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The back of my eyelids burn; a choking sound slipping from me before I can stop it and I begin to retreat.
He steps toward me, but suddenly Arsen is on his right, Beretta slowly appearing at his left. They don’t face me, but instead towards their friend, and when their hands fall on his shoulders, he slumps where he stands.
I quickly step around them, but as I get a few houses down, speed walking is no longer working, so I pull my heels from my feet and throw them in the grass. Barefoot, I run as fast as my body is able, as far as I can go without stopping.
I run for miles, walk for more, and when a car horn blares in my ears, I jolt, blinking for what feels like the first time.
I glance around, finding I’m standing in the middle of the street.
The car pulls up, and the woman inside asks if I’m okay, so I nod and make my way to the sidewalk, where two wrought-iron gates are pushed open, flowers lining the edges and a stone wall is stretching several hundred feet on both sides.
I look across the cream-colored wall, reading the big, bold letters along it.
Pacific View Memorial Park.
I have no idea how long I stand outside the gate staring, barefoot, but suddenly, my sister is beside me, her hand slipping into mine.
She doesn’t speak, and I don’t look at her, but together, we make our way through the entrance.
She leads me through a garden, around a water fountain, into a short iron gate, mimicking the one on the outside, and suddenly, I’m staring into my father’s hazel eyes.
My vision grows foggy, but I don’t blink, and then Monti lets go of me. Once she does, she folds my fist closed, and I know what she’s left inside.
The key.
My father’s headstone is one to be admired.
It’s four feet tall and diamond-shaped, the photo in the center one of him holding me in his right hand, Monti in the left.
At the bottom of the design, there is the large stone box that this key and this key alone can unlock. Engraved along the top are the words free thyself today, love thyself tomorrow.
There’s a peace dove carrying a sword beneath it to symbolize the end of war.
My father’s war came from within, and one day, it took over. He brought his battle to an end the only way he knew how.
And I’ve spent my entire life hating him for it, judging something I didn’t fully understand because it was easier than believing I wasn’t enough to keep him here.
I know now it was never about me or my sister, it was never really even about my mom.
It was about him, and I can’t fault him for that.
I don’t want to.
I want to miss him, but I don’t know how.
And I want to love.
I want to feel.
I want Ransom.
I can’t stop it, everything inside me shatters.
My dad, my friend, my future, all gone.
Sobs rack through me at an unyielding pace, shaking my body and stealing my breath. Tears heat my cheeks and when my sister pulls me into her, I don’t fight it.
I hug her to me.
But that’s not what shocks me.
It’s when my mother’s hand suddenly appears on my shoulder, and I look up to find moisture building in her eyes, our stepdad standing at her side.
She lowers to the grass, white pants and all, and both Monti and I freeze.
But only for a moment, and then we fall into her arms.
It’s after three in the morning when there’s a knock on my bedroom door, but I ignore it, listening to the waves in the distance, the cold air coming through my open bay doors, bringing goose bumps to my skin.
I look over my shoulder as it opens to find my mom standing there, her pantsuit still on, hair perfectly in place, and I would almost say her makeup was freshly applied.
She hesitates, taking cautious steps inside, and joins me on my bed.
“I’m really sorry about Juliet,” she says quietly.
My eyes fall to my comforter, and she understands it for what it is.
We can’t pretend sitting here like this is a comfortable feeling when we both know it’s not.
It’s awkward and, frankly, the sight of her pisses me off, but she is here, which is more than I would expect. I admit it wasn’t horrible, having her show up for me today. Honestly, it might have been the motherliest thing she’s ever done.
Yes, I know Monti had to have called her and I have a feeling I know who found a way to get in touch with Monti, but who cares. They both came to me in a moment I never would have reached out, and I appreciate that. I probably would have turned around and went home this afternoon had Monti not led me inside.
