Before Beau can crumble to his knees, I carefully catch him, lowering us softly to the ground as I bear his weight. Painful,gut-wrenching sobs tremble and shake through his burly frame. All I can do is hold him. Tears well in my own eyes and a few even dare to fall. But I ignore them. Because this isn’t about me, it can’t be about me, it’s about him. I gently sway Beau in my arms, rocking him back and forth until his sobs slowly quiet to hiccuping cries.
I can’t say how long we sat there in the middle of his living room. Could be minutes, could be hours. All I know is that by the time I’ve got him showered, back in bed, and I’m curled around his sleeping body… I know I’m in deep, deep trouble when it comes to Beau Callahan.
CHAPTER NINE
BEAU
The memorial service takes place on an unfairly beautiful October day. Not one cloud smudges the large expanse of blue sky. A gentle breeze blows over the farm, carrying the fresh scent of the citrus groves from deeper on the property. My father would’ve loved the day. He would’ve smiled, tipped his head to the sky, and saidno rain today, son.
Sometimes I miss him so deeply my heart aches with it. I’ll never hug him again. Never feel his large palm slapping my back after a job well done. I’ll never pick blueberries off the bush and eat them from the palm of his hand like I did as a child. So many memories now only in my mind. My memories of him are now just a perfect time capsule.
Easily five hundred people dot the property. Just for the memorial alone.
To say I’m overwhelmed would be a gross understatement.
I grip Trevor’s hand tightly as we join my family at the front. Rows and rows of chairs are full, and at least two hundred people stand at the back. Workers with their hats off, held to their chest in respect. It’s easy to forget how loved my family is, howingrained in the community we are. But moments like this when everyone rallies around us, the reminder is bittersweet.
Colby joins us in the front row, along with his parents, and on the other side of me, my mother grips Uncle Patrick’s hand like a lifeline.
I keep a firm hold on Trevor’s hand, afraid if I let go, I’ll fall apart. His hand is a steadying weight as he tries to carry some of the emotional baggage of the day. Trevor’s smile is tremulous as he aims it at me, but I’m grateful for it all the same. Thankful for him. Just his presence beside me brings me stark relief.
The service doesn’t last long thankfully because I’m not sure I could withstand too much. A local pastor speaks fondly about my father’s life, and I fight back tears the entire time. When it’s my turn to get up, to stay a few words, I can’t. I’m frozen to the spot. Andy looks at me in confusion, but I can’t physically move. For the first time in my life, my body won’t let me stand.
Colby squeezes my shoulder hard as he stands, then heads towards the makeshift stage. He says a few words of thanks that filter in and out of my brain without absorbing them. The service is over in what feels like the matter of minutes.
Trevor attaches himself to me, holding me up when my knees feel too weak to bear my weight. A good old southern meal follows the service, under the open barn reserved for special events. Andy’s wedding had just been here months ago. Now the place is sullied by the loss of my father.
I don’t remember eating, but I assume I do because Trevor takes a plate from me with a tender smile. His hand is warm in mine, keeping me rooted to the earth when I so badly want to float away. To disappear. Just see my dad one more fucking time.
The hundreds of people slowly trickle out until just close family is left. Unable to not stay busy, to not do something, Istart to clean up, but Trevor’s hand comes down hard on my arm.
Trevor’s eyes are sharp as he squeezes my forearm. “Don’t.”
I squeeze my eyes tightly shut to blot out the day, to just forget everything.
Colby joins us with an understanding look. “Why don’t you both go home, it’s been a long day.”
The walk to the car is silent. Tension radiates off me in painful waves, tightening my jaw, pulsing in my veins. Once we’re alone it eases, as if Trevor’s presence alone is enough to calm the terribleness of the day. Maybe it is.
Closure doesn’t feel as good as I expected. On the way back home, our fingers stay interlocked, the heat of Trevor’s skin blending into me. Every now and then he rubs his thumb across my knuckles, sending little sparks dancing along my skin. His touch is a comfort like a warm blanket, fresh out of the dryer. An inexplicably simple thing but it carries such taut relief. Sadness a tidal wave over me, grief the ugly destruction in its wake, but having Trevor eases the ache, making it somehow easier to withstand.
This man made one of the worst days of my life bearable.
Everything with him is real.
Nothing about Trevor feels remotely fake. Not anymore.
“Trevor,” I whisper into the pitch black when we park in front of the house.
“Yeah?”
“I want you.”
His smile is blinding, although it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve got me.”
“No, you don’t get it. Iwantyou.”
Disappointment floods Trevor’s face. “Oh.”
