Not Sloane.
Not my sister.
Just…they. Like he needs the plural to survive the new singular.
I follow his gaze down the hall.
The door to Pops’s room is shut.
Of course it is.
A devastating thought hits me about how wrong it feels that his door is shut when he isn’t in there. Like the house is closing its eyes to somehow cope.
Cameron turns toward the hallway. I follow.
The bedroom at the end of the hall, Sloane’s room, has its door open.
Jade and Blakely are inside with her.
Jade is in a black dress that still looks like Jade—bright-eyed under the grief, trying to be supportive with her whole body. Blakely is in black, too, hair pulled back tight, posture like a wall.
And Sloane…
Sloane is standing in front of her mirror in a simple black dress, hands at her sides, face blank in that way that scares the hell out of me.
Not numb. Not calm.
Just…complete and utter quiet destruction.
She looks beautiful to anyone who doesn’t know what they’re seeing.
But I know.
I see the way her collarbone seems sharper now, like she’s been living on air and adrenaline. I see the bruised shadows under her eyes. I see how her mouth trembles at nothing and then locks down like she’s punishing it for moving.
Her gaze lifts in the mirror and finds me.
For a second, we just hold eye contact.
Cameron steps into the room first, voice low. “You ready?”
Sloane’s throat works like she has to force the word into existence. “Yeah.”
It’s not convincing. It’s not meant to be.
Cameron nods like he believes her anyway because he has to. Because if he doesn’t, what the hell do they do?
Jade reaches for Sloane’s hand. “We’ll be right there with you, okay?”
Sloane nods once, small.
Blakely steps in closer, too, and for a second, the three of them are pressed together like they’re trying to keep Sloane upright through proximity alone.
I stay near the doorway.
I don’t want to crowd her.
But I also can’t stand being far.
