I feel Lexi pressing closer, holding me. I hear them asking me if I’m okay. They’re all looking at me, but nothing feels real. The words echo through my heart and head as everything shatters around me. My carefully built, safe life is gone in an instant.
My son’s life was taken in one second, and he was alone. Alone when he died. I wasn’t here.
And now he’s gone.
It’s strange, but my only thought is of the last conversation we had when I told him he wasn’t my son anymore. That I was disappointed in him. Tears blur my eyes, and I put my head into my hands and scream.
Lexi kisses along my shoulder and tries to comfort me. “Mr. Phillips, I’m a bereavement counsellor. I will be here if you need anything. For the moment, we will give you two…a minute. We will be just outside.”
I hear the door shut, and I turn, desperately throwing myself at Lexi. She catches me, falling back to the sofa, her arms wrapping around me as I sob and yell into her skin.
My son is dead.
Time has passed, but I couldn’t tell you how much. My tears are dried on my cheeks, and I’m numb and empty, still holding Lexi. I lift my head to see tears in her eyes as she holds me tightly.
“He’s gone,” I whisper.
“I know. I’m so sorry,” she murmurs brokenly.
Just then, there is a knock. I should sit up, but I don’t want to, so when they open the door and find us like that, I don’t even care. They don’t seem surprised at all, and Rebecca looks at me sadly. “Can I come in?”
I nod, and she takes a seat.
“I cannot even begin to understand what you are feeling. We are truly sorry for your loss,” she starts.
“Thank you,” I reply automatically, my voice hoarse and rough.
She looks between us nervously. “Would you like to see him?”
“See him?” I ask.
“Some find it helps, a chance to say goodbye, to gain closure, but of course if you don’t want to, that’s quite okay as well. Whatever you need to do, we are here for you,” she assures me.
I’m just empty.
Completely numb. The only thing anchoring me is the angel holding my hand as I’m led to the room. A sheet is pulled up to his chin, and when I lock eyes on his pale body, I rush to his side.
My heart breaks all over again, and tears fall, even though I didn’t think I had any left, as all that pain comes roaring back. I drop to my knees as I press my head against his cool cheek.
My son, my boy, my fucking baby is gone.
So still, so cold.
I’ll never see his eyes again, never hear his laugh. See him grow old, get married, have kids. I’ll never hear him act like a kid again, laughing and begging for my attention because of something he did. All those years of his life are just gone.
Wiped clean over one stupid fucking mistake.
My tears fall onto his face as I kneel there, holding his hand, but it’s cold and hard—this isn’t my son anymore. It’s just his body, my son is gone. He was taken from me, and I will never, ever get to see or hear from him again.
This world suddenly feels very empty and meaningless.
“Goodbye, Justin,” I whisper, but it doesn’t bring me closure.
It doesn’t bring me anything.
I’m empty.
And cold, just like my son’s lifeless corpse.
Lexi
The next day or so is non-stop. I call into work so I can be by Tyler’s side the entire time. I might not have gotten on with Justin at the end, but part of me does hurt at his death. The other half of me is broken as I watch the man I love deal with all the pressure and pain.
He handles it with grace, never snapping, not stopping, even though I would be a wreck. He keeps moving. I think it’s the only thing preserving his sanity, but he begs me not to leave his side. His hand remains locked in mine, and he cries against my chest at night, the only time he shows the pain of losing his son—apart from when he had to tell Justin’s mum. Then he cried and sobbed after. He only lets it consume him when he takes a moment to breathe.
He’s starting to plan the funeral, and I help when I can, but I feel like I get in the way. He’s getting angrier as the hours pass. Not at me, but at the world…and himself.
He blames himself.
He thinks he could have stopped it if he had just forced him to stay here. Forced him to stop drinking and resolved all the drama between us three. And now he’s racked with guilt and grief, and I’m just waiting for him to explode. He has to at some point, no one can carry on like this. His heart is ripped open, and he’s trying not to feel a thing because it’s easier than the pain.
That night, after we have sorted the funeral, we are lying in bed, neither of us sleeping. Tyler is by my side, but he seems a million miles away, his eyes locked on the ceiling. He pulled away during the day, and I don’t know what to do to bridge that gap.
Does he blame me?
Is he reminded of everything when he looks at me?
The thought sends my heart into panic mode, and tears blur my eyes as I slide my hand across the sheet, searching for his. But when they connect, he yanks his away, jumping like he’s coming out of a deep fog.
“Ty?” I ask, turning to him, but he rolls out of bed. He sits on the edge with his head in his hands. His back is bowed and shaking. Licking my lips nervously, I reach for him again, unable to take the distance. I know he’s hurting, I just want to help, but he’s pushing me away and I don’t know what to do.
“Ty?” I whisper again into the dark, placing my hand on his shoulder, but he shakes it off and I sit back on my heels, staring at him. I’m lost and unsure what to do or how to help. He’s hurting. He’s broken. He lost his son. There is nothing I can say or do to help heal that wound, but I want to be there to support him, to hold his hand as he breaks… Does he not want me to?
Would it help if I gave him space?
I don’t know which is a better option, and I don’t want to break the silence and ask, even though the man I love is cracking right in front of me. “What can I do? Tell me, I’ll do anything,” I beg, wrapping my arms around my middle to hold back my own fears, my own insecurities that are telling me he doesn’t love me anymore, that he hates me.
This isn’t about me, this is about him, and right now, I need to be the bigger person. I need to be whatever he needs me to be, even if it hurts.
“Leave,” he whispers.
“What?” I question, unsure if I heard him right.
“Leave!” he snaps, swinging his head around to meet my eyes. “Get out, it’s over.”
I recoil like he struck me, and my heart stops at the look in his eyes. It’s wild, and there’s nothing of my Tyler left. “You don’t mean that, you’re hurt, you’re angry, I get that—”
He laughs bitterly then. “I mean it, Angel.” The way he says the word sounds like a threat, and I freeze. I’m his angel, surely he can’t mean this?
Tyler Phillips isn’t allowed to break my heart.
But it seems he is. I trusted him, I love him, and I know… I know he’s hurting, he’s scared and lashing out, but that doesn’t stop the pain from flowing through me as I stare at him, unsure what to do.