Prologue
It was raining on Sunday afternoon, the day of Oscar Butler’s funeral. It constantly rained in Washington, but today it merely felt as though God was mocking us and nothing more.
I held Korbin’s hand in mine as the preacher spoke on the podium in front of the open casket. On the other side of Korbin, his mother, Nina, sobbed into her son’s free arm. In the years I’d known this family, never had I seen them torn apart like this.
“Are you okay?” I whispered, leaning over to brush my lips against Korbin’s ear. He nodded, squeezing my hand, but I knew he couldn’t possibly be okay. His own father had died; killed in the line of duty, leaving Nina a widow and he and his siblings fatherless. He hadn’t said much since we’d received the news, and that worried me. I had no idea what was going on inside his head.
Glancing down at the glistening diamond ring on my finger, I clenched my knuckle. I forced myself to focus on the words being said in memory of Oscar Butler … husband, father, and one of the best firefighters Denver had seen in the last fifty years. Oscar was a man of deep intelligence and fearlessness. A hero to his children, a soulmate to his wife, and my future father-in-law.
But not anymore. Not now.
“It’ll be okay,” I whispered to Korbin. “I promise.”
But it wouldn’t be okay. Not anymore. And somehow, both of us knew that.
* * *
Most of our small-town neighborhood showed up to my father’s wake, and while we were grateful for their support, it felt all-consuming and suffocating, nonetheless.
“He was an excellent firefighter.” Daxton Chambers, and old friend of my father’s, reached out his hand to shake mine. He was smiling, but under that smile was true sadness. Tears even brimmed the man’s eyes.
“Thanks,” I said. “He was an excellent husband and father, too.”
“Of course,” Daxton said. “How is your mother holding up, Korbin?”
I resisted the urge to look over in the direction of my mother, who was still scurrying around the house, refilling drinks, serving refreshments, and making small talk with every guest who had appeared. But that wasn’t my mother. It never had been. Multiple times my brother Ian and my little sister Isabella had tried to slow her down, begging her to sit for a moment and catch her breath.
“As well as can be expected,” I told Daxton with a forced smile. Peyton stepped beside me then, taking my arm in hers, a silent comfort she always managed to provide.
“How are you holding up?” she murmured to me as Dax shook my hand again and turned away to rejoin the wake. I chuckled humorlessly and shook my head, turning in Peyton’s direction to pull her into me, relishing in the sensation of her warm body against my own.
“This sucks,” I told her honestly, brushing some loose strands of hair behind her ear. “It really does.”
“You can be sad,” she said softly, reaching up to touch the stubble on my cheek. “You can cry, too, you know.”
“I don’t cry,” I teased, but the humor in my tone fell short, and I abandoned the façade and buried my head in Peyton’s neck instead, refusing the tears I could feel threatening to spill over.
“It’s okay,” Peyton whispered, holding me so tightly that I never wanted her to let go. “You’ll get through this. Everyone will get through this.”
I didn’t know if I was ready to believe her. It was still so fresh, so raw. Less than a week ago, my father had been alive and well, doting on my mother after work, helping me train for the firefighter exam, teasing Peyton about how soon we’d be having grandchildren for him—and now, nothing. Not anymore, not ever again.
“Sweetheart, I’m going to run out and get some more chips,” Peyton’s mother, Susan, said, shrugging on her jacket by the door. “I’ll be back in ten. Someone should check on Nina.”
“Thanks, Mom,” said Peyton, and Susan nodded before hurrying out the door. Peyton and Susan had been lifesavers this week, working their asses off to prepare the food and drinks for the wake, keeping my mother’s mind in a decent place, and helping wherever help was needed. I was grateful, and not for the first time that I was about to marry into such a wonderful family.
“We need to get your mother to take a break,” Peyton murmured, resting her lips on mine for a brief moment. “I know she’s exhausted.”
I nodded, knowing damn well that she'd run herself to death if somebody didn’t step in. “Ma,” I said, stepping in front of my mother as she tried to hurry past us with a vegetable tray in her hands. She stopped dead, and Peyton took the tray from her, setting it aside on the closest table. Guests were still mingling a bit; sipping on red wine and enjoying the finger food all while simultaneously crying and laughing as they exchanged condolences and memories of the one person I thought would never, ever die.
“I’m fine, Korbin,” my mother said, but I could tell she wasn’t. Her already small frame was ragged and hunched, like she’d been lost in the wilderness for days without food or water. Her eyes were dry and rimmed with red, and her bottom lip quivered whenever she spoke.
“Mom,” my little sister Isabella said, stepping in. “You’re not fine. Do you want to go lay down or something?”
My mother shook her head vehemently. Across the floor, my brother Ian watched from afar. He was taking this as hard as I was for a good reason. My father had been the perfect person for all of us.
“Nina,” Peyton said, trying her hand at whatever might work. “How about we just sit down for a minute? Away from the crowds. I’m feeling overwhelmed. Could you sit with me for a moment?”
I thought my mother would surely argue as she opened her mouth to say something then closed it again. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she nodded, allowing Peyton to take her hand and lead her into a quiet room down the hall. I followed suit, nodding at Ian and Isabella to entertain the guests briefly while we were gone.
