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I stared at the message in shock. How had this ever been my life? It felt as unfamiliar to me as the inside of this random church.
Richard: Well, my dad’s memorial is this afternoon.
Sacha: But like, you don’t have to go do you? I mean, he’d be cool if you skipped it, right? Otherwise I’m gonna have to make Pascal leave his mastiff at home and you know how broody that makes him.
Richard: I can’t skip my dad’s memorial, Sacha.
Sacha: Ugh. Okay. Anyway, have fun at your thing today. Byeee!
I stared at my phone. Sacha had been one of my closest friends, and the most he had to say about my dad’s death was “Bummer.” There’d been no condolences, no offer of sympathy, not even a thought of actually coming to the memorial to support me. I hadn’t even heard from him after I’d left his spare room for Wyoming. He’d only called now because he wanted something from me.
How had I not seen how empty my life had been before? I closed my eyes, the loneliness crashing over me. I wanted Boone. I needed him. Fuck not knowing what to say to him—I just needed to hear his voice.
I started to dial his number when I heard an insistent snapping. I looked up to find my mother scowling as she gestured angrily for me to join her. “It’s time,” she hissed. I glanced past her to see the guests all standing, staring at me, waiting. So many familiar faces and yet none of them friendly.
With a sigh, I slipped my phone back into my pocket and took my mother’s arm. A harpist at the front of the church plucked out “Amazing Grace” as I escorted my mother to our reserved pew in the front row.
As the harpist continued playing, I tried not to look at the urn resting on a dais in front of the altar, but I couldn’t help it. That was all that was left of my father. An entire life, a family, a billion-dollar business, and all of it had led to this: ashes. A church full of acquaintances, with none of them actual friends. A wife who had yet to shed a tear and a son who’d yearned for a relationship he could never have.
What was the fucking point of it all? Every single person in this church would wake up in the morning and go about their lives as though nothing had changed. Dick Dunning’s death was an inconvenience, little more.
Except for me. Dick Dunning had been my dad. I loved him. Despite all the arguments and expectations and fights, I’d always assumed that one day, we’d figure it all out and come to some sort of truce. When I’d thought of my future, he’d always been there: at my wedding, at my kids’ birthdays.
Now, he was gone. And that hurt like hell.
My throat burned, and the pressure of tears became too much. I let out a gasp, choking on a sob. My mother inhaled sharply, likely appalled at my public display of emotion. She shifted slightly away from me, making it clear I wasn’t to lean on her for support. The harpist fell silent, and the priest stood, gesturing for us all to sit. I collapsed onto the pew, dropping my head into my hands as grief overwhelmed me.
There was a moment of quiet shuffling as the guests in the church settled into their seats. It was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. They started in the back of the church and grew louder, the strike of solid shoes against the stone church floor. They were unhurried but purposeful as they strode closer, and I raised my head as the person neared.
I let out a soft gasp. I knew that stride.
Boone.
I could recognize him even through the blur of tears. He came toward me, hat held in one hand and eyes on me as though no one and nothing else in the world existed. Behind me, the guests murmured in shocked whispers.
Boone knelt in front of me. His eyes swept across my face, taking in my tears and pain. He reached out a hand, cupping it gently behind my neck. His thumb brushed a tear from my cheek. “Come here, baby.”
He stood as he pulled me against him, and I gasped as his arms came around my back, holding me tight as though I was his whole world. I collapsed into his strength.
“I’ve got you,” he said, his hand gripping the back of my head. “I’m here. And I’m never letting go again.”
My mother cleared her throat sharply, and the guests’ whispers rose to murmurings. We were causing a spectacle, but I didn’t care. I needed this. I needed Boone.
Eventually, when I thought I might be able to stand on my own again, I pulled back. Boone held my gaze, making sure I was okay. I nodded, and together, we sat. Boone kept my hand gripped tightly in his throughout the ceremony.
