For someone whose son just died, she doesn’t look all that sad…
I immediately scold myself, Mom’s voice echoing in my head:It’s not up to you to dictate how a person grieves.
She’s probably in shock. I don’t know how I’d react if my child died.
Brock’s mom seems a little taken aback to see me.
“You… came, Jennifer.” She frowns.
“Of course.” I grab her hand. “I know Brock and I didn’t leave off on the best of terms, but I wanted to come pay my respects.”
“I see.” She pulls her hand away. “He’s—” She motions to the casket flanked by flowers. “He’s there.”
My phone buzzes. I check it in case it’s Nathan telling me he’s changed his mind and is on his way.
It’s not.
Hannah:Ask for the probate lawyer’s contact info so you can get back the money Brock stole.
Jenna:I can’t do that to his mom at her son’s funeral.
Hannah:Fuck him and his mom. She gave you pre-loved lingerie after making you spend all that money on gifts for Brock’s whole family.
Hannah:Did his granny make those wedding cookies? Bring some back for me. *drooling face emoji*
One of Brock’s sisters has discovered my handsome billionaire client and is flirting heavily with him.
“Geez,” I mumble. “I mean, really trying not to judge here, but trying to pick up a guy at your own brother’s funeral is achoice.”
McCarthy sees me watching. Not breaking eye contact, he leans down to whisper something in the pretty redhead’s ear.
Fake redhead. I know that color. I’veboughtthat color.
Setting my bag down in a folding chair, I stand in front of the casket.
One of Brock’s cohosts for his YouTube show sees me and nods. He almost looks elated to see me.
Weird.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I say softly.
He nods. “Yeah, it was a shock.” He nods again, tapping his camera. He can’t seriously be filming his best friend’s corpse for YouTube content, can he?
I’m going to say what I have to say, then I am having a glass of wine. McCarthy can just sit on the steps while I sober up enough to drive.
I force myself to take a step then another step…
Then I’m at the coffin.
I squeeze my eyes shut. More tears leak out.
I look down at Brock.
He’s pale. His face is coated with makeup from the funeral parlor. I suppose they were trying to make him look alive.
“You…”
My eyes search his closed ones.
