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Everyone was on one front pew. Patrick slid into the one behind them, and I followed on auto-pilot. Dad turned around. I stared straight ahead at Jesus.
Patrick exchanged greetings with everyone. I pretended I wasn’t there. The last time I’d been in a church— I swallowed hard, tried to unsee the flag-draped coffin. My palms grew damp. I rubbed them up and down my thighs, barely managed to stand as Baker came down the aisle.
All I saw was the portrait of Jack in his uniform. The priest spoke of grief instead of love.
Balloons. Welcome Home banner. Ugly words. Pain. So much pain.
I’d thought the day I found out he wasn’t coming back was the worst, but the funeral? Putting him in the ground? Nothing could have prepared me for that. There was no hope. No chance it was all a horrible mistake. Final. So very final.
I’d wanted to crawl in the coffin with him.
An arm went around me. Solid warmth enveloped one side.
“Not much longer.” Lips found my hair.
My chest compressed. Air couldn’t reach my lungs. Spots dotted my vision.
As soon as organ music started, I bolted down the aisle and burst out the front doors of the church. I bent over, gulping down fresh air.
Patrick sank down in front of me on the grass and pulled me down with him. “Breathe, Wicked. Breathe for me.”
I panted, unable to take a deep breath. He held me close.
“I’ve got you,” he said against my ear. “I’ve got you.”
“Where’s Blake?” I gasped between breaths.
“He’s fine.” He rubbed my stomach. “Take a deep breath for me.”
“I can’t.”
“Shh. You can. Like this.” He inhaled deeply and released it. “Try it with me. Count to five.”
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
My chest still ached. The air left me in a whoosh.
I flicked my gaze to the steps, where my dad stood rigid, like he wanted to come to me but didn’t know what to do.
“Focus. It’s just you and me. We’re gonna get away from all this. Figure our shit out. Together. Okay?”
I nodded. “Okay.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Patrick
I tuckedMarlow and Blake into my bed and held them until they fell asleep. Then I slipped downstairs to my study.
We’d come home right away. No way could either of us have sat through the celebratory dinner. None of them knew what to say as I put her and Blake into the back of a taxi, but I’d received a text from her entire family, including Baker, Trish, and Mrs. Quinn to check on her.
When Wicked found out, she’d be surprised . . . or pissed.
I picked up the brass letter opener on my desk and turned it over in my hand. It had once belonged to my grandfather. I’d been scolded more than once by my grandmother for playing with it as a child. Would Blake want this one day? Pumpkin?
And how was I going to keep the promises I’d made to Marlow on the lawn of that church? I did want to sort this out once and for all, but I wasn’t naïve. That was asking nothing short of a miracle.
I opened my laptop and typed in beaches in a search engine. The Hamptons, Carolinas, California, Oregon, Tahiti. How far could we travel? Was Wicked even up for this?
