“He set the closing date for the month we lost her.” Grief outlined his every word.
“I’m sorry.”
I felt him nod more than I saw it. “It’s no less than I should’ve expected.”
I kept my cheek tucked against his strong chest. His heartbeat was strong and steady, but even that sounded mournful under my ear. He was entwining himself in his pain. Had he ever processed his emotions, or had he locked them away? Had he considered that others around him were processing their own gut-wrenching feelings?
“Can I play devil’s advocate?” I asked.
Tension radiated through him. “As long as you’re ready to hear me disagree.”
“The first thing I wonder is if he has his own grief journey.” I tipped my face up to him. His gaze didn’t soften. “That’s what the funeral called it when Daddy died. Our individual grief journey. I would’ve rolled my eyes if it hadn’t resonated so deeply with me.”
His hold around me tightened. I pressed my cheek back against his chest.
“Like Wynter,” I continued. “She couldn’t be around when Daddy was at his sickest. It was too much like sitting in that car waiting and knowing our parents were dead. The way she avoided the house was hard for my brothers to understand. It wasn’t hard for me.” Because I’d been in that same car. “It makes me wonder... maybe in a way that doesn’t make sense to us, or at all, but for your dad... I wonder if it’s his way of respecting what she left him with.”
He went rigid again. “She would not think he was respecting her.”
“I’m throwing it out there. People don’t always do what makes sense when they’re hurting. I see it in thekids, and honestly, I don’t think we grow out of it like we think we do.”
“What do you see in the kids?”
“The ones who hurt the most lash out the hardest—at others or themselves.”
His stomach clenched. He was struggling, but he also wasn’t trying to leave. Did it surprise him to think that his dad was probably still destroyed about his mom?
“Have you ever...” His chest expanded with his inhale. “Did you ever go back to where it happened?”
I didn’t have to ask him what “it” was. Or where. “Yes. All of us went when Summer got her license. Mama used to take each of us aside and ask if we needed to visit our parents’ graves or the site. We all said no.” My laugh was dry. “But one night when I was, gosh, fifteen, we were all helping Wynter through a storm—she hates them. I mean, none of us liked them after that night, but it’sa thingwith her, you know? Anyway. Summer had the idea. It’s twenty miles away, in pretty rural territory, because we were out camping. We never told Mama.”
“Why?” He started stroking my shoulder.
“Who can say. Maybe we thought she’d say no. Or maybe we were scared we would crash and break the Baileys’ hearts. Sometimes, I think she would’ve offered to come with us, to drive us even, but we wanted—needed—for it to be a sisters’ thing. As far as I know, that was the only time any of us have been there.” Once was enough, and none of us could probably explain why. I looked up at him. “Is this the first time you’ve returned?”
“No,” he said softly. “I used to come here a lot as a kid. Dad lost his shit once when he found out I took thefour-wheeler—I think he was actually scared the same thing would happen to me—so after that, I had to ride Cray-Cray.” The corner of his mouth tipped up. “That was Mom’s horse. I heard her tell Dad once that his real name was Crazy Bastard, but by the time I was ready to ride, he was old and mellow.”
“I’ve known a few animals that could be called Crazy Bastard.”
“This is the first time I’ve been here since I left home. I used to sit out here for a while and just wonder...”
He didn’t have to tell me what went through his head. The what-ifs.
What if she’d survived? What if nothing had happened? What if he had died instead? His dad? And the questions. How would things be different? Would they be better? How could life be worse when the people you loved most were gone? I’d had similar thoughts.
In my case, my sisters and I had been placed in an excellent home and the Baileys were now our family. We’d become Baileys. We’d only kept our names because we’d had so little left of our parents, and there’d been a ton of changes already. In Gideon’s case, heknewthat things would have been better with his mom. He’d have been happier. His dad would’ve been healthier.
I rubbed his back. “I have a blanket in the back of the car. Let me grab it. We can stay a while.”
“Don’t you have to restock the bar and work tonight?” His expression was tight, like he was afraid I’d sayoops, you’re right.
“That’s one of the perks of being one of the owners. I can stock whenever the hell I want.”
Gideon
We’d had to give up sitting outside. If we weren’t moving, it was too chilly out to sit on a blanket on the ground.
I swung the car around and opened the hatch. She laid the seats down. I was sitting up, reclining against the front seat. She was curled into my side.
