She smoothed down her dress, taking another steadying breath. None of this should’ve been her job.
Her mother stood off to the side, aloof, the picture of brittle grace. She was short with Sydney, colder still with Hillary, ignoring her entirely as though she wasn’t even there. An ice castle of a woman.
Hillary pressed her lips together, holding herself steady. She had been steady all morning. All week.
But then the clock inched closer to the service, and she saw four familiar figures step through the doors.
Sasha.
Conner.
Cash.
And Murphy.
Her throat closed.
The tears came before she could stop them, blurring her vision until she had to press a hand to her face. The first tears she’d shed through all of this.
She wiped her cheeks, forced herself to breathe, and walked over to greet them.
Sasha’s hug was warm and familiar, grounding. Conner’s and Cash’s were strong and solid, easy to lean against for a breath before she pulled herself back together.
And then Murphy’s arms came around her.
Everything she had been holding inside broke wide open.
Her breath hitched as Murphy’s arms closed around her, and instead of letting go, he held her tighter.
Fuck.
She couldn’t do this. Not here. Not now. She felt her carefully built facade slipping, cracking under the simple pressure of his embrace.
Quickly, she mumbled an excuse and slipped out of his arms, heading straight for the bathroom. She shut the door behind her, bracing her palms on the cool marble sink.
What was it about him?
How did he have that kind of power over her? With a single hug, he could shatter walls she’d spent years fortifying. It wasn’t safe. None of this was safe.
She dabbed at her eyes, smoothed her hair, and reapplied her lipstick with steady hands that belied the storm in her chest. When she looked in the mirror again, the woman staring back was polished, controlled. The woman her family expected her to be.
By the time she walked back out, it was nearly time for the service.
The room was already filling, a sea of tailored suits and designer dresses. Rich, entitled people here not to grieve, but toperformgrief. Faces she recognized only vaguely, voices murmuring condolences that rang hollow.
Her gaze swept the room once and landed on them.
Sasha. Conner. Cash. And Murphy.
Three friendly faces, steady and sure. And one that was more.
They felt like a lifeline.
She made it through the service. Made it through the graveside, too—standing stiff beside her family, nodding through platitudes, keeping her face composed until it all blurred into a hollow rhythm.
All that was left was the wake. That was fine. Wakes were similar enough to a work function that autopilot would set in.
She slipped into her childhood bedroom for a moment’s reprieve before she had to greet the mourners. She sank onto the edge of the bed and exhaled.
