Chapter Forty-Five

I NTUITION ISN ’ T SOMETHING I’ve been granted the same way others have. A gift that sparks up at certain times for guidance. It’s never been that way for me. For the entirety of my life, it’s been my daily fuel and has never failed me. Not once.

The thing that’s kept me exactly where I need to be. In the right places, at the right times.

So how did I get here?

How in the fuck did I get here?

By ignoring my intuition long before I allowed myself to fall.

By blurring the sand streaming through the hourglass to multiply it, make it last, even as I saw it slipping away.

By playing deaf to every whispered sign and, instead, reveling in the fire she ignited inside my heart.

By ignoring the roar of warning that told me to hand her the gun, tossing it instead, if only to dim some of the fear in her eyes. A look I feared all along. A look that comes with the knowledge of what I’m truly capable of.

A look that told me she was finally convinced that I was the bad guy I told her I was.

A look of terror that ate me alive as she cowered from me when I entered her bedroom. In mere seconds I recognized the realizations I had failed to protect her from. The truth that this was never a game, and we hadn’t exaggerated the stakes—but underplayed them. A look that told me she thought I would be the one to deliver those consequences.

A look that annihilated me enough to toss my gun too far out of my reach.

It was when her eyes cleared, and she truly saw me as she had all those months ago, that I was gifted those few precious seconds of exchange. A collection of minutes where I was able to confess my fears, apologize for my deceit, and finally deliver my ill-timed declaration wholeheartedly.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I’ve been in love.”

A declaration I fucking refused to hold inside another second, knowing it was too late. A confession that gave me a bittersweet sort of peace, along with the notion that one day, I might be a worthy man deserving of the love I selfishly took.

And now?

Now I’m standing front row and dead center to the consequence of feigning ignorance to those instincts.

But in doing so, I was rewarded with a piece of paradise, a minute more with my ignorant bliss.

And I took it.

That’s how I got here.

Even if my gun now resides in enemy hands.

“What brings you here, Matteo? It’s a little late for company.”

I spike my tone enough that if Tobias is anywhere in the near vicinity, he’ll come. But I feel the intuition I’ve overlooked one time too many kicking in as my entire being erupts in awareness.

It’s too late.

Intent on keeping Matteo a safe distance from her, I engage in pointless back and forth while maintaining the focus of the monster in front of me. The threat in his eyes and posture looming mere feet away from the one thing I refuse to be robbed of.

I’ve lost enough to life’s hand. It doesn’t get to have her.

Feeling it when Cecelia emerges from her bedroom, I calmly tell her to step back. I don’t want her seeing the depravity radiating from this motherfucker. Though alike in some ways, this sick fuck considers spilling blood a pleasure.

We’re entirely different in that respect.

At least I have that. Even if I can identify with him in a few ways, I won’t lose sleep over spilling his blood.

For her, I’ll become the goddamn boogeyman. Matteo reads as much in my eyes, of that I’m sure, even as he threatens her in an attempt to rattle me.

Before I can take another step, Tobias sounds up behind me.

“What’s good, brother?”

“Got this handled,” I relay before asking Matteo about his brother’s whereabouts—my confidence in Tobias. Refusing to think about the half-dozen ways this has already gone wrong, I’m reassured when I hear Tobias address Cecelia to come to him. Just as relief briefly filters in, Andre’s voice sounds. The three of them go back and forth in meaningless exchange as Tobias tries to reason with me to wait. But I voice my objection because of what I know and see—no longer ignoring my instincts. It’s so fucking clear in Matteo’s eyes that he’s salivating for this.

That makes two of us, motherfucker.

Knowing I can take this piece of shit out through sheer will alone—whether he has the advantage or not—I assure Tobias I can. It’s the threat behind the front door that I’m wary of. It’s going to take time, even at top speed, for our birds to get here.

When Tobias snaps at Andre to back off, I take another step down, separating the monster from her. With each one, I feel the chains that have bound me start to strain and break, one by one. Cecelia is at the forefront of my mind. The noise surrounds me, the collective screams of the other innocents I’ve sworn to avenge propelling me forward. Getting lost in the void of the eyes staring back at me, adrenaline starts to take over.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

This monster is going to pay for them all, even as my brother pleas with me, and I assure him there’s no deal to be made. This was inevitable, and another unmistakable inkling tells me that I knew it well before now.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

It’s Cecelia’s call that stops me from embracing the dark snaking its way into me. Focusing on her, I allow myself the chance to tell her that briefly, she gave me a glimpse of a happiness I hadn’t thought I was capable of.

“Cecelia,” I address firmly, my heart lurching into the rhythm she created.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

Tobias attempts to cut in, calling my name, but I refuse him.

“I’m talking to Cecelia.”

“Yes?” she replies, voice shaking with fear.

“After this, want to watch a movie?”

Ignoring any outside noise beyond our exchange, I tell her of the memory that kept me going in France.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

Of a time I felt complete and whole.

“You can make that cheddar popcorn I love, and we can crowd under that blanket that smells like...what’s that smell?”

“Lavender,” she releases in a shaky rush.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

Of a life we might have had...if I didn’t have so many fucking monsters to slay.

“Yeah, and I’ll watch a chick movie because all I really want to do is watch you watch it. Your face gets all dopey when you get love drunk.”

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

“We love rainy days, don’t we, baby?”

“We do,” she croaks, voice breaking.

Tilting my head at Matteo in challenge, I make my declaration clear to Tobias to ready himself. “We don’t fucking negotiate with terrorists.”

Taking another step toward Matteo, Cecelia’s voice reaches me in elevated panic. “Dominic.”

“What is it, baby?”

“S’il te pla?t, ne fais rien de stupide. Je t’aime.” Please don’t do anything stupid. I love you.

“Je sais.” I know.

Her declaration fuels me as I stand between her and the monster I swore to protect her from while her love sets me free. For a brief time, she was my solace—my reprieve. The only dream of a future I allowed myself to have, but she can’t be. Not anymore.

Too many monsters.

“Dominic,” Tobias orders gruffly. “Stand down, right fucking now. We’re still talking.” I feel the desperation in his order, in him, as he rattles behind me to stop and think it through. But I have, for far too long, and I’m finally ten steps ahead.

Sorry, brother.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

Irony strikes me then that I’ve been waiting for what seems like a lifetime to start this war. But with my brother’s confession about Roman—about Cecelia’s mother—I waited in vain.

As I inch closer, my intuition grants me a revelation that ignites me.

All this time, I’ve been waiting to pull the trigger when I am the fucking trigger.

Feeling the truth of that to my core, I lift my chin, eyes mirroring the black gaze of the monsters I’ve battled my whole life and everything they represent—the system that set us all up for failure. That put us at war with each other as they watched on in amusement while creating more power-hungry predecessors. All of it’s there—the poverty, the pain, the suffering, the division, and all for one thing that has never been successfully bought or retained in human history— control .

It ends here and starts here.

I might not be able to take them all out, but this monster ...this fucking monster is mine. With a head full of vengeance and a heart fueled by blue fire, I feel the last chain break free as I take my next step and engage the abyss. “Care to dance?”

“Honored, my friend,” the evil replies.

“Make it a good one.”

“Dominic, no!”

White hot pain blinds me as it shoots through my limbs as I’m struck forward by another bullet—this one ripping through my shoulder. My eyes find Cecelia, relief covering me to see her whole and untouched as a wave of pain blinds me, and I reach for her. A second later, she’s in my arms as I collapse against the wall, fire circulating in my belly as a chill skitters up my spine.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

Pain takes hold, breaths hard-earned as Tobias appears, cursing while trying desperately to plug the holes running through me. Cecelia’s cries drag me back to her as I take relief in seeing them both unscathed.

“Go,” I tell them both with what energy remains as their words blur, my pulse slowing as the pain takes over.

Whoosh...Whoosh...Whoosh...Whoosh.

Feeling myself slipping, Cecelia pleads for me to hold on, apologies pouring from her lips. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

Focusing on my brother, I see my fate solidify in his eyes and, in return, give him words I know he’ll understand. Words that, deep down, he’s always understood and a truth I’ve always known. “Nous savions tous les deux que je n’allais jamais voir mes trente ans, mon frère. Prends soin d’elle.” We both knew I was never going to make it to thirty, brother. Take care of her.

Seeing the promise in his eyes, I feel the urgency of the threat waiting behind the front door, and voice as much. “Go,” I manage through a cough, tasting the blood coating my mouth as I wheeze through the pain. “Please.”

“No.” Cecelia shakes her head furiously, demand in her deep blues. “Sorry, you can’t go, Dominic, because I dreamed your future up for you. Hang on, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Staring up and into the soul of the woman worth warring over—who gave me a glimpse of heaven on earth, aware of just how much power her love holds—I again curse the fucking fate that allowed it to be taken from me. But just as that thought drifts in, what I thought I’d been robbed of is gifted in the way it always has been, through her, because it was never about the weather, time, or place.

Whoosh...Whoosh...Whoosh...

Her warmth engulfs me. The atmosphere shifting as tumultuous storm clouds gather in her eyes, and her rain begins to pelt me—all burden lifting, along with any remnants of anger. A bone-deep chill sweeps through my body as the pain abates, and her turbulent blues pierce and hook me, sweeping me away.

Denny

Every unmarked motherfucker in that house is about to die.

It’s my only thought as Tyler emerges from the trees, Cecelia’s blood-soaked clothes in hand. Discarding them, he nods toward me, pulling twin Glocks from his sides as he starts toward the house at a dead run. My gun at the ready, I cover him, and within seconds we’ve breached the trees at the side of the house near the pool—the roar of gunfire sounding around us.

Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.

The rapid fire only fuels me, letting me know it’s not too late to join the party, and frankly, I can’t fucking wait.

So, I don’t.

Covering Tyler, I shift when a man appears in my peripheral just outside the tree line. It takes a split second before I identify him, my gun already trained on him.

Not a bird.

Squeezing the trigger, he goes down in a heap.

Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.

Most of the gunfire comes from inside the house, a window shattering as we approach, and another figure enters my peripheral. I turn to see Jeremy backing away from the gate, eyes trained as he lifts his gun.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Another down.

He turns to me just after and gives me a dip of his chin, expression murderous, but the message is clear—he’s got our six.

Making my way to the back door, Tyler already inside, I start to toe it open and hear a struggle ensuing on the other side. After rolling in, guns raised, I catch sight of Sean on the kitchen floor, feet ahead. He’s straddling one of the Miami crew, blood lust in his expression as he presses his gun against the fucker’s throat in an effort to crush his windpipe.

It’s no mystery why he wants to prolong his death. He wants him to suffer the way he is—the way we all are.

Dom.

None of us will ever be the fucking same.

Tossing away the threatening grief for when I can allow it in, I fight to stay hyper-focused, scanning the massive double kitchen. Anxiety spikes when I see one of Miami’s creeping in from the hall, gun trained on Sean. My fear is quashed when, without looking, Sean lifts his Glock and fires two shots, taking him down. Losing the advantage with the man beneath him, Sean takes a right hook and grits his teeth before turning back and raining down a few death blows before delivering a point-blank shot to his head. Standing, Sean kicks his lifeless body, his thirst nowhere near satiated as his eyes briefly meet mine. What I see in his return gaze is beyond anything I have before. In the next second, Sean disappears from view, no doubt in search of more.

Glancing to the other side of the kitchen, I spot Tyler rushing toward an overturned kitchenette, one of the Miami crew barricaded behind it. As Tyler moves in, the asshole frantically fires around him.

Tyler stalks toward him, not stopping his footing, even when he’s struck by a stray bullet to his vest. Gun lifted, I start to head their way. A second later, Tyler’s there, pushing the table back like it weighs shit and cornering the fucker against the wall. Within a blink, Tyler hovers directly above him, unloading both his guns.

Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.

Sensing me behind him, Tyler turns, guns trained, but it’s his expression that has me retreating a step.

Goddamn.

Tyler disappears within a breath as the need to stake my own claim overruns me. A few steps into the corridor that leads from the kitchen to the foyer, I spot one of the Miami crew cowering in a coffee station. Sneaking up behind him, I make my presence known with a tap on his shoulder. The second he turns, I shove my gun into his gaping mouth and fire.

The sight of his body hitting the tile floor does nothing to prevent the ache in my chest.

He’s gone. My closest friend. Fuck, my only friend.

Stalking toward the foyer, I see the front door ajar just as a few of the Miami crew slip out. Lifting my gun, I stalk toward them when I hear a bullet expelled from a silencer above, and an unmistakable “thunk” follows.

Pitching forward in a race to get to those out front, I’m stopped by the sight of a falling body before it crashes into the table a few feet in front of me. The man groans as he rolls off and hits the floor.

Miami.

I move in to finish him off and am stopped with a growl, “he’s mine.” Turning toward the source of the voice, I spot Tobias slowly taking the stairs, dragging the lifeless body he just silenced behind him by the collar. Expression lethal, Tobias’s eyes remain fixed on his target, who’s now using his forearms to army crawl toward the open front door. Hitting the foot of the stairs, Tobias discards the body, stepping over another to get to the screaming asshole trying to crawl away. Within two steps, Tobias is crushing what vertebrae the guy has remaining with his shoe. He screams out in agony as Tobias rolls him over before silencing him forever.

Pop.

“They’re trying to run!” Russell calls from somewhere outside. Tobias’s head snaps toward the driveway before he stalks out the door, grabbing a discarded M16 lying on the porch as he goes. Tyler appears at his side in an instant, flanking him. Trailing them both, I walk backward from the house, gun lifted and scanning as more birds emerge from all sides, mimicking my stance. Russell joins me to help me cover them. When we’re at a safe enough distance, birds surrounding the house, I turn to see Tobias open firing on the retreating Miami crew scrambling to their cars.

Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.

“Go,” Russell yells to me, “go help him!”

Running toward them, I catch sight of two cars speeding toward the gate as Tobias gains on the last one, riddling it with bullets. Tyler clears the gate, open firing on the car speeding away.

Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.

Tobias’s aim pays off when the car crashes into a nearby tree.

By the time I make it to him, Tobias is ripping one of the Miami crew out of the car and makes quick work of dropping his gun before breaking his tatted neck with his bare hands.

Checking the cabin of the car, I spot one of them coughing up blood, trying to hide in the divide in seats between the two blown airbags and take him out with a single shot.

A second later, I hear a scream and look over to see Tyler taking out his grief in a way that nauseates me before he fires.

Pop. Pop.

Just after, an eerie silence blankets the house and surrounding grounds.

Long, tense seconds pass.

It’s over. For now.

“Get back to the house,” Tyler snaps as he passes me, trailing Tobias, who’s already halfway there.

I silently follow, my eyes scanning the lifeless bodies littering the porch to see if any of them are our own. I’m thankful when I come up empty, but I know the zero count isn’t true.

Layla’s face crosses my mind along with her order to come back to her, and all I can do is thank whatever fate decided I deserved to make it home today. Knowing it may not be the same fate tomorrow.

For any of us.

Because a war has just started, and we all know it.

Prepared or not, it’s coming, and that’s not the only thing in store for my future. As of last night, Layla gave me even more incentive to return to her—as if she wasn’t enough.

I’m still reeling about the fact that I’m going to be a father.

As the exhilaration of that knowledge flits in, it’s overridden by another— he’ll never know my son or daughter.

Feeling the weight of the loss start to cripple me, I silently step into the foyer to see birds gathering—one by one from different directions as the rest file in from the porch. Corpses lay scattered around us, blood seeping into the floors, bullet holes littering the walls. It’s a fucking bloodbath, but I can only be thankful that most of what’s been spilled isn’t ours.

Russell joins Tyler and me where we stand next to the front door, equally assessing. Sean appears to my right and joins us at the foot of the stairs as Tyler looks over to me. “Compound ready?”

I nod before asking my own question. “They broke through one of our borders?”

He nods in reply. “Four birds gone. They didn’t have time to send a warning.”

“Any other company coming today?” I ask.

“We think this is all of them for now, but we’re going to make fucking sure.” He elevates his voice to everyone gathered. “No head hits a pillow until we are. I want every fucking bird and their closest at Denny’s within the hour.” He jerks his chin toward me. “No fucking exceptions.”

Wordless nods and chin dips are all we can convey as we all glance around at the carnage.

It’s when Russell looks up to the second floor and freezes that I follow his line of sight and still—chest seizing. Tobias stands at the top of the stairs, Dom’s lifeless body cradled in his arms, drawing every eye to him before he slowly starts to descend. An anguished mewl erupts from Sean before he hits his knees, palming the top of his head, body bent as if taking cover while his grief echoes around us.

One by one, heads start to bow as Tobias draws closer, face twisted in agony, tears spilling from his lifeless eyes.

My own eyes spill over as Tyler clips out a hoarse request. “Russell, grab your—”

“On it,” he says, turning and making a beeline for his car.

When Tobias hits the bottom of the stairs, we all step back, giving him a wide berth. Unable to look away, I lift my head just as Tobias passes, staring straight ahead as he walks down the porch steps. It’s the sight of Dom’s limp hand that has my throat closing as Sean’s agonized grunts fill the air. With the slam of Russell’s car door, the morning birds begin to sing as if our whole world didn’t just fucking stop.

My only friend.

Tyler

The wind kicks up, the breeze rustling the trees above, creating a calming atmosphere just as the sun peeks out, highlighting the solid white casket before us. The roaring in my chest emanates in unison with the grief of every single one of us gathered—inked arms motionless at their sides.

No one speaks. No one wants to. There is no ceremony because our brother would have hated it. We don’t need words spoken because I’m certain we’re all lost somewhere in time with him. Our individual memories flooding us—a comfort to some, excruciating for others.

I’m the latter.

Most of us are banged up, bandaged, or in physical pain in some form or another due to the battle that started the minute Dom lost his. A fight we all lost, no matter how many of us escaped breathing because the aftermath is fucking excruciating.

Our new reality surreal.

One in which our magnet no longer exists.

Flashes of my brother shutter in. The day we met. Our first late-night bike ride. Sharing our first stolen beer. Coughing through our first joint. Our high school homeroom theatrics. The shared pains of growing from boys to men.

Homing in, I attach myself to a few that stick out. One being the day Sean, Dom, and I stood outside the newly purchased garage—rattling inside with the inkling that we were on the precipice of something bigger, better than the simplicity of our current lives. The wordless looks we shared before we stared up at the building. The satisfaction in Dom’s eyes when he fixed his first car. The day he left for Boston, hesitating briefly with his duffle on his shoulder—not turning back to face any of us, the same way I hesitated the day I left to train as a marine. Because we knew we wouldn’t be able to take another step forward if we did.

Staring at my brother’s grave, I travel through rips in time between us all, and the tie that bound us—brought us all back together. Our bond first and always before our purpose, reason, and agenda. It’s the very thing that made us that feels as though it’s breaking us now.

In my peripheral, I catch the slow lift of Sean’s head and turn to see his watering eyes zeroing in on Tobias, filled with a contempt I never imagined I would witness. Tobias stands on the other side of the coffin, dressed in an immaculate black suit, not a hair out of place, his expression that of a man utterly destroyed. Feeling Sean’s gaze, he lifts his eyes to meet his judgment. As they stare across Dom’s casket, I feel the true break set in between them, along with the knowledge that they will never be the same.

That crippling realization lodges a thick ball in my throat. Next to me, Delphine squeezes my hand, having missed none of it. Needing her, I grip hers just as tightly as Dom’s casket starts to lower. It’s with that finality that Jeremy bursts where he stands, grunts of pain leaving him as his tears flow freely. With Jeremy’s break, grief starts to disperse in spurts throughout the crowd. It’s then Tobias visibly fractures from the weight before turning abruptly and stalking toward his Jag.

Pressing a kiss to Delphine’s temple, I whisper a low “I’ll be—”

“Go,” she whispers, her gaze fixed on Dom’s casket as it sinks further into the hallowed ground.

I’m ten steps behind when I snap out Tobias’s name in vain, knowing exactly where he’s going and to whom.

“Tobias...” I manage, my throat thick. “You can’t go,” I swallow, jogging to catch up with him as he quickens his pace. “You know you can’t—”

“Where is she?” he snaps, not sparing a glance back as he pulls his keys from his pocket.

“You don’t want to do this,” I warn. “It will only—”

He turns on a dime. “Where is she?!”

“At school,” I exhale, exasperated.

Within the minute, he’s inside his Jag, speeding toward Georgia, toward Cecelia. But even this far gone in his grief, we both know he won’t make it past the state line. He’ll protect her, even if doing so destroys what’s left of him. When his car is out of sight, I turn and start my climb back up the hill and through the gate. The sun disappears beneath a blanket of clouds as the crowd begins to disperse in scattered waves. Delphine remains the only one left, looking so small as she stands isolated at the edge of the grave, eyes cast down. Standing nearby with shovels, the two men at the ready look to me for permission to start, and I jerk my head, refusing to allow her to see it. Her grief and fear are too much of a combination to endure. Or maybe it’s mine.

It’s when I reach her that I see the true toll in her posture—which looks more maternal, like that of a grieving mother—as she stares down at her nephew’s grave. Standing idly next to her, it’s when the last car starts and begins to pull away that she finally turns to me and allows herself to fall apart in my arms.

Russell

Spotting the kid peeking behind the tree as the last of the soil is patted in, I wait at my car until he starts to approach Dom’s grave.

He looks to be no more than twelve or thirteen, but I can see in his posture that he’s matured far beyond his age. It becomes even more apparent as I approach, and he turns his watchful gaze toward me. His eyes are filled to the brim, a thousand emotions flitting through them. His lip is cut, and there’s a yellow bruise beneath one of his eyes.

I stand beside him in wait, sensing some familiarity but unable to place who he is.

“Hey,” I say, lining my footing up with his.

The kid’s chest bounces as he stares down at the fresh soil, and I appraise him. He looks like he hasn’t bathed in days or eaten well in months, his skin sickly.

“He was...” the kid starts, “he was the only...” he tries again and fails before deciding to allow his grief through—though he bats away a few of his tears. “He was the only person who ever saw me.” The kid sniffs and falters, face crumbling as though he’s lost everything.

My eyes burn as I stare down at the dirt and nod. “I can relate.”

For me, Dom was a mentor, a friend, and the only human being who truly saw the struggle going on inside me. He pinpointed it early, talked it out with me when I wanted to, and sat it out with me when I didn’t.

It was our secret.

Getting lost in that thought, the kid speaks up again, his voice filled with utter devastation. “I-I went to t-the garage last week, and that g-guy Peter told me.” He shakes his head. “Never mind. I’m sorry for your loss. I shouldn’t be here.”

The kid moves toward the gate, and on instinct, I palm his shoulder. He flinches, instantly pulling himself from my grip when it dawns on me. A conversation Dom and I had before he left for France. “You Zach?”

He nods, eyes widening a little. “He told you about me?”

“Yeah, he did.” I nod. “And I can tell you right now, you’re exactly where you need to be.” A soul-crushing relief covers his face as I nod toward my car. “Let’s go.”

Sean

“Alfred Sean Roberts, get your ass back in this house right now!” Mom yells at my back as I race out of the driveway, one of my shoes slipping on my pedal as I call over my shoulder. “I’ll be right back, Mama!”

“Now, mister!” Mom hollers after me, and I know she means business.

If I get my Sunday school clothes dirty, I’m going to get an ass-whoopin’. I pedal faster, my shoes slowing me down as my dad hollers my name from the porch when I turn the corner.

I pretend not to hear him. If I go back now, he might not be there.

I saw him when we passed on the way home from church—sitting on the curb. He’s always on the curb and never plays. Turning onto his street, I see he’s still there, sitting next to his mailbox. He sees me just before I ride up and stands up fast, looking both ways.

My shoes slide a little when I put my feet down to stop. “Hi.”

He stares at me as if I didn’t talk to him.

“You want to ride bikes with me?” I ask.

He just blinks at me. He’s got dark hair and skin. My cousin Bradly said his family are fortuners.

“Where’s your bike?” I ask, and he doesn’t say anything.

“If you get your bike, we can ride.” When he doesn’t talk, I try again. “Bradly said you were a fortuner!” I shout. “Are you weird?!” I tilt my head. “You don’t look weird.”

He squints at me.

“Can you hear me?!” I yell.

“I crashed my bike,” he says, squinting harder like I’m stupid.

I step off my bike and start rolling it toward him. He’s got a T-shirt with a car on it. I like Batman better. “You can ride mine, but only for a bit. I have to change out of my Sunday clothes.”

He jerks his chin and looks back at his house. “I can’t leave the yard.”

I tilt my head. “You can’t ride on your street? I can ride on my street, your street, all over.”

“No.” He shakes his head.

“Why? Where is your mom? I’ll ask her.”

“She’s dead.”

“Oh. Can I ask your dad?”

“He’s dead.”

I kick at a rock. “Then who do you live with?”

“Tatie,” he says, looking at my bike like he wants to ride it.

“What’s a Tatie?”

“Tatie means aunt in French.”

“You’re French? That’s what fortuner means?”

“You talk a lot,” he says, tilting his head.

I laugh at him. “I talk the same as everyone else. You talk funny.”

He squints at me again.

“You can ride mine, but just for a bit.” I hold the handles out to him. When he doesn’t take them, I sigh. He’s hardheaded.

“Okay. Well, I have to go.” I turn and walk slowly, knowing Daddy will meet me at the porch and skin my hide.

“I’ll get on, just for a...bit,” he says it like me. I turn back to see him rushing toward me before taking my bike by the handle. He sits on the seat, puts one foot on the pedal, and waits.

“Are you scared because you crashed?”

“I’m not scared,” he says through his teeth.

He’s scared.

“I crashed before, too, cut my hand good and bloody.” I hold it up for him. He doesn’t look mad anymore but still doesn’t push on the pedals. “Just...push the pedals really fast and hold the bars straight. You can do it.”

“Dom?” I hear called from inside his house. “Dom?!”

“That you?” I ask. “You Dom?”

He nods and drops his head. “That’s my brother,” he says as he gets off the bike and holds it out to me. “He won’t let me ride with strangers.”

“Okay,” I say. “Well...meet me tonight, after bed.”

He jerks his head. “He won’t let me.”

“Don’t tell him.” I smile.

“Oh.” His eyes go wide. “Okay.”

“It will be our secret.”

He nods.

I point to the streetlight. “Meet me over there. I need to get home. I’m going to get an ass-whoopin’ for coming to meet you in my church clothes.”

He throws his head back and laughs.

“You think that’s funny?” I smile. “That I’m going to get an ass-whoopin’ to meet you?”

He nods again and again, smiling, and I smile too.

“Okay, Dom, see you after dark.”

I look back as I push the pedals. “I’m Sean.”

He nods again, still smiling. The front door opens at his house as I turn the corner. “Dom, what are you doing? Get out of the street!”

***

“You were fearlessly flying down that street by midnight,” I say, ripping at some of the grass near his headstone—chest roaring as it has been since I saw his lifeless body on Cecelia’s bedroom floor nearly three months ago. “Not that you asked, but I did get an ass-whoopin’ just to come and meet the boy who sat on the curb every day.”

A wave of pain crashes into me as my eyes sting. “Best decision I ever made. I won’t ever regret it,” I choke out. Waves of anguish rush through me as I lower my gaze to the definitive dates. The dates that mark the beginning of his life and the end of it. I come here as often as I can to convince myself that this is real.

That he’s gone.

Something inside me refuses to believe it.

Our last words weren’t at all sentimental in nature or anything memorable. More transactional and out of fear.

But he knew. He always knew of my affection for him and vice versa. I used to wonder why people were so worried about last words after someone passes because the relationship is what matters most, but I get it now. I get it. I would give anything to have those seconds back, but I still have no idea what those words would be.

Then and there, I decide there won’t be.

I’ll never stop talking to him.

“Fuck,” I rasp out at the sting of the memory of the day we met. Seeing that kid on the curb, seemingly lost and waiting for anyone or anything to come along. The second time I saw him, I just knew that someone he was waiting for was me. Just as that surety settles over me, the breeze kicks up, and the trees rustle above, the foliage floating slowly toward the ground around me. The hinge of the gate squeaks as I focus on a gold leaf as it lands on top of his headstone.

“You always knew how to help me make sense of things, and you left me here to figure it all out. You did that for me. You always put things into perspective. I can’t,” I swallow “...I need you because I can’t make sense of this, brother. No matter how hard I try, I can’t understand how you not being here will ever be the way things were supposed to play out.” The ball in my throat chokes me silent momentarily as I grunt against it.

“I’m so fucking lost, Dom.” I fist my eyes as the merciless crack ripples through me as it has every single day since he left.

“How in the hell am I supposed to do this without you? The truth is, I can’t...but you’re going to make me, aren’t you?”

The breeze blows steadily, and I close my eyes in an attempt to gather myself. Face stinging, I take a few deep breaths, and inside them, somehow conjure an image of a freezing January night. A glimpse of Dom and me a few years after we met, flying down the street on our bikes. The shine on his, which was brand new as he flew past me, arms raised just as it started to snow.

“We’re flying,” he yells, looking back at me, eyes bright, a smile taking up the whole of his face. I’m flying with him. Head tilted up, snowflakes pelting my nose and lips as he whizzes past me—past the streetlight and into the darkness, his high-pitched voice filtering back to me, “Come on, Sean!”

My cellphone vibrates, jarring me out of the most vivid memory I’ve ever had, and I’m strangled with agony at the loss of it as his voice echoes through time and back to me. “Come on, Sean!”

“I’m right behind you,” I whisper in promise, “I’m right behind you, Dom.”

“I’m glad that you loved him, and I’m glad he knew what it felt like to be loved by you before he died, and it’s because of the way you love, Cecelia.”

—Tobias, The Finish Line