But it wasn’t really a funeral, or a memorial, or anything like that. It was just my father and me standing stiff and straight while my sister’s body, lying there in a closed-lid coffin, moved silently into a dark tunnel where, I assumed, it was taken away and burned up.
* * *
When we got outside again, my father headed straight for the limo, but I stopped on the stairs. He turned to me with irritation.
“What are you doing?”
“I just wanted to take a breath, Dad.”
“Well, if you’ve finishedbreathing, get in the car. There will be no photographers attending, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”
It was like he’d hit me again, right across the face. My chest tightened up and I looked away. That’s when I saw him: my knight in shining armor. Or at least, my knight in a shiny, bright blue convertible that happened to belong to me.
Jack had parked it, roof closed, across the road and was leaning against the side, arms crossed, waiting for me, hat pulled down and sunglasses over his eyes. He gave me an up-nod when he saw I was looking his way, and I took what felt like the first breath of air I’d taken that day.
“You go on,” I told my father.
He glanced across the road and grimaced. “Who is that and why does he have your car? Itoldyou, Miller—no one but us here today.” His voice rose higher with every word but I just shrugged.
“I’ll see you around.” I walked a few steps.
“I’mleavingtonight, Miller,” he called after me, warningly.
Over my shoulder, I called, “Have a good flight.” I jogged across the road to Jack, who opened the passenger-side door for me. I kept my head down, fiddling with the safety belt, so he wouldn’t catch sight of my face.
In the side mirror, I watched my father get into the limo as Jack came back around the car to get into the driver’s seat. “You okay?” he asked, running one hand through my hair and settling it on the back of my neck.
“Yeah,” I said, looking straight ahead. And then: “You havenoidea how good it is to see you, JJ.”
I looked across at him and saw his smile die as soon as his eyes fell on my other cheek. “What the fuck happened to you?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Jack stared at me for another moment, his fingers kneading my neck. “Did your father—”
“Please,” I said sharply. “Can we just get out of here?”
Jack turned to watch the limousine drive off. His eyes were stony gray, cold, even brutal. But then he reached over to take my hand and the warmth came flooding back into his face as he looked at me. “Whatever you want, Trouble. Where do you want to go?”
“Home,” I said, and then clarified, “Your place.”
And when we got to JJ’s, the first thing I did was attach my mouth to his and push him onto the bed. Using sex to avoid problems was totally on-brand for me, so when Jack rolled on top of me and looked down into my face to ask, “You sure this is what you need right now?” I had to pause and think about it.
“I need it,” I said at last.
“Okay.” He carded his fingers through my hair.
“Hard,” I whispered. “Make it hurt. Hit me.”
“No.”
All the anger that had built up over the past few days smashed together inside me. “So it’s bullshit, what you always say? That you’ll do whatever I want?”
He had the nerve to smile, just a flicker of it. “I’d move the goddamn world on its axis for you, Trouble. But I’m not going to open up a wound your father gave you. Not today.”
He stroked me gently, his warm palm moving up and down my still-clothed body, while he leaned in and whispered endearments into my ear, sweet and kind things that burrowed into my grief and broke down my rage—and I hated him for it. I wanted to hang on to that anger, hold on to the unfairness of life and how terrible it was.
But I couldn’t. He was giving me hope that maybe, one day, life could be better.
