“You’ve got me there.” We might not have been invited to them, but more often than not, the rich kids loved having a bad biker invade their space. Me, not so much, but I was part of the package, so they didn’t give me a hard time. Sure, there were a few disasters, but usually Ty, with his cocky comebacks and infectious grin, could charm anyone.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. A grown woman of twenty-seven, behaving like a seventeen-year-old. Now that we’re closer, it’s obvious they’re not a bunch of trust fund kids, but people more our own age. I tug on Ty’s hand.
“Are we seriously going to do this?” Should I really be so excited at the idea?
“Already doing it.” And just like that, he strolls into the throng, and people part before him like the Red Sea.
Five minutes later, we escape the milling crowd, clutching massive burgers in paper napkins. I can’t take a single bite until the party’s a dot in the distance, and I’m sure everyone else enjoying the beach knows exactly what we’ve done.
“That was so bad,” I tell him, and he just grins at me before finishing off his burger.
“The only thing missing was the conversation.”
I scoff. “They couldn’t wait for us to leave.”
“I don’t think they even knew we weren’t invited.”
I consider that. Except for the way everyone gave us a wide berth, no one looked as if they wondered why we were there.
“You could be right,” I concede, and take a bite of my dinner. “This is pretty good.”
“Only the best for my girl.”
He says it so casually, as though I really still amhis girl, and I rest my head against his shoulder. I’m not going to dispute his words. Not tonight. Not when my heart’s full of everything that might’ve been, recreating one last memory to cherish forever.
The palm trees are dark silhouettes against the spectacular backdrop of orange, yellow, and gray streaks across the never-ending sky. We stand in silence, his arm around me the way we used to stand so many times in the past, as dusk descends like a phantom all around.
…
The following afternoon is chill and cloudy, and I grip my hands together as I sit on the hard chair in the small, whitewashed room. I should’ve just let the crematorium director take care of everything the way they took care of the cremation. There was no need to arrange a memorial service, even the most basic one, since I’m the only one here. Even Dad said that Mom didn’t need a fancy send off to know how I always felt about her, but I just couldn’t do it.
Not that there’s anything fancy about this. I try not to look at the standard issue cremation urn, or the bright, late-spring flowers that look so out of place on the small table up front.
I’m sorry, Mom. Sorry for not being the golden-haired daughter you wanted. Sorry for wishing you were different. Sorry for so many stupid, wasted years.
I squeeze my eyes shut.Don’t cry.My throat aches and my chest hurts as disjointed memories from my childhood shiver through my mind. I suck in a jagged breath, trying to keep it all inside, and someone sits next to me.
My eyes jerk open, heart thudding in unformed panic. Ty’s sitting there, wearing black pants and a long-sleeved black shirt beneath his leather vest. He offers me a small smile, but doesn’t say anything as he takes my hand.
There’s no time to question him, even if I had the power of speech, as the service starts then. It’s short, with no eulogies from loving family or friends. I’m the only one giving her a silent, final farewell.
But Ty came here for me.
I cling on to his hand as though he’s my lifeline and somehow manage to say all the right things to the gentle-mannered woman who conducted the service and hands me the urn.
For a second I freeze, terrified I’ll drop it or do something equally horrifying. Ty takes it from her and leads me outside, a strong, silent protector.
I don’t have the energy to squash the thought because right now he’s exactly what I need.
We stand by my car, and I take a few deep breaths and gradually relax my death grip on his fingers. “Thanks.” My voice is hoarse and my eyes gritty. Thank God for sunglasses.
“You didn’t think I’d let you face that alone, did you?” Still holding my hand, he traces the tip of his finger along my cheek, and I swallow around the lump in my throat. The truth is it never occurred to me that he’d come to the memorial service, and even if a tiny part of me wanted to ask him, I didn’t want to put him in that position.
It’s not like we’re dating.
“No.” The word slips out, regardless, and I sigh. “Not if we were together, the way we used to be, but we’re not. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
He releases my hand and winds his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. We stand like that for forever, or maybe it’s just moments, but his familiar cologne soothes me, and the worn leather of his vest against my cheek is strangely comforting.
