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“Actually, this was for me.” At least, I thought it was. But this isn’t where I’m meant to be. “I thought we should face our fears together. Especially since we’re both leaving soon. Then we can officially start over, without our fears following us.

“But I’m not afraid. In truth, I’m angry.” I press my clenched fists into my thighs, allowing the surge of heat to tighten my muscles. In place of my brother taking his last breath, I see the black, vacant eyes of my father from the last time we spoke. “That man took everything away from me the night of this fire, and there’s nothing I can do about it. He’s dead, and so are they.”

I hate the man who gave me life and the curse of his rage. So determined to control me, he made sure I’d never escape him.

“They shouldn’t have been in the house.” My voice is low and steady. “This shouldn’t have happened to them. I keep hearing their screams over and over again. Reminding me I couldn’t save them.”

“It’s not your fault,” Emma says, trying to console me. “You didn’t do this to them. Maybe that’s what you have to do. Forgive yourself.”

“Forgive myself.” Is that what this is all about? Forgiveness? That’s definitely not here.

I blow out a breath and shake off the tension in my muscles. “I bet you’re wishing you hadn’t skipped school right about now, huh?” I offer a semblance of a smile. “Let’s get out of here and do something much more interesting. My fear doesn’t exist here.”

I face Emma and search her brown eyes. “Okay, Emma. What are you afraid of?”

“Oh no.” She says adamantly with a shake of her head. “We don’t need to conquer my fear today. I’m sure there’s another way to spend our day.”

I wait her out. I know she wants to sleep again as much as I do. And if anyone deserves a future free from her fears, it’s Emma.

“Fine. I’m afraid of heights.”

Bullshit. But there’s only one place to prove it.

The house is filled with strangers. This isn’t new. We’ve hosted many events throughout the years. But this is the first funeral.

I seek out Jonathan no matter where I am. Watching him receive pats on the shoulder, awkward hugs and words of condolence. His hands are still healing, and it’s been challenging for him to do much of anything he usually does when he needs to release his emotions. I’ve been beside him the entire day, up until we returned to the house after the burial.

My throat is raw. My voice scratchy and strained. From the crying. Greeting guests. But mostly the crying. My mother thinks I need more time to heal. That we both do. She wanted to delay the funeral until after the new year. But Jonathan needed it over with as quickly as possible.

Seeing three caskets at the front of the church this morning was… I don’t know how he did it. How he sat there and listened to the words. Spoke in front of everyone. I don’t know how he stood. I could barely stay upright, and they weren’t my family.

I held on to the crook of his arm the entire day. In the car. During the service. At the cemetery. My hand feels empty now.

“Did you get the plates from the closet?” my mother asks me.

“Huh?”

“The plates. I asked you to get them.”

“Um.” I turn toward the hall, having forgotten. Honestly, I don’t remember when she asked me. That seems to be happening more and more lately, losing gaps of time. Lost to thoughts, memories, nightmares, the overwhelming swell of emotions.

My mother sets a hand on my elbow. “It’s okay, sweetie. I’ll get them. Why don’t you check on Jonathan?”

That seems to be the only thing I can do.

“Sadie?”

I’m interrupted just steps away. I can feel the pull between us. The need to get just that much closer, to touch him. Jonathan turns his head to find me, like he can feel it too. He looks so lost. I smile softly, and he does the same.

“Yes?” I say to the tall man keeping me from Jonathan.

“I’m Ross Milligan. Coach Milligan.” He says this as if I should recognize him. “I’m, um, was Ryan’s basketball coach.”

I nod, his face taking shape as familiar. From blurry to in focus. “Thank you for coming, Coach Milligan. Ryan lived for basketball.” I cringe at my words. My whole body shudders at the realization that it’s no longer true. I blink back the tears. “Sorry.”

He moves to set his hand on my shoulder, and before I can move away from his touch, Jonathan is there, reaching for the coach’s hand and shaking it with his bandaged one—taking the pain himself. “Coach. Hi. Thanks for being here.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt you,” he says to Jonathan, releasing his hand quickly. “I was about to tell Sadie that the boys have asked to honor Ryan at this Saturday’s game. To recognize him by hanging his jersey, along with a moment of silence.”