“My marriage isn’t an angle,” I interject.
“I came up with a better approach.” Skylar straightens her spine. “We’re going to take the heat off Phoenix by diverting everyone’s attention to someone else.”
Chandler’s eyebrows shoot up to the sky. “Who?”
Her gaze lands on the guy standing next to me. “Memphis and Gwyneth.” She turns her attention back to Chandler. “I’ll plan the proposal on the plane ride home and then we’ll set up a meeting with the Barclay’s publicist and get the ball rolling. As long as Memphis and Gwen are center stage, it keeps the band relevant and it will buy us some time. At least for a little while.”
Nodding his approval, Chandler strokes his chin. “I like it.”
Of course he does.
“You should get started on it right away,” Chandler states. “We can’t afford to waste any more time.” He looks around. “The jet is fueled up and ready to go, so anyone who’d like to go back to California tonight better get their asses in the car.”
After exchanging goodbyes, they leave.
And then it’s just me and my wife…who’s back to staring at her father’s coffin.
The grave diggers lingering close by swap uneasy looks. They need to get started, but it’s clear they’d prefer not to have a family member watching them.
Walking back over, I take a seat next to Lennon. There’s a reason they don’t want people to stick around for this part.
“We should go.”
She keeps her gaze trained on the coffin. “No.”
Fuck. I don’t think her being here is a good idea, but whatever she wants, I’ll go along with.
“Then we’ll stay.”
Only, the moment they begin lowering the casket into the ground, Lennon starts crying.
The workers glance at each other, then at me…waiting for me to take control of the situation.
But I’m at a loss because I’ve never been in this position before.
When Josh died, I got drunk before the funeral and high immediately after.
And then I went on a bender for a week until Storm eventually found me partying in some hotel room I have no recollection of ever walking into.
But Josh was my friend, and even though I tolerated him more than most—mainly because he fed me drugs and supported my downward spiral—he wasn’t a good person or a good friend to me.
My grief for him was based on my own guilt.
It’s completely different for Lennon, though. Her dad was a great father, and her grief is so intense because she loved him so much.
My eyes drop to the headstone next to his soon-to-be grave. The name Kate is scrawled on it. Along with the words beloved wife and mother.
Because he was her everything.
For the first time, I find myself in the position of not knowing what Lennon needs. I don’t want to push her because that would be selfish and cruel. But I also don’t want to give her too much space because I don’t want her to feel like she’s all alone.
This is her process. I’m just here to offer support while she goes through it.
“You can continue,” I tell the workers, despite Lennon’s sobbing.
Pulling her into my arms, I do the only thing I can think of.
I start singing “Let It Be” by The Beatles.
And I don’t stop.
Not until after her father’s casket has been lowered into the ground, his grave has been filled with the earth, the workers have left…
And Lennon decides it’s finally time to go.
CHAPTER 77
PHOENIX
Frustration claws up my throat when I spy the tray of uneaten food sitting on the nightstand.
I brought Lennon lunch two hours ago and just like breakfast, she hasn’t touched it.
It’s been three weeks since her dad died and while I didn’t expect her to get over it, I thought she’d be better by now.
Mrs. Palma—who I’m certain was a bona fide saint in another life—has tried to coax her into getting counseling, but Lennon doesn’t want to.
The only thing she wants is her dad.
Which is the only thing I can’t give her.
“You have to eat something.”
Rolling over in bed, she burrows under the covers, ignoring me.
I plop down on the mattress. The little I actually do manage to force-feed her daily is hardly sustainable for life and the sweatpants she’s been living in are getting looser.
While I love my wife for what’s on the inside, I’m also highly fucking attracted to her. Lennon losing her curves isn’t something I’m down with.
“Pick something off this tray. Or so help me God, I will strap you down to a chair and make you finish every last crumb.”
I’m contemplating begging at this point—which is something I never do—when her hand thrusts out from underneath the covers.
Head buried beneath the blankets, her hand blindly roots around the tray. Bypassing the sandwich and banana, she settles on the granola bar.
I breathe a sigh of relief because we’re making progress. “Thank you.”
I’m halfway to the door when something strikes the back of my head.
I don’t even have to look to know it was the granola bar.
My lips twitch because if Lennon’s assaulting me, it means she’s still in there somewhere.
I just need to ride this out a little longer.
Hitting the speakerphone button, I rest the phone on the counter so I can finish loading the dishwasher…something I haven’t done in years.
“How’s Quinn?” I ask when Storm picks up.
I talk to my sister regularly, but she claims everything’s fantastic and there are no issues.
I want the uncensored report and I know Storm will give it to me.
“Quinn’s fine,” he grinds out. “Me, on the other hand? Not so much.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, it’s cool. But your sister’s a goddamn handful, man.”
I stiffen. “Is she getting into trouble?”
“No. It’s just…I need a break. She’s annoying the shit out of me.”
I had a feeling this would happen. Those two are like oil and water. Frankly, I’m surprised the arrangement lasted this long.
“I’ll book a flight—”
“Not necessary,” he interjects. “I called in reinforcements.”
I close the dishwasher. “Reinforcements?”
“Grams,” he tells me with a laugh. “Her plane will be landing in an hour and she’ll be staying here for one whole glorious week. Which means I’ll finally have some time to…you know.”
“Fuck?”
“Exactly.” He sighs. “Having a kid around all the time really messes with a man’s sex life.”
So does grief.
Not that I’m expecting Lennon to take care of my needs. I just hate how we’ve gone from fucking like animals twice a day to…jack shit.
Unless you count all the jacking I’ve been doing in the shower.
As if reading my mind, Storm says, “How’s Lennon?”
“She’s fine.”