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This resting place was a popular local attraction for its carefully designed gardens and massive monuments, so a scattering of people milled about despite the cold. To him, the statues that so many found mysterious and beautiful were nothing more than elaborate wishes made by skilled artist hands. Permanent displays of yearning for something more beyond this world.
Ian had brought him here once for a walking tour and the younger man had run his hands along the flowing lines of a girl leaning on a sarcophagus, talking about people making beauty out of the devastation that was death. Snow had loved that day because for a time, Ian had made him see it; made him look beyond grieving maidens and weeping angels, and wonder if there could be something more. Because he didn’t believe there was. He believed in this life, in doing everything he could to make this one last for anyone lucky enough to be alive.
Grief and pain had become interchangeable to Snow the last few days since the accident, a black mass of writhing, spiked torture that suffocated him and bored huge holes into what was left of his heart. Flashes of Melissa passed through his mind, so many memories—especially those of how she’d transformed Rowe. Snow couldn’t imagine the absolute hell of what Rowe was feeling.
But the woman herself had left a loss within him. Knowing he’d never hear her foul-mouthed, sharp wit in play again broke his heart. She had wanted a gathering of friends and family to celebrate her life instead of a service, but Lucas had called this morning to say that Rowe planned to put his wife into the ground alone today.
Fuck that.
Snow wasn’t sure Rowe even wanted him there. The guilt that he hadn’t been at the hospital ate at him until he felt like he’d fade into the gray of the overcast day. Become invisible. He’d tried calling Rowe and had driven to his home, but hadn’t been able to talk to him.
He parked behind a medical transport van with an unfamiliar man sitting at the wheel. A hearse and another black sedan were parked in front. Snow’s breath fogged the air as he walked to join his friends, his footsteps crunching through the two inches of snow that had fallen the night before, coating the world in a sparkling white blanket. Lucas and Andrei stood behind Rowe. Ian was bundled in a wheelchair, his full-leg cast propped up on a pillowed extension.
Looming in front of them on a bed of bright faux grass was a pale, honey wood coffin with gleaming golden handles. The top was covered in an elaborate spread of bright, colorful flowers as if summer itself was bursting up from the wood. Everything about the coffin was warm and gentle, and yet just the sight of it resting there in front of them was suffocating. It was so out of place against the covering of snow and dead trees.
Another tarp of faux grass was thrown over the nearby mound of dirt. It was a testament to how mild the winter had been that the grounds crew had been able to dig a hole in the first place. Snow wanted to just keep his eyes on the garish green, hating its plastic fakeness, but his eyes kept going back to the box. His heart thudded painfully in his chest and his stomach churned. Melissa was in that damn box. The woman, who couldn’t and wouldn’t stop for anything or anyone…well, she paused long enough to snatch up Rowe, was suddenly gone and just the thought made it fucking hard to breathe.
Lucas turned to look at Snow and held out his hand, eyes so sad, Snow choked on the lump of despair in his throat. When Lucas’s eyes narrowed on Snow’s collarbone, he knew he hadn’t done well enough covering the new bruise that now went with the one still healing on his jaw. Rowe packed a hell of a punch. He adjusted his scarf, unable to meet Lucas’s gaze this time. Lucas still held out his hand, so Snow threaded his fingers with his friend’s, nodded a hello to Andrei, who looked just as devastated as Rowe. Snow remembered then that Lucas had told him Andrei and Melissa had been close. There were a lot of people who would be here for Melissa. What was Rowe thinking?
He tightened his fingers on Lucas’s, knowing that Lucas took as much comfort from Snow as he gave.
The young chef didn’t look well at all. He shivered under the thick blanket—the black color making his pale face and red cheeks more prominent. The tips of his uncovered ears were bright red. A bruise darkened the side of his face and a cast wrapped his leg from the thigh down. He shouldn’t have even been here, but Snow understood why he was. Rowe needed them, no matter what he thought. Snow let go of Lucas, pulled a dark navy beanie out of his coat pocket and pulled it over Ian’s head. The younger man tried to smile up at him, but the gesture faded too fast to be anything more than a grimace.
