Fucking Robert Paige.
I’d made the mistake of telling Holden about the letter, and he’d asked to see it a couple of times. I finally had to tell him that his Pops had shown his typical self-control—none—in writing it. I begged Holden to stop asking, if only for his own mental well-being.
Ren, I do wish I’d had more time with you, and not only because no one else could suck cock the way you do.
Holden had let the subject drop, thankfully, but I had a feeling there’d come a day when he insisted. Maybe he’d find solace in it, as I did at times like this. Maybe he’d laugh at the list of things his father had wanted me to do after his death.
In time, you must allow yourself to be loved, and to love in return.
I was sure Holden would hate what Robert had to say about my love life. Not that I had any intention of following my husband’s advice.
As I made my way to my car, I resolved to read the letter again. I pasted on a grin and waved to everyone, watched as they took off, then sat down, put on my seat belt, and lost it.
I’m so fucking angry, Robert. I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with you.
That reminded me of that whole inane conversation about the stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance, my flat ass. As if there were anything neat or orderly about grief. Where were the books on being a hot mess?
Robert had always called me his rock. His steady. The idea of me being anyone’s rock at this point was laughable, and I was about as steady as a drunken frat boy in heels.
By the time I realized Major had approached me, I had fully given myself over to the pain.
“Why don’t you come inside?” he asked in his deep, resonant voice.
Slowly, I shifted toward him, tears spilling down my cheeks as my jaw quivered. The second I met his rich brown eyes, I crumpled like a wet napkin, curling in on myself. Major reached across my lap and undid my seat belt, then drew me into a hug. Unable to stop the torrent of emotions, I threw my arms around him, burying my face in his massive chest as grief poured from me.
Unlike most people, who would try and fail to say anything of use, he simply held me and let me cry. So I did. I sobbed and sobbed until there were no tears left in me. By the time I was done, twilight had settled in around us, rendering everything soft and gray.
“Sorry,” I breathed out, my voice a garbled mess.
“Nothing to be sorry for, Ren,” he said, rubbing my back. “Won’t you come in and get cleaned up? Maybe sit quietly with me for a few moments.”
I pulled back, starting to pack away my despair, shoving it down with everything else. “No, it’s fine. I just wanna go home.”
He shook his head, his expression grave. “If you need to go home now, I’ll drive you. But I’m not letting you operate a vehicle in this condition,” he said, his commanding voice rattling my chest.
I realized he would not—could not—be moved on the subject, and a nervous chuckle escaped my lips. “I keep telling Holden that he can’t get in the car while upset because I refuse to lose another loved one. Guess I’d be a real hypocrite if I drove now.”
“I’m glad you understand,” he said, laying a kiss on my head. “I didn’t wanna get into an argument with you.”
His imposing body reminded me of Robert’s, and something about that calmed my heart for the first time today. I chuckled again, sniffling loudly.
“So, which would you prefer? You can come inside with me, wash the snot off your face, and take a few moments to ground yourself, or I can drive you home.”
“I think,” I said, taking a deep breath, “I’d like to wash the snot off my face.”
We both laughed, and he helped me out of the car, shutting the door behind me as if to emphasize that I would not be going anywhere soon.
That was fine. I was too exhausted to argue. Instead, I leaned against him and nearly sobbed again when he wrapped his arm around my narrow shoulders, supporting me as we made our way past the bright flowers that lined the sidewalk.
He let us into the building and walked me over to the bathroom, then stood with me as I washed my face. I was sure I looked a fright, and I was grateful he’d sprung for the nice paper towels as I blotted the water from my skin.
Though I’d been avoiding my reflection, I did glance at the two of us in the mirror. Side by side, we could not have been more different. He was a young bear of a guy—tall, slightly tan, with a heavy beard that made him look older than his friends. He also had the kind of belly that was made to be worshipped.
Not that I was worshipping anyone these days.
As for me, I’d inherited my family’s short, slight stature. Even with the silver at my temples and the extra lines around my eyes, I looked like a little kid next to Major.
“Would you like some water?” he asked as we passed the pristine break room.
