I find them easily—second row from the back, near the cluster of trees. I crouch between the graves, brushing off a few dried leaves clinging to the base of the headstones. The wind picks up again, threading through the branches above, and for a second, I swear I hear Braden laughing.
"Hey, brother," I breathe out, sinking down with my back to the headstone. The seal on the tequila cracks beneath my thumb, the sound sharp in the stillness. "I’d have come by sooner, but..." I trail off with a shrug, pouring a capful and tipping it out over the grass, letting it soak into the soil. One for him. I raise the bottle and take a long swig, the burn settling deep in my chest.
"You know," I mutter, wiping my mouth on my sleeve, "your sister’s been a real handful."
The wind picks up, tugging at my jacket, and I screw the cap back on, setting the bottle down beside me. I blow out a breath, staring ahead at nothing for a long moment before I climb to my feet, my legs unsteady. I dust myself off, rubbing the damp from my palms against my jeans.
That’s when I see it. A white rose tied to the top of Braden’s headstone with a thin ribbon, and some kind of note taped beneath it. The kind of tape that leaves residue behind. I shake my head, muttering, “Who the hell uses scotch tape on a headstone?”
Still, I reach for it. The petals are fresh, the ribbon soft, the note carefully folded. I peel it away, frowning as I open it.
"It shouldn't have been you. I'm sorry. Forgive me? I forgive you xox"
My heart knocks hard against my ribs. The words are sharp, abrupt—like a punch. I let the note slip from my fingers, fluttering to the grass.
I brace a hand against the stone, grounding myself, jaw clenched against the weight of everything I’ve kept buried.
"Truth is, brother... everything’s gone to shit without you." The lump rising in my throat makes it hard to breathe, let alone talk. "The band’s falling apart. I’m no leader. I was the guy who kicked ass, not the one handing out orders. It doesn't feel right."
I unscrew the bottle again and pour another capful, letting it soak into the ground like the first. "Sam’s pulling away,” I say quietly. “Really dialed in on the fitness thing now—like it’s all he’s got. And Chace” I pause, dragging a hand through my hair. “I don’t even know who he really is lately. I know you two had your moments, but there was respect. With me? It’s like he’s here out of obligation. Like he’s punching a clock.” I shift my weight. The silence settling heavy around me. “And Trey—well…Trey’s still Trey.” A small smile tugs at my mouth. “Managed to get himself into some real kind of mess in Portland. You’d probably laugh your ass off.”
The silence feels heavier now. The wind carries the scent of disturbed soil and rot, and for a second, I close my eyes.
"I don’t know if you’d be pissed about your sister and me," I say quietly. "But I swear to you, all I want is for her to be happy. We were...briefly. And it felt right, man. It was…It was like we were where we were meant to be." I pause, swallow hard. "I fucking love her. So much it hurts to breathe when she’s not around."
A dry laugh escapes me, bitter and broken. "She nearly died, too. Like some old fucking family curse with cars… And now? Now she doesn’t remember me—not who I am now. Just who I used to be. I can’t blame her. Hell, sometimes I don’t recognize myself either."
The bottle shakes slightly in my hand as I take another swig.
"I could really use your advice, Hermano," I whisper, voice raw. "Even if it came with a fist to the face... I'd take it. I'd take anything if it meant knowing what the Hell I’m supposed to do next."
I glance around at the flowers scattered across the grass—Burnt Ashes CD cases tucked carefully among the stems, faded teddy bears softened by time and weather. The sight hits me square in the chest. People still come. People still remember.
Kneeling, I brush some leaves away from the base of the stone.
“I promise I’ll look after your sister with my life,” I whisper. “I’ll spend every breath I have making her happy. Give her the life she deserves. She’ll want for nothing, Braden. That’s my vow to you.”
My voice cracks at the end, but I don’t bother hiding it.
I place a hand on the stone—cool and rough beneath my fingers—and hold it there for a beat before tapping it twice.
“Send my love to your family.”
Then I stand, throat tight, and walk away.
I sink into the driver's seat, the Charger groaning beneath my weight as the door thuds shut beside me. The air inside is still, warm from the sun but carrying a lingering chill that clings to me like the cemetery dirt caked to my boots.
For a moment, I just sit.
The engine’s off. The world’s quiet. The only sound is my own breath and the faint rustle of leaves dragging across the windshield.
I can still smell the soil—damp, raw, and unsettled—on my jacket. Still feel the way the wind curled its cold fingers down the back of my neck as I stood at Braden’s headstone. I left him a shot of tequila. My words. My promise. But it doesn’t feel enough.
I glance out at the rearview mirror. The cemetery gates sit quiet in the distance, blurred by the sun-streaked glass. Gravel crunches somewhere as the groundskeeper’s excavator lumbers by, its yellow paint dulled by time and rust, like the whole place is slowly being reclaimed by the earth.
“I’ll bring her to you soon,” I say softly, like Braden’s still listening. “When she’s ready.”
The silence answers me, but it’s not empty. It’s full of memories—of him, of her, of everything we lost. I press my palms to the steering wheel, grounding myself.
