Chapter 5

5

KANNON

W alking to Gary’s grave felt like stepping onto a battlefield I wasn’t prepared for. The cold air bit at my face, but it didn’t bother me nearly as much as the woman walking beside me. Merritt had her sweater pulled tight around her. Every curve of her body was outlined against the fabric. She used to be all fire and spark as a teenager, but now? Now she was all woman—soft in the right places, full in ways that made my thoughts wander where they shouldn’t.

She had blossomed late apparently. Her body was rocking. All curvy and plump in the right places. The kind of body that gave a man handholds. I liked a handful of ass, boob, and hip. Bony girls were fine but it felt like I would snap them in half when I was driving into them. Not nearly as pleasant as soft and silky skin in my palm.

Too bad her attitude hadn’t changed a damn bit.

“You know, I had it handled,” she said, her voice sharp as broken glass as we walked.

I smirked. “Sure you did, Buttercup.”

Her head snapped toward me so fast, I thought she would get whiplash. She stopped walking. We all did. I shoved my hands in my jacket pockets. She pointed a finger up at my face, her cheeks flushed from either the cold or pure fury.

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped.

“Why not? It suits you.” I leaned in just enough to watch her nostrils flare. Her green eyes narrowed and I saw that old fire come to life inside her.

“It’s condescending, Kannon.” She folded her arms across her chest, which only drew more attention to the way the sweater hugged her. “You always have to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, don’t you? I don’t need you swooping in like some knight in shining armor. I can handle myself.”

I shrugged. “Didn’t look that way when that weasel tried to push you around back there.”

Her jaw clenched. “You mean Duncan? He wasn’t pushing me around. He was trying to get more money out of me. I told him no. He was going to keep pushing and I was ready to dig in.”

“And he wasn’t taking no for an answer,” I said flatly. “You’re too nice. You’d let someone bulldoze you just to avoid a fight.”

Her frustrated groan was something between a growl and a sigh. “You don’t know anything about me anymore, Kannon. I’m not the same girl I was back in the day.”

“Don’t I?”

My tone might have been too mocking, a shade too harsh. I tilted my head, observing her closely, ready to peel back layers she thought she’d hidden well over the years. “People change, yeah. But some things?” I paused, letting the words hang between us for just long enough. “Some things are written so deep they become your bones. Your natural instincts don’t change.”

She glared at me, then spun on her heel and stomped off down the hill toward the grave. I stayed where I was, watching her go. The other mourners were casually walking around us, watching us with curious expressions. I’m sure they were wondering who the asshole in the leather jacket was upsetting the only daughter of the deceased. I didn’t care. Let them stare. The chapel had already been hard enough to sit through, but this? Heading to a six-foot hole in the ground? I wasn’t ready to do it again.

Not after last time.

The thought alone made my skin crawl. My hands balled into fists in my pockets. I turned away from the group, finding a tree to lean against instead. From there, I could see the whole process without having to get too close.

I watched as the two women with Merritt led her to the white chairs next to the fake green grass. Gary’s casket was suspended over the hole, preparing to make the descent down into the earth.

My eyes locked onto Merritt. People were stepping in front of her to shake her hand or put their hand on her shoulder. She looked stoic. Unyielding. Her light brown hair fluttered slightly in the wind, a stark contrast to her otherwise composed demeanor. The bun had loosened and little tendrils whipped around her face. I liked it better. I liked her looking natural and a bit like the girl I knew so long ago. This woman, who once laughed easily, now held herself together like she was afraid to crack.

I couldn’t help but remember the girl she had been. Merritt with her wild hair and wilder spirit, always ready for a challenge. Always up for a dare. That girl seemed very distant from the woman sitting rigidly now, surrounded by mourners offering sympathies she barely acknowledged.

I couldn’t hear the preacher, but I knew he was talking. I focused on Merritt’s every reaction, watched how her eyes sometimes drifted away. Was she searching for an escape or just lost in thought? Her expression was hard to read.

After it was all said and done, everyone started to drift away. Once again, Merritt was the star of the sad party.

As the crowd thinned, Merritt remained seated. The last few people approached her with quiet condolences, a gentle pat on the arm, or a nod of respect before stepping back to let her be. Her two friends seemed to be talking to each other. Eventually, they also walked away to give her a moment.

Finally, she was alone except for me watching from a distance. The cold, the grief—it wasn’t something anyone wanted to linger in. But Merritt stayed. She sat there longer than seemed comfortable, staring at the casket as it lay still above the grave. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap.

I felt like a voyeur, but I couldn’t look away. There was something beautiful about her endurance, the way she held herself amid the waves of sorrow.

The cemetery was quiet. The cool breeze felt sharp but I barely noticed it. I was caught in the moment, wondering what she was thinking. Was she remembering her father’s laugh? Maybe his love of fishing? Or maybe the stern look he used to give her when she stepped out of line?

Those were the kinds of moments that seemed insignificant until they were all you could think about. I knew what it was like to replay every second of the time you spent with someone. You tried to remember exactly what they said and how they said it. Every word, every look, and every meal played on a loop in your head until it started to fade.

I didn’t wish grief on my worst enemy.

The scene before me felt almost otherworldly, like a painting meant to capture the essence of loss and remembrance. I could see Merritt’s shoulders start to shake slightly, the first visible sign of her breaking composure. It was subtle, but to someone who knew her as well as I did—rather like I used to—it was obvious.

She finally sank to her knees by the graveside, her shoulders shaking with sobs. My chest tightened like a vise was around it. I couldn’t just stand by and watch her fall apart. I could be a mean bastard but even I wasn’t that callous.

Damn it .

I had to go to her. She needed me. She needed someone to hold her.

But before I could take more than a step, her friends came out of nowhere and rushed to her side. They gathered her up in their arms, their voices low and soothing, and they comforted her. Merritt buried her face in the slender blonde’s shoulder while the shorter one with thick black hair rubbed her back.

They formed a small, tight circle around her, shielding her from the world. I stopped dead in my tracks, realizing there was already enough support for her. She didn’t need me after all—or maybe she didn’t need the me that stood there today, hesitant and estranged by years and silence.

I retreated back to the shadow of the tree. Its bark was rough against my back as I leaned against it. Merritt’s friends led her slowly away from the grave, their steps careful and measured. They were taking her toward the hall where people would eat sandwiches and potato salad or whatever potluck items had been brought in. They would all stand around and talk about Gary. I couldn’t do it.

It was my cue to leave.

I turned my back on the scene and walked away, the gravel crunching under my boots. Gary deserved better from me, but grief wasn’t something I handled well. Not anymore. I couldn’t stand around sipping punch and listening to stories about him. I sure as hell wasn’t going to share my own stories. There was no way I was going to show my soft underbelly to these strangers.

I walked back to my bike and hopped on. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to go for a long, fast ride or get shitfaced. If only I could do both at the same time.

The wind hit my face as I revved the engine, decision still hanging in limbo. All I wanted was to feel the speed and freedom that a ride would give me. I needed to escape the tight grasp of reality that felt like it was choking me. I chose the road, letting the roar of the bike drown out the echoes of Gary’s laugh that lingered in my mind.

The scenery blurred into streaks of green and gray, each mile helping to loosen the heavy weight of grief that had settled on my shoulders. Riding was a kind of therapy. The familiar vibrations of the bike grounded me. The noise and rumble of the road were better than any conversation. It didn’t need me to say the right things or remember the past in a certain way.

By the time I pulled into my garage it was dark and the chill was getting to be uncomfortable. I climbed off the bike, my legs tingling. I headed inside, and before I even took off my jacket, I took the bottle of whiskey from the shelf. I grabbed a glass and poured it halfway full.

The liquid burned its way down, setting a comforting fire in my belly. It wasn’t the healthiest coping mechanism, but tonight I was giving myself a pass. I sank into the worn leather couch in my living room, the bottle resting casually next to me, ready to keep me company.

A sense of loss settled over me. Feelings clashed in my chest. Anger, sadness, and regret. I poured another generous shot to drown it out.

I didn’t want to feel.