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The color drains from her face as panic envelops her.
“I’m not ready.” She clutches the final pink rose against her chest.
I stand solid beside her as Tate takes up her other side.
“Take your time. We can wait.”
She chokes on a hitched breath. “You’re already getting sunburned.”
A peek at my exposed arm has me agreeing with her assessment. “This red hair and pale skin can’t stand sunlight for shit, but I’ll be fine.”
“I just need a minute.” She inhales sharply at my side, indicating more than one might be necessary, but I’m fine. She can have twenty-nine if she wants. One for each year he was alive.
The minute I arrived three days ago, Caiti told me she didn’t want a memorial service. Eric wouldn’t have wanted to lie in a casket for people he hasn’t seen in years to walk by and cry over his body. She chose to have him cremated and created a plan to celebrate his life today with the people who meant most to him.
This morning, I ran out to pick up pink roses, twenty-nine single stems, one for each year of life in the color of her wedding bouquet. The three of us set off on a journey to visit every one of Eric’s favorite places—some that held cherished memories—and left a rose discreetly at each one.
We started the day with brunch at Eric’s favorite restaurant, followed by some of their favorite date spots. After a particularly heavy moment at the shop where Eric purchased Caiti’s engagement ring with the help of Tate, we swung by Eric’s favorite brewery for beer flights to soften the mood. Together, we celebrated memories of my brother, of stupid injuries and drunken nights, and toasted to a life well lived and beyond loved.
Our last stop brought us here, to the dock I’d once decorated in white ribbon and tulle, and stood by as my favorite person in the world got down on one knee and promised the rest of his life to the woman he loved.
A promise he ultimately fulfilled.
“Ready,” Caiti whispers at my side. Her watery voice shakes the foundation of my crumbling strength.
“Okay.”
I reach across my torso to clutch her bicep in my other hand. The first step is the hardest as more cracks form. My throat tightens as if caught in an unforgiving fist. Each breath feels like I’m underwater.
The weather-worn wood is warm beneath my bare feet. I follow Caiti’s lead. Each place has been a unique experience without a plan, and we’ve let her heart be our guide. The uncomfortable hot rays of the afternoon sun on my neck disappear from my mind as we reach the end. My mind flashes back to that day all those years ago when she stops in the exact place she stood. The wind whips her dress around her knees, bringing with it the scent of lake water and warm sand, and tears flow freely down her cheeks.
Caiti falls to her knees, nearly bringing me down with her as my own heart shatters. She clutches the final rose and drops her forehead onto the planks.
Tate rushes around me as I stand rooted. Echoing her sentiment, I unleash an internal scream for the unfairness. I can’t be here anymore. I thought I could do this and support her, but the pain spreads like fire in my veins.
I turn to flee, but my feet stay fixed to the spot. Rhett stands stoically at the end of the dock.
My shoes fall from dangling fingertips as I take off in a sprint. The sound of my footsteps thunder along the wood. I don’t even care to ask how or why he’s here. All that matters at this moment is that I reach him.
His long strides close his side of the distance, and he meets me halfway. I throw myself bodily into his wide chest, burrowing deep, clutching at the back of his neatly pressed blue button-up shirt as I try to climb inside.
“I’ve got you,” he says, tangling his fingers into the bun at my nape and holding my cheek t
ight to his chest.
“How are you here?”
“Caiti thought you might need me.” His chest beneath my ear rumbles with his response.
I dig in deeper, feeling some of the pain leak from me at his touch. “I want to come home,” I mumble the confession into his tear-dampened shirt. “I’ve missed you, and I don’t want to do this alone.”
He strokes his hand over the crown of my head. “Home is waiting when you’re ready. I can’t stay long. You’re welcome to come back with me or stay as long as you like, but I can’t handle the silence when you’re hundreds of miles away.”
“I still have things to figure out.” I tip my face into the sunrays as the full weight of my choices settles on me.
“You can have all the space you need to come to your decisions.”
“Then I want to come home with you.”
