I was curled in our bed, clutching Max’s pillow, the blankets drawn tightly around me.
I was alone in the room, the bed feeling colder than usual. I sat up, flicking on the light and peering around the room.
I knew it was empty. I knew Max was gone. He’d never been here—it was simply another memory of the many times he’d held me during a storm.
He had passed over a year ago. Fifteen months, to be exact.
But there were moments, like this one, I swore he was close, even though I knew I had been dreaming.
It made my reality all that much lonelier.
Grief hit me, once again capturing me in its fist and squeezing hard.
I buried my face in my hands, and I wept.
Sandy
“Does anyone have anything to add?” Aiden asked, looking around the table. I glanced up from my pad of paper, pencil poised in readiness. Staff found it amusing I still took shorthand. Bentley found it invaluable. I was fast. I never missed a line at a meeting, and he found my notes helpful.
Everyone shook their head or remained silent. As usual, it had been a quick, informative meeting, each of the partners stating their thoughts or objectives, and giving enough information, there were few questions to be asked.
Exactly the way Bentley liked it.
He stood and clapped his hands, signaling the meeting was over. “All right. Have a productive day.”
I jotted down the time and flipped the cover of my notepad closed. I began to stand, but Bentley held up his hand.
“A moment, Sandy.”
He waited until everyone filed from the room, leaving only him, Aiden, Maddox, Reid, and me. Aiden shut the door and returned to the table.
For a moment, there was silence, all of the men glancing at one another, then at me, before their gazes skittered away. I frowned at the feeling of tension in the air and smoothed my hands over my skirt under the table, my palms suddenly damp.
Something was going on, and I didn’t like it.
“Firing squad, boys?” I asked, trying to lighten the air.
Those words startled them, and they all began talking at once.
“Don’t even joke about that, Sandy,” Maddox muttered.
“Not in this lifetime,” Aiden protested.
“I hardly think so,” Bentley insisted.
Reid met my eyes, his gaze serious. A rare occurrence for Reid.
“We’re worried about you, Sandy. We want to help.”
His words stunned me into silence.
It was my job to worry about them, not the other way around.
“I’m fine,” I protested. “Nothing to worry about.”
Bentley cleared his throat. “Sandy—you forget how well we know you. You aren’t fine, and we want to help.”
“Am I not doing my job?” I retorted, not wanting to have this conversation with them. I knew it was born of concern and love, but I still wanted to avoid it.
“Of course you are. All of us, especially me, would be lost without you. You’re the glue that holds this place together.”
“Then perhaps a thank-you and not an inquisition would be more appropriate.”
Bentley’s shoulders stiffened, and his eyes narrowed.
“Give us the room,” he said, his tone brooking no argument.
A moment later, we were alone. He leaned closer, pulling my notepad from my hands. “Talk to me, Sandy.”
It was impossible to ignore the worry in his blue eyes. I sighed, the sound filled with sorrow.
“Sorry, Bentley. You hit me on a bad day.”
“We’re worried, Sandy. All of us. We want to help, but we don’t know what to do. Tell me what you need.” He wrapped his hands around mine, the stiff businessman disappearing and the warm, caring man I knew he kept hidden under his persona emerging. “We all love you, and we want to do something. Anything.”
I smiled at him, shaking my head. “It’s called grief, Bentley. There is nothing that you can do—that any of you can do. It’s been well over a year, but at times it feels like yesterday. Other times, I cope well. I just have to handle each day as it comes.” I huffed out a frustrated breath. “I didn’t realize anyone noticed. I thought I was doing my job well.”
“You are. But you forget how well we know you, Sandy. Your spark is missing. Your smile is forced. We all know how much you miss Max, and we want to do something. Anything. You just have to tell us what.”
“Bring him back.”
Bentley looked stunned at my words. “I can’t do that,” he said slowly.
I cupped his cheek. “Exactly. Bentley, no one can help. I have to get through each day the best way I can. Work helps—here, I’m busy and productive. Being part of your lives—seeing you all fall in love, start families, and be happy helps. I just need to do this in my own time. There’s no manual when it comes to grief. No magic wand.”
He dragged a hand through his hair. “That’s what Emmy said. She told me to leave it alone. To let you grieve the way you need to grieve and just be there when you asked.”
I smiled. “Emmy is a smart woman.”
“But will you, Sandy? Will you come to us if we can help?”
His earnest sincerity rang out, and it made me smile. To the world, Bentley was rigid, stern, and unflappable. Underneath, he was caring, sweet, and always looking out for those he loved.
I was one of the lucky few that fell into that category.
“Yes, Bentley, if I need help, I will ask.” I paused. “There is one thing.”
“Anything.”
“You and Emmy go out and let me have Addi for the night. I love spending time with that little one.”
A grin pulled on his lips, softening his stern expression. His wife and daughter were the biggest chinks in his armor, and he adored them both.
“I think that helps me as much as it helps you,” he stated dryly.
I shrugged. “But I’d like it.”
“Then I’ll arrange it.”
“Are we done?”
He bent close, his voice serious. “We’re here, Sandy. You are family—we all love you. Remember that, and all you have to do is ask. We’ll be there. All right?”
My throat was thick.
I could only nod.
The rest of the day went quickly. Each of my boys stopped by my desk for a hug, a quiet word, or in Reid’s case, a long visit. He pulled up a chair behind my “throne,” as he called it, opened his laptop, and began to work.
“Problem with your office?” I asked, already knowing why he was there.
“Nope. I just like the view here better. I get to see you.”
I squeezed his hand and let him stay. I adored the youngest member of the BAM family. A lost soul, he needed this place as much as it needed him. His upbringing had been horrendous, and there was something in his expression the day I met him that drew me to him. He lit my maternal instinct ablaze, and it had been I who insisted Aiden give him a chance. The more I got to know Reid, the more he pulled at my heartstrings. I loved all my boys, but Reid was special. Everyone knew it. But they felt much the same toward him. He was the boys’ younger brother, and they looked out for him. We all did. In return, we had his fierce loyalty and affection.
We worked in companionable silence, broken only by the occasional call. My duties had changed when Max got sick. All the day-to-day business like answering the phone, or dealing with mail, and other smaller tasks went to a junior person in the office, but I handled everything that had to do with the partners. That alone kept me very busy.