Page 35 of The Dearly Departed

" ‘If you ever try to find me again, I'll break into your house and drown your fucking cat.’ "

The shop was nearly empty, as usual. But the kid behind the counter and the one patron waiting for his order both turned their attention toward us, expressions of alarm on both their faces.

Try living with him, I thought with a gruff chuckle as I continued to smirk at Shawn.

"Poets could learn a thing or two from that level of romanticism," I added, feeling rather smug.

"Okay," he murmured with a sigh as we took our place in the short line. "So, he's not the best example."

"Oh, you think?"

"But you're not like him—"

"No," I interrupted. "Maybe I'm worse."

Shawn's brow crumpled at that as he looked up at me. He wasn't a short guy by any means—maybe six-one, six-two—but I was taller. Always had been.

"What? How the hell could you—"

"We're all fucked up, right? The three of us."

He dropped his gaze, curling inwardly around the damaged fragments of his soul, then nodded.

"You crave that shit—being in a relationship, being with someone," I continued. "You need to feel like you're worth something more than being a quick—"

"Okay, Bram," he grumbled, his feelings clearly wounded. "You don't need to dissect every fucking piece of my psyche. I get it."

Relenting, I moved on. "And Isaac … that little shit needs control. He needs to treat someone like an object. He's sadistic. Honestly, he should be locked up somewhere and—"

The other customer in the place was done, and as he turned to leave the shop, he shot us a wary glance before hurrying toward the door.

The kid behind the counter seemed to hesitate before saying, "You guys are here to pick up, right?"

I nodded, stepping forward and laying my hands against the counter. "Yeah, Leonard said he already paid."

The kid nodded, rapping his knuckles against the beige Formica. "Yep. Just give me a second."

He walked away to rifle through a stack of boxes against the back wall, and when I knew his attention was elsewhere, I looked back at Shawn.

"And I feel like I need nothing," I said, holding my voice low. “I feel … nothing.”

"You have to feel something," he argued incredulously. "In fact, I know you do. You care about me, right? And you care about Ike and Leonard—"

"And yet, if I walked away from all of you, I don't think I'd feel a fucking thing. No, you know what? I’d be relieved," I admitted, and Shawn's lips clamped shut as he turned away from my harsh glare. "I’m not saying I’d leave," I added. "I don't want to. But if I did, it wouldn't tear me apart. I’d move on and be okay."

"That's …" Shawn shook his head, blowing out a long breath, as if he hadn't expected me to say that at all. As if he hadn't known me for the last twenty years. "That's really fucking sad, Abraham."

I shrugged and crossed my arms over my chest, pinning my gaze on a wall clock, watching as the hands ticked away the seconds until the kid returned with the package Leonard had sent us for.

"You wanna check them out? Make sure everything looks good?"

I did, so I lifted the lid on the box and quickly roamed my eyes over the funeral programs and laminated prayer cards. Everything looked good, and I looked up to give him an affirming nod.

He smiled gratefully. "Have a good day, guys."

"Thanks a lot," Shawn said before we both turned in unison, heading toward the door and out into the rain.

Once we were back in the truck, I turned the music on and cranked it up before driving back onto the slick street, shiny beneath a single ray of sunshine, which impaled the cover of blackened clouds.