never easy. But we lost both of ours the same damn day—and they were too young. We were too young. Life sure fucking suck sometimes. I feel like Johnnie’s relationship with her parents is another reason I’m so drawn to her. Yeah, her parents didn’t die like mine did. But they damn sure up and left her. I know she’s almost eighteen but that has to sting. She told me about their move and her decision to stay here—a decision a teenager shouldn’t have to make. Despite the brave face she put on, I could see the sadness in her eyes. I could tell she was trying to protect her parents, justifying their reasons for moving away. Just when I would hint it was kind of shitty to leave your daughter—no matter how good the money is somewhere else—she would defend them, like she didn’t want me seeing her mom and dad in a negative way.
I like that about her. She’s captivating, which is exactly why I find myself tapping on her bedroom window at three in the morning.
Just as my knuckles tap on the glass for the second time, a halo of light shines around the curtains and my heart hammers, knowing I must have woken her. Holding my breath, I listen to the approaching footsteps. The curtains slowly inch open followed by blinds being cracked open to reveal those damn eyes I can’t get out of my head.