Page 7 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart

Familiar faces filtered in. People from my old life, folks who probably wished I had stayed gone. Some looked at me and nodded in acknowledgment. Others avoided my eyes entirely. It didn’t bother me. Gary would’ve rolled his eyes at their cold shoulders and told me to stop giving a damn about what people thought. He always said, “You live your life for you, not them, kid.”

One by one, people went up to the casket. I tried not to watch too closely, but their careful goodbyes rubbed me the wrong way. Too neat. Too polite. Gary deserved more than that. He hated fake shit like that.

Something pulled at me. I hated talking about death or giving in to the grief and the typical traditions surrounding mourning, but something was drawing me to go to him. The last thing I wanted to see was my dead friend but I owed it to him. All these people were whispering flowery words and acting like they were all best buds. He deserved something real. Not a load of bullshit.

I stood up and ignored the murmurs from the pews as I made my way down the aisle. My boots echoed against the floor, a sharp contrast to the muted sniffles and shuffling feet. When I reached the last bed Gary would ever sleep in, I hesitated for a second, staring down at him.

“You’re really gone, old man,” I muttered. “I hope you’re somewhere stirring up shit. You’re free. Your old, tired body ain’t holding you back. I don’t know if there are bikes where you are, but it wouldn’t be heaven without them. When I get there, we’re going to ride into eternity. No helmets. The wind is going to run through our hair, and yes, you’ll have good hair again.”

I pulled the guitar pick out of my pocket, an old one he gave me years ago when I first picked up the instrument. It felt right to leave it with him. I tucked it into the sleeve of his jacket, patting it into place. “I’ll pour one out for you later, when that rat-faced kid isn’t breathing down my neck. You’d like this place, though. Real fancy. Your beautiful wife would be snapping pictures of every corner, calling it perfect.”

I lingered for a moment, the weight of loss pressing down harder than I expected. I didn’t want to start crying or let the grief take hold. I swallowed the lump in my throat. Gray feelings were creeping up. Turning away, I felt the first cracks in my resolve. I didn’t know if I was going to be able to sit through this whole funeral. I didn’t want to see a slide show memorializing his life. It would be too much.

But then I saw her.

Merritt.

She stood near the front of the chapel just a few feet away from me with her hands clasped in front of her. The navy dress she wore clung to her body like it had been made for her. Black pantyhose shaped her legs. The black sweater she’d thrown over her shoulders didn’t do much to hide the soft curve of her neck. Her hair was pulled back, severe and practical. Her eyes were red-rimmed but steady. She looked beautiful, but more than that, she looked like grief personified.

My chest tightened. “Merritt,” I said, barely above a whisper.

Her gaze snapped to mine, and for a second, I saw something unguarded in her expression. Then she straightened her spine, her chin lifting with that quiet defiance I remembered so well.

“Kannon,” she said, her voice level despite the quiver in her bottom lip. “It’s been a long time.”

“Ten years,” I replied, my voice rougher than I intended. “Give or take a couple weeks.”

She didn’t look impressed with me. I could feel the judgment from every person in the chapel. Everyone was watching us. I could only imagine what they were thinking.

But I only cared about what one person thought.

4

MERRITT

Iwasn’t sure why seeing him startled me so much. Ten years was a long time, but it wasn’t like Kannon had fallen off the face of the Earth. When I still called home from Miami, I kept tabs on him through my dad. But once Dad’s mind started slipping, those updates had turned into memories Dad recycled from the past.

The fun times Kannon and I shared as kids. The summer nights when Kannon would park his beat-up truck at the end of the road, waiting for me to sneak out and join him.

It was funny because we thought we were being so sneaky, but my father knew. He just trusted Kannon with me. It made me smile thinking about it.

The stories blurred together in Dad’s mind. And, if I was being honest, maybe in mine too. But I never let go of the small things. Like the note Kannon gave me in elementary school. Do you like me or not? Circle yes or no. I still had that note tucked away in a box of keepsakes.

I had spotted him when he arrived at the chapel but I had been caught up talking to some well-wishers. I watched him as he made his way across the parking lot. Same swagger. Same smirk that was halfway between confidence and trouble. His black leather jacket hugged him in a way that screamed he hadn’t changed much, at least on the outside. But then his eyes caught mine, and I saw it. The weight of ten years. Of life. Of loss. The boy had become a man.

“Kannon,” I said, breaking the awkward silence.

“Merritt,” he said. His lips quirked into a semblance of a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. The man looked like he had aged a hundred years. Not physically, but I saw it in his eyes.

“It’s good to see you,” I offered. It wasn’t a lie. Just complicated.

He shrugged, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Would be better if it wasn’t under these circumstances.”

“Agreed,” I said softly.

I detected a note of bitterness in his voice. It stung, though I wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like I’d expected anything different. I wasn’t even sure he would be here. It wasn’t like this was something you sent out invitations to.

His body language was clear. I don’t want to do this right now. I didn’t have the energy for more than the bare minimum either. Today wasn’t about us. It was about Dad. About sending him off and getting through the day without crumpling under the strain.