“That’s why it’s so important.”
“It's all I have left of them. We were on our way to celebrate my birthday. I'd just turned eleven. We'd just won a game and Dad was going to take us out for pizza.”
The memory is so sharp, so clear, it might as well have happened yesterday. The sound of Sarah complaining about the music, the smell of Dad's cologne, the sight of Mom's smile in the rearview mirror.
“It was raining. Like this.” My voice goes hollow. “This truck . . . he ran a red light. Hit us. Sarah and Mom died on impact. Dad. . .” I swallow hard. “He died at the hospital.”
“Tomorrow's your birthday?”
I nod, the motion small and tired.
“Fuck. Ryan, I didn't . . . Fuck.”
My chest hitches. Once. Twice. Then a sob breaks free. Then another. Tears streak down my cheeks, my shoulders shaking so hard I can’t stop them.
Connor shifts closer. Not holding me, not talking. He just exists beside me, letting me grieve without trying to fix it.
Eventually, I’m too tired to keep crying. So, I take a shuddering breath and shift to stand.
“I got you.” Connor places one hand on my bicep and the other on my forearm, helping me to my feet.
“Thanks.”
He smiles softly as he takes my hand in his, lacing our fingers together. We walk back toward the path. His grip is firm, warm, and I hold on like he's the only thing keeping me upright.
“I’m sorry. For all of it. I was so focused on my own shit, I never. . .” Connor stops walking, then turns to face me. “You deserve better.”
I clutch the bear to my chest tighter and clear my throat. “What about once you’re free from your father?”
His eyes never leave mine. “Your choice, Ryan. I took that from you once. Won’t do it again.”
I nod, because right now, it’s all I can do. It’s all I have the energy to do.
We reach our cars and stand in the rain a bit longer. I bite my lip and turn to him. “Are you heading back to Crestwood?”
He shakes his head. “Larry would kill me if I did.”
My eyes widen. “You met my foster dad?”
“Well, yeah. Drove to your home address. He told me you were here, at the cemetery.”
“He knows we’re married.” I duck my head, digging the toe of my boot into the mud. “I . . . I told him everything.”
“I know. He read me the riot act before he told me where to find you. Said if my face wasn’t already punched in, he would’ve done it himself.”
A real laugh escapes from me as I look up, meeting his gaze. “You’d deserve it.”
“I know.” He squeezes my hand, thumb brushing across my knuckles. “We’ll come back tomorrow and stayas long as you like. We can even stay for the week if you need.”
“But you have classes. And hockey.”
He clears his throat. “Pretty sure I have a concussion.”
“Jesus, fuck, Connor.”
He snorts. “I’ll be fine. But we should get going before we both get sick.”
Reluctantly, I pull my hand free and open the door to Larry’s truck. As I slide into the driver’s seat, I glance back at the cemetery, at the three graves under the oak tree.
