I wish I could take Colson’s pain away every time his body shakes with emotion. He does a decent job keeping silent, but I know he’s up to his chin in grief. That it’s so goddamn hard for him to say goodbye to his mom that he’s probably contemplatingcanceling his appointment with his aunt and spending the night in the cemetery.
I scoot another inch closer, my hand numb from the way he’s holding it. It’s unbearable but nothing compared to what he must be feeling so I take it and deal. I gently rest the hand that’s been rubbing his back on his shoulder and lean close to him.
I can’t find it in me to turn away. Despite how cold he’s been, my heart still beats for him.
“Do you want to go up and say something?”
His fingers pulse between mine, and his hanging head barely lifts. He swipes the back of his other hand over his face and clears his throat. I wait for an answer.
It comes in the form of him tugging my hand even closer. It’s so out of ournewordinary that my heart lurches for him in response. He pulls a second time. It’s rough enough to pull my butt the rest of the way off my seat and get me to my feet.
“If you don’t want to, that’s okay, too,” I tell him.
My goal is to assure him that whether he’s ready to say farewell now or another time, she’ll know and won't be upset by it. But maybe the reason he’s pulling me out of my chair is because of what I feared before we arrived. That he doesn’t want me here. That I’ve outstayed my welcome. Embarrassment grips me over inviting myself to an event as intimate as this. Sebastian and I should’ve reconsidered this before just assumingit’d be okay.
I try to pull my hand free and take a step back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. This is entirely about you, and I made it about me by showing my face when you’ve been clear on where you stand.”
His hand is a vise around my fingers, which makes it that much more difficult to pry him off me, but I need to get out of here. To give him space. To let him bury his mother without his ex-girlfriend making a big deal out of it. And also before piecesof my broken heart fall into the grass, and they’re impossible to pick up.
How could I have been so damn stupid?
Colson looks up, and his bloodshot eyes convey how broken he is. This isn’t the Colson I ate burritos and did yoga with. This Colson is an empty shell.
He sweeps his hair back, and since it’s longer than it was when we first met, it messily falls back over his head. Colson’s stormy blues meet mine, and it’s just like old times, him telling me exactly how he feels with one simple look.
You don’t know what the hell I’m going through. How hard I’m trying to get through each and every fucking day. The emptiness that threatens me every waking moment.
And then it dawns on me.
He wasn’t pulling me to my feet because he was telling me to leave. He was pulling me to my feet because he wants me close.
His grip on me tightens, as if that’s possible, and he hauls me close enough that his knees bump my legs. He releases my hand to circle his arms around my waist.
My heart is like a fish out of water, flip-flopping inside my chest to get back to where it belongs. I grip Colson’s shoulders and rest my hands on the back of his neck where I lightly run my nails over his skin.
I almost forget Sebastian is sitting next to him. When I glance up at him, he’s already watching me, his eyebrow hitched up in a fashion that says,what did I tell you?
He retreats a moment later, getting smaller and smaller until he joins his parents at the edge of the cemetery underneath a big oak tree.
I don’t dare speak, too afraid that what might come out of my mouth isn’t what Colson needs. He’s so close, so vulnerable, that I don’t want to ruin it. I know it won’t take much.
He leans his forehead against my stomach. It almost feels like an eternity passes before he speaks. “This isn’t how it was supposed to be.”
I take in his rumpled head of hair.
“She was supposed to get help.Iwas going to help her get it, but then she fucked it up, got thrown in a jail cell. And who the hell knows what she was up to then.” A saccharine laugh comes from him. It lacks all humor, putting more strain on my already aching heart. “Well, I guess that isn’t entirely true. We know exactly what she was doing,” he comments. “Getting high enough to die.”
I run my fingers up the back of his head. His hair curls over my knuckles, but I don’t stop rubbing circles over his scalp. “What happened is not your fault.”
“Yeah, I keep trying to tell myself that, but deep down I should’ve gotten her help, Vi. She should’ve been in rehab months ago. Goddammnit, she would’ve never been in lockup. She wouldn’t have been dealing the drugs that got her there—which is a whole other conversation—and that needle wouldn’t have been in her vein. She wouldn’t be in that casket. She’d still bealive.”
“I wish you still had time with her,” I murmur.
He pulls away, looking up at me with all the hurt in the world etched into his frowning features. “Why did you come? You didn’t even know her.”
I nibble on the corner of my lip, strongly disliking that he’s making me say it. Isn’t it obvious?
“I came because I want to support you.”
