“Hey, Patrick.” I kiss my fingers and place them against the cold marble before kneeling. I brush the old flowers away and place the new ones down. “I’ve missed you.”
Like always, the only answer I get is the warm breeze blowing through the small trees.
“I like him, Patrick.” My voice is just a whisper. It feels like a betrayal just thinking it, and it’s a hundred times worse admitting it. But I also think maybe it’s time. Even if Jude isn’t staying, his being here reminded me what it’s like to be with someone. To have breakfast and joke around and get held while I’m asleep.
I’ve missed it so much. More than I realized.
I stare at Patrick’s name, scripted into the marble. I can’t believe it’s been over two years. It feels like yesterday. And it feels like twenty years.
“I feel bad,” I say softly. “I feel like I should still be mourning you. And I am. So much that it still hurts when I think about it. But it’s not as bad as it was a year ago. Maybe it’s awful of me to already be with someone else. Or maybe it’s long overdue.”
When I don’t get a response, I sigh. “I wish I had someone I could talk to about this. I mean, the guys are all here, but it’s not the same. They knew you and loved you. And I want to talk to you. You always got me on a different level.”
I frown. “That’s kind of sick though, I guess. And selfish.”
The wind blows again, and I put my hand on the headstone. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. You know that I wish more than anything that you could come back. That you’d never left in the first place.”
The breeze settles again, the warmth caressing my skin.
“He’s darker than you were,” I whisper. “Sometimes he gets this look on his face, like he’s remembering something awful. His dad beat him too, like yours did to you. I just want to help him like I was able to help you.”
I hope that’s an okay thing to want. That it doesn’t make me an asshole.
I’d even talk to Rowan about it if I could. But since Jude is his little brother, I have a feeling Jude might not have shared any of this with him. And I don’t want to make things awkward between us. Rowan has become a friend, someone I can count on outside of work as well.
I trace Patrick’s engraved name with my fingertips. I wonder if he can feel how much I still love him. How I wish I had said something meaningful to him the day he died. Right before he walked out the door for work, all I said was, “I’ll see you at dinner.”
Why didn’t I sense that it was the last time I would talk to him? If I loved him more than anything, shouldn’t I have been able to feel something? How much of that was guilt talking? And why did I feel guilty when I hadn’t done anything wrong?
I sigh and lower my hand to my lap. “Don’t hate me for being with someone else, okay? Please?”
Even though I know he won’t give me a response, I still wait for one. My head tells me he loved me and wouldn’t want me to be miserable. But these feelings I have for Jude…they’re so intense. Something I thought I’d never have again, and definitely not so soon.
For so long, I thought I’d have Patrick with me forever. And then he was gone. I’d never felt pain like that. It was like someone had ripped my heart out of my chest, leaving only a gaping wound that would never heal.
But over time, it did. Some days are still harder than others—the holidays he’s not here for, his birthday—but they’re no longer as crushing as they once were. And that’s both good and bad. Because a part of me will always start to feel guilty when I’m not sad about his death. But maybe that’s just part of the healing process.
Something rustles behind me, and I turn to see a man in jeans and a black T-shirt watching me from another grave. He’s turned away from the headstone. I don’t think he’s here to actually see anyone.
I turn back to Patrick’s headstone, but I can’t talk anymore. I feel the guy still watching me, and it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“I’ll come back later,” I whisper to Patrick before standing and brushing the knees off my jeans.
“I didn’t mean to intrude,” the guys says before I’ve even taken a step.
I don’t look back at him. “You didn’t.”
“It’s just…you know Jude.”
I pause, my stomach tightening. “Not really.”
“I’m not trying to start anything,” the guy continues, taking a step closer to me. “I was with him for a long time, even though his brothers tried to talk him out of it. And he just up and left one day with no explanation. I just wanted to see him.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but I’m not a middleman. If you want to talk to Jude, thenyouneed to talk to him.”
“I know. I just…” He trails off, and I feel the smallest bit sorry for him. Jude is intoxicating, and if he did up and leave one day with no explanation, that’s pretty shitty. But I also know without a doubt that Jude dated an asshole at some point in his life. And if this guy’s it, I don’t want to spend another second talk to him.
“Can you tell me where he’s staying?” the guy asks.
