I remove the necklace I clasped around my neck this morning, intending to leave it with him—this will be my closure. I hope that’s what I find here.
“I found the ring you had been hiding. You didn’t hide it well, seeing as I had to go into your top drawer to retrieve your life insurance information. Just a side note: life insurance doesn’t work if you kill yourself. Anyway, I think you wanted me to find it. I don’t know when you were planning to ask me to marry you with this pretty ring, but the answer is no, Keegan. The answer is no because you cheated on me with death, and vows include a commitment stating, ‘till death do us part.’ We parted before death, so you should hold onto this piece of me that you could have had if you hadn’t been so selfish.”
I place the necklace with the looped ring down beside his arm, where no one will see it. I kiss my fingertips and touch his lifeless forehead. “I loved you. Goodbye, Keegan.”
My throat tightens, and my chest aches beneath my pounding heart.
I will not cry.
He chose this instead of me.
While walking out of the visiting room, I decide to leave the funeral home. I can’t sit through the procession.
I consider myself lucky, as it is, to have gotten this visit over with before being seen by anyone who might recognize me.
I should have held onto that thought until I made it outside.
“August,” I hear from behind me. I’m only a half dozen steps away from the exit. I can pretend I didn’t hear the person, but now there’s a hand on my shoulder.
With a slow movement, I turn around. A strand of hair catches on my lip gloss, and at the same time, I lose my train of thought as my focus falls on the man I keep seeing at the bar every night. Chance, I think his name is.
“Are you—sorry, are you related to Keegan?” The question shouldn’t surprise me. I’m at his funeral, but would a relative be leaving so soon? I suppose I could ask the woman who already ran out, but I’m sure she’s long gone by now.
“Areyou?” I retort.
Chance reaches over and pulls the strand of hair from my lips that I forgot was stuck there. His knuckles sweep against my cheek, and warmth fills my face.
“An acquaintance,” Chance says.
“I was his girlfriend,” I respond just as quickly.
Chance’s eyes grow wide, his brows arch with confusion, or maybe it’s stress. It’s hard to tell. “I’m so s—”
“Don’t be. Keegan cheated on me with death.” I pivot on my heels and, again, head for the door.
“Is death better or worse than whiskey?”
Chance’s words feel like a serrated knife plunging into the depths of my stomach.
Is death better or worse than whiskey?
I turn around again, taking in a deep breath before speaking. “I’m not sure. I guess only Keegan would have the answer to that.”
I take a step backward, trying to force some type of unamused expression onto my face, but I feel frozen and locked out of all ability to show emotion. “Hey, wait for a second,” Chance says.
“I have to—”
He follows me and steps to the side when opening the door. He’s inviting me to do as I wish, which is to walk away from the last remnants of betrayal.
Chapter Eleven
Chance
In high school,I had all the right moves, all the right pick-up lines, and the confidence of a bull. I’m not sure what happened between then and now, but this is the second time I have approached this woman in twenty-four hours without knowing what to say. I could have watched her walk out of the building, wondering how she knew Keegan, but curiosity will likely be the death of me someday, so I might as well live it up now.
I could have gone without knowing she was Keegan’s girl since I didn’t realize Keegan was in a relationship. We sat together at the bar many times, talking about sports, work, and whiskey, but never anything too personal. Luke is the one who told me what happened with Keegan, and I thought it would be the respectful thing to do, coming here today. Through my experience, I don’t assume someone will have a crowd mourning them at their funeral. Instead, I consider the sadness of no one showing up at a funeral since I fear that might be the case with me when it’s my time.
“You don’t have to do this,” August tells me, carefully balancing in her heels as she walks down the cement steps.
