“You shouldn’t be alone.” Trent scowls down at me and tries once more to get his arm around me.
Not only is he overbearing and overprotective, but Trent is also conveniently oblivious to my rejections.
He never takes a hint.
And it’s only gotten worse since he graduated from the academy and started working under his father, Jacob Morrison.
I suppose the fact that our fathers are both close friends and high-ranking police officers doesn’t help.
But I’ve never been into Trent.
Our families have been trying to push us together since high school, but there’s just something about him. Something I can’t quite put my finger on that rubs me the wrong way.
Thankfully, my father backed off after the whole Russian ordeal, and I haven’t seen much of Trent since.
Why is he bothering me now?
“She’s not alone,” Johnathan, Beth’s husband, growls as he stomps over to us, abandoning the conversation he was having with the priest.
Trent stiffens as Johnathan walks right up to stand between me and him, putting his body between us.
Johnathan is a big man, and the suit he’s wearing doesn’t take away from that fact. If anything, it only makes it more obvious. Especially since it looks so foreign on him. With all the tattoos on his neck and hands, his long, dirty blond hair, and bushy beard, he looks almost absurd squeezed into the suit the way he is.
Lip curling with disgust, Trent glares at Johnathan. “My father—”
Smirking at the look on Trent’s face, Johnathan cuts him off. His deeper voice drowning him out. “You go tell your father, boy, that he doesn’t have to worry about her. She’s in good hands.”
Jaw snapping shut, Trent’s eyes flash with anger. For a second, he looks like he wants to say something. Something probably insulting. Then he shakes his head and tries to simply step around Johnathan.
Having none of it, Johnathan immediately moves to block him off. “I said go, boy,” he says, starting to sound angry as he puffs his chest out.
Johnathan and I haven’t always gotten along. There was a time, back when he and Beth first hooked up, that I felt like he hated my guts.
But over the past few months, we’ve slowly and gradually been growing more cordial.
It probably helps that I’m willing to babysit their son, Charlie, for them anytime they want to go out.
It also probably helps that despite the fact that my father is… was… the Police Chief, I pretend I don’t know Johnathan is a member of the most powerful criminal organization in Garden City.
So the fact that’s he’s sticking up for me right now is not only surprising, it’s touching in a way.
Trent tries once more to step around Johnathan, his eyes meeting mine. “Sophia,” he practically pleads.
Hoping he’ll get the hint this time and go away, I turn my back on Trent and face my father’s casket.
“I’m not going to say it again, go,” I hear Jonathan warn, and feel an immense amount of gratitude when Trent sighs in defeat.
“Fine,” Trent says in frustration before raising his voice. “But I’ll be checking in on you later, Sophia.”
“You’ll leave her alone if you know what’s good for you,” Johnathan grumbles under his breath after a few moments.
Taking that as a sign that Trent has finally left, I close my eyes and try to steel myself again.
Then I open them and take the last dreaded steps.
Approaching my father’s casket, the numbness I’ve used as protection begins to crack.
I don’t know if I can do this.
I don’t know if I can say goodbye yet…
As if they know exactly what I need, I sense Amanda and Beth coming up beside me as I cross the last few feet.
Their support isn’t enough though to counter the sheer amount of grief that slams into me.
My father… My father is in a wooden box.
The man who chased the monsters out of my closet and kissed all my cuts and bruises better is in a box that will go into the ground.
At least six feet of dirt will now forever separate us.
I didn’t even get to tell him goodbye before he left that night.
I didn’t get to hug him one last time.
I didn’t get to imprint everything about him into my memory so I don’t forget it.
Oh god, I forgot so much about my mother. Things just slipped away from me…
And now I’ll forget him.
“I’m sorry,” I sob as the first tears break free from the prison I’ve kept them in. “I’m so sorry.”
I don’t know what he was thinking, or why he did what he did, but I can’t help but feel like it was my fault.
If I hadn’t been so fucking stupid… If I hadn’t insisted on taking Beth to Johnathan’s bar, none of this would have happened.
My world would still be complete.
If we had stayed at my place, like everyone wanted, my friends and I wouldn’t have been taken. If we had stayed at my place that night, my father wouldn’t have been anywhere near the Russians.
He would still be alive today.
It’s my fault. All my fault.
And I can’t fix it.
There’s no fixing or undoing this.
The passing of time is meaningless as I stand beside my father’s casket, unable to bring myself to walk away from him.
My feet rooted to the spot partly out of sheer grief and partly out of penitence.
Thunder cracks and the sky opens up, unleashing the rain it’s been threatening us with all day.
And even after trying to say goodbye and mean it, I still I can’t bring myself to walk away as the first big, fat drops fall upon me.
Vaguely, I’m aware of Beth making a sound of distress and Johnathan arguing that’s it’s time to leave.
Amanda shivers beside me and tugs at my sleeve.
Lost in the pain, it all means nothing to me.
Eventually, their voices fade away, leaving me in peace. The rain begins to come down in sheets, but somehow none of it is touching me.
Trapped inside myself, the minutes slip away.
It’s not until lightning flashes nearby, showing me the reflection of a dark figure standing beside me off the gleam of my father’s casket, that I glance up.
My first thought when I take in the grim face of the man standing beside me, holding a black umbrella over my head, is that Death has decided to come for me, too.
Come to take me to my parents.
I’m almost happy for a second.
Then recognition hits and I feel something besides pain.
I feel panicked.
Where is Beth and Amanda?
Turning away from James, my eyes scan the cemetery, searching for them.
“They had to leave. It’s not good for Beth to be out in the rain, given her condition,” James says, answering my unspoken question.
Shaking my head in disbelief, I glance back at him, confirming he’s real, then I start to walk to where I think Johnathan parked.
James follows beside me, holding the umbrella over my head.
No matter how fast or slow I walk, he keeps pace.
When I finally crest the small hill leading to Saint Michael’s parking lot, I stop in surprise.
The parking lot is completely empty save for one car, a black BMW. Johnathan’s silver Lexus is nowhere to be seen.