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“Great.” I leaned against the wall, keeping her close to me.
“What do we do?” she whispered. “I feel helpless.”
“Short-term, we wait. In the next couple of days, there’ll probably be a shitstorm. We need to get home to L.A. so we can hole up at the house, away from the media.”
“What’s going to happen?” she asked. “I don’t know what to do next.”
“I don’t have any answers, babe.”
There was nothing for us to do but wait and try to process the information.
Carter was gone.
My sweet, big-hearted, goofy best friend was gone.
And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
37
Presley
I was no stranger to death, but Carter’s was difficult to take in. I hadn’t known him for very long, and honestly didn’t even know him as well as Aunt Meg did, but it hit us all hard. I’d grown up knowing the stories of the car accident that had caused my father’s untimely death and how Uncle Jeremy had been a war hero, killed during Desert Storm. My mother had been diagnosed with lung cancer on a sunny day in June, and she was gone by the end of August. At the time, I’d wished for more time with her, but in retrospect, watching her wither away and suffer probably would have been more traumatic to my teenage psyche.
Those had been unavoidable, the kind of bad luck that nothing could have prevented. Carter’s death had officially been ruled a suicide, and we were struggling to wrap our heads around that. Zeke was taking it particularly hard, blaming himself and holing up in his den. It had been three days and there was a black cloud over our lives that was hard to vanquish. Taking care of Jeremy kept me grounded, but Zeke had even retreated from the baby.
I understood his pain and was trying to give him space, but last night he hadn’t come to bed at all, and I was worried about him. I was also worried about Aunt Meg. She was devastated, also blaming herself, saying she should have been paying better attention. It was all so senseless and heartbreaking.
I hadn’t seen Zeke all day and now that Jeremy was in bed, I wandered down to check on him.
“Hi.” I knocked lightly on the open door.
Zeke was sitting in a chair by the window, staring out at nothing from what I could tell.
“Hey.”
“Are you hungry? You skipped dinner.”
“I’m fine.” His voice sounded hollow. Gruff. Distant.
“Can I do anything for you?” I asked, walking over and standing behind him, putting my hands on his shoulders.
“No. I’m good.”
My eyes strayed to the envelope in his lap. Once the police had made the determination Carter’s death had been accidental, they’d released the envelopes that had been on the table. One for Zeke, one for Aunt Meg, one for “Onyx Knight,” and a fourth one for someone whose name I didn’t know.
“Have you read it yet?” I asked gently.
“No.”
“It might give you some closure.”
“Nothing will give me closure,” he snapped. “He’s fucking gone.”
“I know, babe.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed the side of my face against his. “And I know you’re hurting but punishing yourself won’t bring him back.”
“Leave it alone, Presley.” He shrugged off my touch and got up, stuffing the envelope in the pocket of his jeans.
Part of me wanted to remind him that we were married now, and he was supposed to be hanging on to me for strength and support, not pushing me away, but I wanted to give him time. Aunt Meg had been distant too. Personally, I needed my family closer than ever, but it appeared that not everyone grieved the way I did.
