And we will leave.
“It’s time to go, son.” Dad’s voice fills the space as he stands beside me, holding a large umbrella over his head.
He’s the reason Mom and I were able to attend the funeral. She came a bit late because Dad needed to arrange her access, but she’s clutching my arm now, holding an umbrella over us.
The three of us stand still, watching the pouring rain wet the ground Preston was buried in, Mom sniffling softly while pressing a tissue to her nose.
Miley isn’t the only one who cried. Mom hasn’t stopped crying since she heard the news. She’s been hugging me all the time, begging me to get some sleep.
But I can’t.
Every place reminds me of him. My bike, my rink, my workplace. My kitchen. My shower.
My bed.
Especially my bed.
And it’s empty now.
All cold and just not full of him.
The moment I close my eyes, I see him unconscious, his mouth bubbling with blood as he was bleeding in my arms.
I hear him mumble something, but I can’t make out the words.
I feel him wrapping his arms around me, but then I openmy eyes, and the pressure is gone, substituted with crashing emptiness and the lack of him.
So no, I can’t sleep.
“Do you need a moment alone with him?” Mom asks, her tone soft and brittle.
“No,” I say, my voice as numb as my insides.
“You need to grieve properly, sweetie. You can’t just hold it in.”
I make an affirmative sound but say nothing.
“Let’s go home so you can at least sleep, okay?” She pulls on my jacket.
“You go, Mom. I need to talk to Dad.”
She pauses and casts a suspicious look between us. “Talk to him about what?”
“Something.” I force a smile. “Won’t be long.”
“I don’t like the way you’re bottling your emotions, Marcus.” She faces me. “Preston wouldn’t like it either.”
“Then he shouldn’t have fucking left!” I snap, then purse my lips. “I’m sorry, Mom. I just…need a word with Dad, okay?”
Her brow furrows, but she nods. “We’ll be having dinner together, okay?”
I say nothing.
“Okay?”
“Fine.”
“And you.” She glares at Dad. “Don’t try anything funny, or I will?—”
