Page 164 of A Dangerous Kind of Love

“I know,” he says, wrapping his arms around me and holding me there.

“All of these people are going to be there,” I continue, my voice shaking. “They’re going to want to talk to me, tell me how sorry they are, and I don’t know how to respond to that. I can’t do it.”

“Then you won’t.”

I pull back, searching his face.

“You don’t have to sit up there and act like you’ve got it together,” he says. “You don’t owe anyone that. You can be sad. You can be angry. You can be whatever the fuck you feel. This isn’t about them.”

Tears rise, blurring my vision.

“Thank you.”

Sarah’s already in the front of the SUV when Michael and I get in the back. She reaches her hand back, and I grab it for a second.

“Do you want the partition up?” Luca asks.

I shake my head. He nods and pulls out of the circular drive. None of us talk, but it’s not uncomfortable. It gives me time to catch my breath before I have to face whoever shows up today.

We arrive before everyone else. I haven’t seen her yet. We didn’t even have a showing because I couldn’t do it, but Gerald insisted that we come early. He said it’s better if I see her before everyone else. That it will be easier. I’m not sure how any of this could be considered easy.

The moment I see the casket, everything inside me locks. The funeral home is too quiet, the air carrying that sterile scent that clings to the back of my throat, and it makes every breath feel wrong. I stop just inside the doorway, my heel catching against the carpet as my body refuses to take another step.

Michael’s hand presses to the center of my back.

“Doll, just breathe.”

I try. I push air out, feel it leave me in, but when I pull another breath in, it comes too fast, catching halfway. My chest tightens instead of easing. Tears blur my vision, the shape of the casket at the front of the room going hazy, unreal, and somehow worse because of it.

“I can’t,” I whisper, shaking my head, my fingers grabbing at the fabric of his jacket. “I can’t do this.”

“Shh.” His voice lowers, close to my ear. He turns into me, pulling me fully against him. One arm wraps tightly around my back while his other hand comes up to cradle the back of my head, guiding me into his chest. “I got you.”

I press my face into him, breathing him in, but it doesn’t stop the panic from pushing through.

“Michael, I don’t want to do this.” The words break as they come out uneven. My grip tightens, fists bunching his shirt. “That’s not her. That’s not my mom up there.”

My throat closes around the last word, but I force it out anyway.

His hand moves from the crown of my head, fingers sliding through my hair before traveling down my back in long passes, over and over. His other arm tightens around me, pulling me closer until I can feel the thud of his heartbeat under my cheek. It gives me something to focus on. I try to match it.

“You get to decide what you want to do,” he says quietly.

I pull back just enough to look at him, my hands still gripping his shirt. My breathing is uneven and my eyes are burning. His gaze is fixed on mine, his jaw set like he’s holding himself together for me.

“Walk me up there.”

“Of course.”

His arm slides around my shoulders, drawing me into his side, and I wrap mine around his waist, holding on tight.

The room feels too large now, the distance stretching out in front of us. Every step is harder than the last as the casket comes closer into focus. The polished wood catches the dim light. It feels wrong. It’s like it’s trying to be beautiful when it shouldn’t be.

My grip on him tightens. He shifts with me. He matches my pace and lets me set it without saying a word. We stop a few yards from the front. I can’t look at it. I can feel it there, right in front of me, pulling at my attention, but I keep my eyes locked on the floor.

“Do you want me to stay here?” he asks quietly.

My head jerks up, panic flaring at the thought of him letting go.