Then the voice continued, barely holding together.
“End of watch.”
The sound that came out of the crowd was collective—like a thousand lungs losing air at once.Crying broke through the ranks.The hard men let it happen.Nobody judged.Nobody made jokes.We all knew that last call was a knife and it cut every time.
I stood there rigid, staring at the flag as it was presented to his former girlfriend, watching her hands shake as she took it, like it weighed a thousand pounds.I didn’t want to take it.I didn’t want to hold the weight of that responsibility.She mattered to him.Let his legacy reside with her from now on.
I wanted to step forward.To help.To say something.But I didn’t trust my voice.Because if I opened my mouth, I might say something I couldn’t take back.And there was already too much in my life that couldn’t be taken back.
After the service, people drifted in clusters, hugging, whispering, talking about Lamonte like he was still nearby.Stories flowed, laughter breaking through grief the way it always did when you were remembering someone who had been vibrant.
I stood alone for a moment, staring at the fresh earth.The grave looked out of place Too small for everything he’d been.My hands were behind my back, the posture of a man trying to keep himself contained.A soft weight hit me from the side.
Nita.She stepped into me and wrapped her arms around my waist, pressing her face against my chest.I didn’t move at first.Then, mechanically, I lifted one hand and rested it on her back.
She trembled.“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
I stared over her head at the loose dirt where the headstone would be placed.“Me too.”
Nita pulled back just enough to look at me.Her eyes were swollen, red-rimmed.“Char is here,” she said softly.My gaze shifted automatically.Char stood a few yards away under the bare branches of a tree, a black coat hanging off her like she’d lost weight she couldn’t afford to lose.Her hair was pulled back, her face pale.And even from this distance, I could see the fading bruises along her throat.
They were darker now, the way bruises did when the body tried to heal.But the shape was still there.
Fingerprints.
A memory stamped into skin.
Char’s eyes found mine.She looked like she was trying to decide whether she was allowed to come closer.Like she was afraid of what I might be now.I took one step toward her.She flinched.That flinch hit me harder than any bullet ever had.
I stopped, breathing slow through my nose.Char moved first, closing the distance with careful steps, like approaching a wild animal.When she reached me, she didn’t speak.She just looked up at me, eyes shimmering.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered hoarsely.Her voice still hadn’t recovered.Every word scraped.
I stared at her throat.I couldn’t help it.Her hand lifted instinctively, fingers brushing her collar like she wanted to hide the marks.
“I didn’t,” she started, voice breaking.“I didn’t mean for anyone to get tangled up in my mess”
“I know,” I said.
The words were flat, deadened.Char’s eyes widened slightly at my tone.Nita watched us, tension tightening her shoulders, like she was bracing for impact.
Char swallowed.“Dante.”
I finally met her gaze.And whatever she saw there made her inhale sharply, her breath catching like she’d been slapped.
Because she took a step back.Not far.Just enough to put air between us.
Fear.Not of me hurting her physically.Fear of what I might do.
My voice came out low.Quiet.“He did that to you.”
Char’s lips trembled.“Yes.”
“I watched Lamonte bleed out,” I said, and my voice didn’t shake.That was the problem.“I watched you die and come back.”
Char’s eyes filled fast.“I’m here,” she whispered.“I’m here.I’m, I don’t know, but I’m here.”
“I know,” I repeated.
