Page 4 of Rockland

I stare stonily out the window as we make our way to the locked-off property at the back of the Village. I forget the presence of the sullen man beside me and focus on the gathered family members I see, dotted across the soft green grass of the meadow.

They’re all here. Dressed in white, to celebrate the life of our dearest Brett.

Seeing them all here, dabbing their eyes, a sob reaches up from my gut, sticking in my chest.

They loved him as much as I.

Brett was a gregarious man. Quick to laugh. Always with an encouraging word. Beneath his teddy bear exterior, he had a sharp mind and a killer’s instincts. He swam with the most important political fish, holding his own and mentoring the Bachman Brotherhood below him to take his place.

And now they will take his place.

I give a heavy sigh, my fingers wrapping around the handle of the door. The car pulls to a stop. Don’t start crying. Not yet. You won’t make it through the service. I press my lips together; I clench and unclench my fingers. Anything to stop the flow of tears from falling.

Unexpectedly, Rockland sees fit to speak. His husky voice, thick with emotion rises over my thoughts. “I loved him too, you know. He was my brother.”

“And he was my husband. Though you never approved of his choice in me, did you?” I snap.

He takes his sunglasses off, tosses them onto the dash. His gaze locks on mine, his eyes flashing. His hand goes to my knee. It’s huge and strong and his fingers dig slightly into my flesh, gaining my attention. He says, “I loved him. And I love you. And I’ve sworn to care for you in his absence. Whatever it takes.”

I want to slap his face. Scratch his eyes out. Who is he to touch me? But deep down, I know the truth; as much as I despise this man, he’s my husband’s brother and I won’t make it through this day without him by my side. I need someone strong to lean on this day. Or I will lose my shit.

So, instead of mauling his smug face with my manicured nails, I shake my head. Clasp my hands in my lap and stare at them.

He gives my knee a pat. Gets out of the car. Walks around and opens my door.

When he offers me his arm, I take it. My legs are shaking.

I’m surprised by how hard his body is as I teeter against it, gathering my balance. My arm is tightly wound alongside that bulging bicep that’s straining against the linen of his suit. I feel him give my arm a gentle squeeze. Pull me closer to his side.

And I’m grateful.

As I gaze over the meadow, my knees shake. My gut roils. I hold on tighter—he’s the only thing keeping me upright. My limbs are useless like jelly. He shoots me a long gaze, appraising my shaky state. I throw him a brief glance. A nod. He gives me one of his rare half-smiles, the one where only the corner of the right side of his mouth raises just a touch. He begins walking, me clinging to his arm. It’s comforting. I feel stable. Safe. He’s leading me right into the center of our family’s circle. Next to Bronson Bachman, our fearless leader.

Just nearing Bronson, knowing the kind words he will speak of my dear Brett, the tears begin to prick at my eyes. Rockland reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket and removes a starched kerchief. Eyes forward, trained on Bronson, he hands it to me.

I take it and his arm wraps protectively around my shoulders. The weight of him is heavy, reassuring. It grounds me. A deep breath fills my lungs. I hold the kerchief to my eyes, dabbing them with the soft fabric. I’m grateful to Rockland—I know he’s planned and brought this for me. His small gesture makes today seem almost possible.

My teary eyes gaze at the sun as it filters through the tree limbs.

I rest my head on his shoulder.

I feel his arm tighten around me. Making me relax. I lean in further, accepting his comfort, his strength.

Then I remember just who it is I’m standing beside. The nasty words he’s spoken of me. The poisonous looks he’s given me over the years.

I rip my head from where it rests, crossing my arms over my chest. I try to scoot away from him, make some space between us, but his arm goes nowhere. It’s like a vise, holding me against him.

Bronson speaks. “Brett Bachman was the best of all of us. Strong and hard, but caring and loving. And though he loved us, his family, the family he pledged to lay his life down for, he loved nothing more than Tess.”

And this is the moment I will lose my shit.

A deep, sorrowful keen rises from the center of my being. I don’t recognize the sound of my own wail. The blood whooshes in my eardrums, my knees give out. The only thing stopping me from collapsing into a howling heap is him.

Rockland.

Suddenly, he’s got me pinned against him. His strong arms wrap around my back. He’s holding me and his body is so big, it practically engulfs all of me. I disappear into his broad chest, sobbing. The cries rack my body and I hide my face in the fabric of his jacket.

I’m crying so hard, I don’t even hear the words Bronson speaks of my husband. But I know the stories he will tell. Of the lilac field Brett planted in his mother’s memory. Of the sweet notes he left around the Village, encouraging family members who needed it the most. Of his legacy, the community colleges with free housing and tuition he’d put into place after he’d set aside my allocated money.