I pray no one notices the look he burns into his father’s back.
Pure hatred.
Matt loathes him.
And he has every reason to.
I look back and spot Matt’s mother seated a few rows behind me.
I take her in, diamonds, designer everything, hair swept into a perfect chignon, not a strand out of place. She’s stupid beautiful for a woman in her early seventies, thanks to a very expensive surgeon, I’m sure.
She looks like money. Control. Power. Perfectly curated for public consumption.
I see her for who she truly is, buried beneath the Chanel and Cartier: weak, petty, selfish.
A fraud.
She plays the role well, though. Perfect marriage. Loving mother.
Sure, she loves Matt now. Now that he’s older. Now that he’ssomeone. Now that she can brag about him and all of his success.
I think I hate her more thanhim.At least his dad never pretended to be a good father. At least Matt knowsexactlywhat he is.
She glances my way and our eyes meet, stone cold and full of nothing. I quickly look away. I won’t pretend anymore. She made my life a living hell for far too long.
I no longer have to impress her. Even if I am fake engaged to her son today.
It only makes me more excited to tell her. Show hermyCartier.
People slowly begin to rise, and I stand, following Cole as we all make our way out of the church.
Chapter Fifteen
MATT
I’m not a crier.Never really have been. I got teary-eyed during the funeral, but I didn’t cry. I said my final goodbye with dry eyes. By then, everything felt numb.
The burial’s what did it for me. When it was Cole’s turn? When he put his hand on his dad’s casket to say goodbye?
The dam broke.
Cole broke.
I broke
It started with one hand. One innocent hand resting on top of the casket as he whispered,I love you, Dad.Then his eyes filled, his voice catching as he choked out,I’m gonna miss you,followed by the most gut-wrenching sob. It took my heart and ripped it clean out of my chest, right before he folded over the casket, hiding his face in his arms.
Jesus.
That was hard.
I put my hand on his shoulder, unsure of what to do. I didn’t want to draw attention to it by pulling him into a hug in front of everyone. He’s almost a teenager. Crying like that in public can be humiliating at that age. Hell, it’s hard even as an adult.
But I didn’t want him to feel alone. I wanted him to know I was there.
I tried to think about what I would have needed as a twelve-year-old boy in that moment, but I came up empty. Because I wouldn’t have cried at my dad’s funeral. I didn’t even know him. Love isn’t a word I would have used toward him, and I definitely wouldn’t have missed him. It’s hard to miss someone you don’t really know.
And when I was old enough to finally know him, the man who sat at the center of his black soul…
