Page 9 of Rockland

I hold in a smile. “Oops. Didn’t see you there.”

He gives me an ominous stare, then links arms with mine and leads me to refreshment table set up at the meadow. Paige and Sasha are serving hot drinks on this chilly day. Sasha gives me a tight hug. Hands me a coffee with cream and sugar—just like I like it—and for Rockland, a black one.

“Thank you,” I tell her, holding the mug between my two hands.

Paige says, “Take your seats, I think Brauny is ready to start the service.”

Brauny. I’ll never get used to Paige using that nickname for our fearless leader, Bronson. But I’ll forgive her—after all, it’s Paige. Curvy, cute as pie little Paige with her dark, blunt-cut hair perfectly placed and designer couture. The massive rare blue diamond sparkling on her finger. The one who gave us Bachman women the nickname, Bachman Beauties. The only one in the whole family who can make our Bronson smile. She was also the only one as broke as me when she married into this family of billionaires. We’ve often shared stories about our messed-up childhoods. I give her a nod and follow Rockland to our seats.

Where I clumsily stumble over the perfectly manicured grass. I trip. Catch myself just before I fall. But in my disruption, I’ve managed to spill my coffee all over the white linen lap of my escort. Sucking in air between his teeth, he mutters something so far under his breath I can’t tell whether he’s just emitted a string of curse words at his brother’s memorial.

I almost laugh—so inappropriate—but when he looks up and meets my eyes, the laughter catches in my throat. My stomach tightens and I almost feel bad for what I’ve done. I sit beside him, watch him dabbing at his pants with the same handkerchief he gave me at the funeral and has brought to the first memorial. I whisper, “I’m so sorry. It was an accident.”

“Forget it,” he hisses, taking a napkin from Paige. She shoots me a curious stare as she makes her way back to the table. He dabs, absorbing the beverage from his trousers as he says, “I’m sure you have a lot on your mind today. As do I. As does the rest of the Village who are also mourning their loss, princess. But you seem to have forgotten that anyone else exists or has feelings. So help me God, in my brother’s honor, I would take your selfish ass over my knee right here, right now…”

I sit back in my seat, the guilt ebbing because of his sharp words, and I enjoy his discomfort. I shrug. “I’ve always been a bit clumsy.”

Sasha teeters over on her sky-high heels, offering club soda and a white towel for his trousers. As she does, her lips purse at me in disapproval. The Beauties all love Rockland. Apparently, I’m the only one immune to his charms, his good looks. The only one who sees how infuriating the man is. He gratefully accepts the club soda from her then turns to me, his gaze piercing mine, and replies, “Clumsiness is only one of your many character flaws.”

An ice-cold hatred creeps into my chest. “Excuse me?”

“You are clumsy. And spoiled, and short-tempered⁠—”

I hiss, “How dare you insult a widow at her husband’s memorial service.”

Mary, the unofficial mother of the Beauties, turns to me, her blush pink manicured fingernail over her matching pink lips and shushes me. A flush creeps up into my cheeks at her reprimand.

What am I doing?

He’s not wrong. I am acting like a child. A selfish one.

Then the rock begins to rise from the center of the meadow. The monument that holds Brett’s remains. The familiar feeling rises from the pit of my stomach. And I remember why I’m acting this way.

I’m crazy with grief. And I’m still angry he’s gone. And I’m taking it out on the next man closest to Brett—his brother.

But despite my shenanigans, Rockland’s here for me. As much of a brat as I’ve been to him, he’s holding up his end of the hierarchy. Seeing me through a day that is just as difficult for him as it is for me. I whisper the words, “I’m sorry.” And I mean it. I can tell by the look in his eyes he believes me.

He gives me a look that tells me he forgives me. That he understands. Then he wraps his strong arm around my shoulders. Gives me a slight squeeze. Pulls me against him. I snuggle into his side, the two of us facing this thing together.

Incidentally, he smells heavenly. Damn.

Bronson begins the service. Much like the celebration of life, the memorial is a time to share stories of our beloved Brett. Only the members of the Village are invited to the first two years. The third we host off-site and invite family members. I’m surrounded by my Village on this day and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

But when I find myself trying to conjure up Brett’s face, I’m drawing a blank. And when I expect myself to once again lose my shit, as I did at the funeral, the deep sorrow doesn’t come. Although I’m sad, grief’s sharp edges have dulled over the past year. I am able to enjoy the memories with my family without falling apart.

After several people have made heartwarming speeches, Bronson calls Rockland to the monument. Asks him to share a few words with us.

Rockland looks… uncomfortable. Though he’s perfectly at home leading a group of ragtag villagers, apparently he’s not happy with the attention bestowed upon him now. He gives his stained pants a look, then shoots me a glare before striding up to stand before the crowd.

I do feel bad about the spill, but even with coffee-covered pants he still looks like a model straight out of GQ.

He looks over the crowd. When he begins to speak, his eyes find mine—and they don’t leave them. My shoulders tense and I try to look away as he begins his words, but his powerful gaze holds mine. “We gather here today to remember a great man. A pillar of the Brotherhood. A man who happened to be my flesh and blood. Brett was like a father to me. And to many of you.” He pauses. Looks down at his feet for a moment. I find myself holding my breath, choking down a sob. Then he looks up again. His attention directed at me. “And what would a loving father want us to do in his absence? I believe he would want us to move on. Continue living while remembering his love, his words of wisdom as we go about our days. He would want us to cherish every moment, actively participating in our lives, as not one of us know when that precious life will end.”

His words hit me like a punch in the gut. He thinks I’ve ceased to live. That I’ve hit the pause button on my life since Brett’s death. A tiny voice tickles my ear, nagging at my mind, saying, You have, Tess. And Brett would not want it this way.

Rockland finishes his speech, but the rest of his words are muffled in my ears. I can’t focus, I just stare straight ahead as he takes his seat beside me. Bronson stands before the crowd, speaks a few closing words.

I’m numb. I sit, stock still, waiting for this to be over.