“But she was the one person I knew would never turn her back on me, no matter what.” And she forgave me that first time I got blood on my hands, after I went withAtëto my first business meeting that went sideways. She didn’t yell. Didn’t look at me like I was ruined. She just… accepted it. Acceptme. Even when it broke her heart.
Katie doesn’t say anything at first, just keeps her thoughtful gaze on my arm and the ink there. When she finally speaks, her voice is low and hesitant, like she’s unsure whether she should bring up the next subject. “I read about how she got killed. It was so tragic. Elira was lucky to survive.”
My jaw tightens, and I look away because I can’t—just can’t go there tonight. Not after everything. Not withAtë’s death still so fresh I can’t breathe when I think about it for too long. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I say, words tight and clipped, and I mean it with every fiber of my being.
She nods, not pushing. Instead, she leans down, the short strands of her golden hair brushing my wrist as she presses a soft, lingering kiss over the tattoo. Right over those words. I swallow hard, my chest constricting as my eyes find hers again.
“It’s a powerful quote,” she murmurs as she lifts her head back up, her fingers sliding from my wrist up to my elbow, caressing the full length of the tattoo. Then she moves her attention to my chest, running her hand up my body until it’s resting directly over my heart. “And it’s still relevant for Afrim’s death. You haven’t cried, but you’ve fought for him. You’re still fighting for him by making sure his legacy lives on.”
Her words punch straight through my walls, lodging somewhere deep in my chest. I don’t let it show, but goddamn, it lands.
“Maybe I’ll get something similar too,” she adds, her voice even softer now. “For my parents. My sister.”
I look down at her properly, really taking in the way she fits against me—like she belongs there, like this is the only place in the world that makes sense for either of us—and I press a kiss to the top of her head, lips against her damp hair, breathing her in deeply because somehow it calms the chaos inside me in a way I don’t know how to explain.
We don’t speak after that.
She settles against me like she’s been doing it for years, one hand still resting on my chest, and I wrap my arm tighter around her waist, feeling her breathing slow until it matches mine.
The calm tugs at me, easing my eyes shut, and for the firsttime in weeks, the silence doesn’t feel like a weight trying to crush me. And when sleep comes, I don’t fight it.
The sun rises bright and indifferent like it’s done every single day this past week sinceAtë’s death.
Life keeps moving even when a beloved one is gone.
Today is the funeral, and my lungs feel too big for my chest, my limbs too heavy as I force myself out of bed.
I make my way to the bathroom, dragging my feet, trying to delay the moment where I’ll have to bury my last parent. But regardless of what I do or don’t do, time will continue forward without mercy or pause. It always does.
I don’t even feel the water on my body as I step into the shower. The temperature could be scalding or freezing and I wouldn’t notice. I lean my back against the tiled wall, numb down to my bones, and just stand there as water pounds against my chest.
The only time I feel anything these days is when Katie’s in my arms.
As if my thoughts summoned her, the bathroom door opens and she peeks in, the morning sun streaming in behind her and bathing her face in golden light, making her hair appear almost ethereal with how brightly it shines.
“Hope I didn’t wake you.” My voice comes out thick, so I clear my throat as I push away from the wall.
“No, you didn’t.” She watches me cautiously as she walks into the bathroom and approaches the shower. “You good?”
“You’ll get your clothes wet,” I warn, dodging her question when she opens the shower door and steps inside.
“I don’t care,” she mutters, wrapping her arms tightly around my waist. “It’s going to be okay, Roan. You’re going to get through this.”
My arms circle her automatically, drawing her in against my chest as I press my lips to the crown of her disheveled hair. And for a second—just one small, stolen second—I let myself believe her.
27
ROAN
The sun is too damn bright for a day like this.
I tug at the black tie strangling my throat as I stand at the edge of the freshly dug grave, staring down at my father’s casket resting on the straps that will soon lower him into the earth.
The same earth my mother was buried in. The same cemetery I’ve avoided for years because I couldn't bear seeing her name etched in stone—now his name will sit right next to hers.
My hands curl into fists at my sides, nails biting deep crescents into my palms, while a chilling cold seeps into my bones, stubborn against the oppressive heat of the day. My chest feels unbearably heavy, my mind ringing with a deafening silence, like every vital part of me shut down the moment they closed the lid on his casket and sealed him away forever.
I can’t think—can’t breathe without my heart pinching. I keep waiting for someone to step forward and demand I call this whole fucking thing off, to tell me it’s all a terrible mistake, some kind of sick joke, to assure me he isn’t really gone. But the casket is right there in front of me, polished and clean and so devastatingly final.
