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“Dominic, do you have any idea how hard it is for a twenty-six-year-old white woman in a power suit to get weed in this town? The discrimination is real, my love.” I pull one of the joints I rolled from my pocket before adjusting myself on my jacket. “And you thought I was guilty of judging by appearance. People practically ran from me.” I let out a laugh. “And then I remembered you mentioning Wayne from the deli. Nice guy. Still works there.” I fire it up and take a long pull as the music lulls me into a more peaceful state.
For endless minutes I recall the rainy days we spent in his bed reading, the flash of teeth he gave me when he knew no one was looking. The soul he revealed to me in bits and pieces capable of something more. The longer I dwell where he rests, the more I become convinced he knew his time on earth would be short.
We both know I was never going to make it to thirty, brother. Take care of her.
He knew.
“What do you want for the future?”
“Nothing.”
He refused to let himself hope for anything. A true soldier, he wanted as few people as possible mourning him. And he’d let me love him. I was the girl honored enough to get close to him in a way few others did.
I reach out and palm the freezing stone. “God, I miss you. I miss you all the time. I’ll hear a song you played for me or read something good, and you’re the first person I want to tell.” Unable to handle the sting any longer, I let the tears fall at will.
“Motherfucker or not, I saw you. I saw you. I knew you. And I grieve for you every damn day. You lose, Dominic, because there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t mourn you.” I hiccup, my chest burning as I finally put a voice to years of pain. “Why? Why couldn’t you just wait for help?”
Breaking apart, the bitter wind adds a sting to the tears on my cheeks as more fall. It’s then I perk up with realization. I’ve felt it enough times to know, and it’s undeniable, tangible, it’s distinctly him.
“I know you’re there,” I say, taking one last drag of the joint before tossing it into the grass and standing. I turn to feel the inevitable jolt the minute I see Tobias just outside of the gate, watching me. It’s evident he’s been there a while, his face tinged red by the wind. The sight of him agonizing. He looks every bit like the polished man I met. Volatile amber eyes rest over the smooth planes of his face, his square jaw set. His thick, ink colored hair is swept back, not one lock out of place. His suit cloaked by a long grey trench coat and leather gloves. Do I still know him? Every bit of our eye exchange tells me I do, but that he will never admit it.
We stare off for endless seconds before I finally speak. “You want to know why I’m here?” I turn back to the grave. “I never left.”
The gate squeaks as he walks through and stands next to me to peer down where Dominic lies. And for several minutes, I know our collective thoughts are all about him and the moments before he left us.
Raw ache spreads through my chest as I try to imagine what it was like for him to bury his brother. As I try to imagine the crowd of people I grew to love all those years ago gathered here collectively mourning his passing, something I was deprived of.
“I have to believe that forgiveness is possible, because if I don’t, if I don’t…Tobias, I won’t be able to live like this, I can’t live like this anymore. I want so much to make peace with the naïve girl I was. Not to blame myself for what happened but—”
He shakes his head as if to refute the idea.
“I want so much to move on as you all seem to have,” I admit. “I do, but it’s been impossible for me. I never got the chance to say goodbye,” I say, choking on my words.
Briefly, his stare flits with emotion before his expression grows cold and unforgiving. It’s everything I expected and nothing I would ever want.
“I’m here for the same reason you are. To mourn him. To miss him. I have a right to be here.” His empty stare rips me to shreds. Part of me wants to retreat safely back into the life I had just days before, to beg Collin to forgive me, and take back the future I destroyed, but I know better. And the reason is standing in front of me, a shell of the man I once knew.
“You need to go home, Cecelia.”
I huff, gathering my jacket from the ground and sliding it on. “You should know that’s the last thing I’ll do.”
“You never could make things easy.”
“So, we are blaming me?” I take a step toward him, and his nostrils flare as though the mere scent of me is repulsive. I take that hit to the chest, knowing I may never get more than this.
“I should have been the one to die that night,” I press, “do you hate me because I didn’t?”
“I don’t blame anyone but Dominic for his decision.”
“I don’t think you mean that.”
“I do. It’s not your fault. But I say a lot of things I don’t mean when you’re around me. That stops the second you see yourself out.”
To be so close to him now without touching him is devastating. In a matter of minutes, the longing I’ve felt for years intensifies ten-fold as I linger in my own manicured shell, holding onto the high for the split second he allows us in close proximity. He feels it too. I know he does. I lost my heart the minute we connected on a molecular level. Somewhere between the games we played and the love I gave him, I lost a lot more.
One mistake, one night, it cost us all.
It’s clear he doesn’t trust me. Maybe he thinks I have an agenda.
