Brothers I bled with.
And then.
Her.
Everything in me stills.
Sophia stands near the front, dressed in black, holding herself together by sheer force of will. Even from here, I can see the tremor in her hands and the uneven rise and fall of her chest.The way she keeps her chin up, even as everything underneath it is breaking.
God, she’s strong.
Stronger than she knows.
And I did this to her.
Not the fire, the bullets, Clemente, Lawrence, or any of it.
Me.
This pain is mine.
My hands curl into fists against my thighs.
Every instinct pulls toward her to get out, close the distance, tell her the truth, tell her I’m right here, and tell her I’m coming back.
But I don’t move.
I can’t.
My eyes find her without deciding to.
My mother.
Farther back in the crowd, barely standing, she’s clinging to Tate like letting go would shatter her completely. Never have I ever seen her like that. She’s always been the one holding everyone else together, and now she’s the one coming apart.
Because of me.
Tate leans down, says something low near her ear, and steadies her with a hand at her back. He holds her up the way he always has, quietly, without making a show of it and carrying the weight without being asked.
Carryingmy weight.
As if he feels something shift, Tate helps her to a seat, his hand lingering on her shoulder just long enough to make sure she won’t fall. Then he turns.
Back to Sophia.
His arm wraps around her shoulders and pulls her in as she sways on her feet, grounding her, anchoring her to something solid when everything else has given way.
She clings to him.
Pride and pain twist together in my chest until I can’t tell them apart.
Because I trust him with my life. With her life. I asked him to look after her, and he’s doing exactly that, standing in the space I left, holding the people I love together.
But God, it should be me standing there.
It should be me.
The service starts, low voices carrying words about the man they think they’re burying, but it all fades to nothing. None of it reaches me.
