Page 11

The thought hits hard enough that I stop breathing for a second.

Our wedding.

Raven spent half the morning fixing things that didn't need fixing. My collar. My cuffs. The straps on her sundress that she said wouldn’t sit quite right.

She was nervous. Not because she was having second thoughts. Because even though we’d eloped in front of a justice of the peace instead of throwing some big church wedding, she wanted everything to be perfect.

"I hate these things."

"You know I can hear you, right?"

I glance up and find Raven leaning against the bedroom doorway. Her hair is still damp from her shower, blonde curls clinging to her shoulders. She's smiling—that teasing smile that always tells me she already knows exactly what's wrong before I say a word.

"I've been fighting with this thing for five minutes."

"I can tell."

She crosses the room, gently nudging my hands away before taking over. "Honestly, Samuel."

"I've been tying ties longer than you've been alive."

"And yet..." She gives the knot a practiced tug before smoothing it flat against my collar. "Here we are."

"You're awfully smug for someone who's supposed to be helping."

"I am helping," she murmurs, never taking her eyes off the knot, even as I slide an arm around her waist and brush a kiss against her jaw.

"This feels a lot more like judging."

"There." A laugh slips from her lips as she smooths the front of my shirt one last time. Then she steps back, looking me over with quiet satisfaction. "Much better."

I look down at the perfectly straight tie, then back at her.

"I could've done that."

"Mmhmm."

"Liar."

She laughs, the sound filling the room so completely it makes me grin before I can stop myself.

God, I loved that laugh.

It had a way of chasing the silence out of every place we went. The cabin. The clubhouse. The back of my bike. It didn't matter where we were. If Raven was laughing, I could find her without even looking.

The knot blurs.

For a second, I don't understand why. Then my vision burns, and I realize tears are gathering faster than I can blink them away.

I turn from the mirror and stare at the closed bathroom door, trying to get my bearings. The cottage feels different now. Smaller. Not because anything has changed, but because every room is filled with her absence.

A lifetime wasn't supposed to end this quickly.

We were supposed to get gray hair and bad knees. We were supposed to spend decades arguing over which one of us actually controlled the remote. She was supposed to be standing ten feet away in the kitchen, laughing while we cooked dinner together.

I sink onto the closed toilet lid because suddenly my legs don't feel steady enough to hold me. For days, there’s constantly been something that needed to be done. Somebody who needed an answer, paperwork to sign, calls to make, and arrangements to handle. As long as I kept moving, I didn't have to look too closely at what was waiting.

Now there's nowhere left to look except straight at it.