I’m quickly entering the angry stage of grief.
I’m angry at her for leaving me. I’m angry that I have to go through this ordeal with my asshole stepbrother. I’m angry at the cruel unfairness of life. I’m just fuckingangry.
The only thing Dayton and I are in agreement on is that neither of us wants to talk directly to each other. We talk to the director like the other person isn’t even in the room. Dayton speaks with an air of authority, like this is morehisfather’s funeral than it is my mother’s. Aside from the rare moment of tenderness when he called me and told me about the plane crash that had taken my mother’s life, he’s been as cold as ice.
When I rushed into Isaac Moore’s office ten minutes past our appointment time, Dayton was already scowling. I wasn’t surprised that his clothes matched the color of his soul—all black.
What I wasn’t expecting to see was the barrel chest and broad shoulders. Even under the expensive button-down shirt, I can see the swell of his biceps. He’s been six foot five since he was seventeen, but his presence was never this overwhelming. The boy who bullied me in high school has turned into one hundred percent man.
A man who gets his money’s worth from his gym membership.
The gorgeous amber eyes are wasted on him. They’re the kind of eyes that look like they can inspect what’s deeper than surface level, like he’s able to see under my skin, down to my bones. He’s so pale that I’m convinced he has a vitamin D deficiency. The blue veins in his forearm are what blood-drive nurses fantasize about.
Looking like a vampire suits him. I wouldn’t be shocked if he was hiding fangs under the too-full lips he always hated. The surfer-boy hair he grew out, growing up in Coconut Beach, has been cut short. Too short. It’s all shiny and smooth and almost as dark as his shirt.
Only a psychopath would wear black dress pants and a long-sleeved button-down on a tropical island.
Coconut Beach is casual. Flip-flops are the most common footwear.
My honey-brown hair is wavy and messy, just how I like it.
Dayton’s eyes graze over me like he’s taking note of every flaw, every sun spot, every hair that’s out of place. His jaw tics with clear disapproval. We couldn’t be more opposite if we tried.
I’m wearing a loose sundress. It’s yellow—my favorite color.All my fingers have at least one gold ring on them, and I recently got a pink seashell tattoo on my forearm. I’m sure he thinks I’m a slob compared to his pristine, spotless clothes and militant stance.
I’m Summer, and he’s Satan.
Mr. Moore has on khaki pants and a purple plumeria button-down shirt with short sleeves. He has kind eyes and looks like he’s done this kind of thing more than once.
After twenty minutes of Dayton and me bickering, he separates us and goes between each room, like a mediator in a divorce settlement. I don’t let myself cry until after he leads Dayton out of the room. Showing any weakness to the devil is a suicide mission.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to have a separate service for your mother? There’s nothing that says we have to do them together. You could have it the way that you want.” Mr. Moore purses his lips, scraping his pen over the white notebook paper.
The thought of starting over from scratch fills me with dread. I’d have to attend not just one, but two services.
I slowly shake my head. “She wanted to be buried with him. I’m sure she’d want the funeral to be together too.”
It’s not that I didn’t like Russell. He treated my mother well, and she was madly in love with him. When my father had died, she was a shell of her former self until she met my stepdad. He brought her back to life, she used to say.
Tears spill down my cheeks again. Knowing she wouldn’t want the services to be separate, I won’t allow Satan to make me cower down and give in to him. I’m not the new girl at school anymore. I’m a grown-ass woman, and he doesn’t scare me like he used to.
The visitation happens two days later. Mr. Moore greets me at the door to the Sunrise Chapel. By some miracle, I’m not late.
The long dress I’m wearing is a dark floral hibiscus pattern. It has little swatches of pink and yellow throughout it. Mom would have definitely approved. They were her favorite flower.
Dayton is already there, of course. He’s the only one wearing a full black suit today and probably tomorrow for the ceremony.
He’s shaved since the last time I saw him. His cut jawline and thick eyebrows give him an intimidating look. Again, he looks me over like I’m a bug on his windshield.
“I’ll have you stand here next to your brother, dear.”
“Stepbrother,” I correct Mr. Moore.
“Of course, of course.” He smiles softly before walking back to the door to greet guests.
I didn’t want to stand near the caskets to talk to people coming in. Dayton disagreed, so he’s supposed to be over there instead of beside me. He doesn’t move.
“When are you flying back to New York?” I ask.
