“They’re about to start. Are you coming in?”

I stop scanning the street for a familiar face before my eyes drift to Brax. He is standing in the entranceway of a little white church in the middle of Ravenshoe. His favorite jeans and Henley shirt have been replaced with fitted black trousers and a light blue long-sleeve dress shirt. His face is void of the scruff it usually has, and his hair has been contained by a low ponytail. If it weren’t for the massive set of bags under his eyes, you’d think he was here to attend a wedding, not the funeral of our best mate.

Chris died three days ago. Exactly three days before his twenty-second birthday. Instead of letting us have this day to grieve, his mother decided to lay him to rest. How fucked up is that? She had her choice of days, yet she picks today. If I didn't already believe she was the spawn of Satan, I now have no doubt.

After scanning the street one last time, seeking a hair color I’ll never forget, I nod my head. Brax doesn’t utter a syllable. He doesn’t need to speak for me to hear the words he wants to say. “She isn’t coming, Ryan.”

I spend the first half of Chris’s service peering over my shoulder, absorbing the hundreds of faces surrounding me. Some new, many old. With Chris being born and raised in Ravenshoe, the number of people crammed into the tiny church is staggering. I wish he could have seen how many people cared for him, then maybe he would have fought a little harder.

Chris thought he was alone in the world. Today proves he wasn’t. He was loved. More than he’ll ever know.

“What?” I ask, returning my eyes to the front when an elbow lands in my ribs.

“It’s our turn,” Brax nudges his head to the podium Noah just left. “You ready?”

No. No, I’m fucking not. But instead of saying what I really want to say, I once again nod.

Even while reading the eulogy I wrote at 1 AM this morning, my eyes continually scan the many entrances of the church. She should be here. Even if she believes I deceived her, Savannah should be here for Chris. He was her friend as much as he was mine, so why isn't she here? The service is almost over, and she still hasn't shown up.

The longer Chris’s funeral progresses, the angrier I become. What Chris said the day of his death is true: Savannah was part of our crew long before she was my girl, so why isn’t she here? Why hasn’t she come to say a final goodbye to the boy who crushed on her as hard as I did during middle school? Did Chris's friendship mean so little to her she couldn't set aside her anger for one day?

If so, that's fucked. Chris doesn't deserve to be disrespected like this. He was always there for Savannah—always. Even when Brax was telling me to move on after Justine's eighteenth birthday, Chris kept his opinions to himself, as he'd rather stay quiet than disrespect her. He even drove her to school, for fuck's sake. How could she forget all the times he’s been there for her?

If this doesn't already make me mad, the fact my concentration is centered on her instead of giving my best friend the send-off he deserves frustrates me even more. I'm so fucking angry; if I hadn't promised Chris I’d keep an eye on Noah, I'd be out of this town first thing tomorrow morning. I stayed for her, yet she is the one who gets to live her life without anguish.

That’s bullshit.

“You heading out?” Brax asks, stopping my steps midstride.

My eyes drift around Chris’s monstrous family house to ensure we don’t have any onlookers before replying, “Yeah, Noah left with Jacob around an hour ago, so I’m going to hit the sack for a few hours before my shift tomorrow.”

Brax flicks his half-smoked cigarette out the back door before spinning around to face me.

“I thought you quit?”

He bows a dark brow. “I thought you were taking a few weeks off work?”

I grimace. “Guess we’re both shit at quitting stuff that’s bad for us.”

I don’t need to say whom I’m referencing. Brax knows my comment has nothing to do with my job, and everything to do with a green-eyed, honey-haired girl I once knew.

After a quick swallow to clear my throat of nerves, I say, “I want to put a few hours into Justine’s case.”

Brax nods, understanding my objective. Savannah's best friend was mauled by a dog three weeks ago. Details are sketchy, but Regina is certain mafia fingerprints are all over the case.

I guess that should have been my first sign that Savannah was never coming back. Justine will survive her injuries, but it is the scars we can't see that will take years to heal. If they ever heal. If Savannah isn’t here to support Justine through this, why would she come back for me?

“Have you seen Justine yet?” I follow Brax to my truck, the hammering of my heart hiding the anger in my voice.

Brax clears a drop of ash from his bottom lip before shaking his head. “I called her last week. She said she wasn’t up for visitors. Maybe next week?”

I squeeze his shoulder. “Maybe.”

I never got an update on what happened with Brax and Justine years ago. The last I heard about their “non-date” was the night Chris and Brax spiked my coke with vodka. He never mentioned her since that day. But with the worry in his eyes doubling when I asked about her, it’s clear they’ve kept in contact.

I want to say I've maintained an amicable friendship with Justine as well, but unfortunately, that isn't the case. The pain in her eyes when I grilled her on Savannah's location told me she didn't know where she was. I was just too stubborn to acknowledge it. She answered every call I made the first six months, then they dwindled to two or three a week, until she eventually stopped responding to them altogether. It wasn't that she had forgotten Savannah; she just couldn't tolerate my confusion or anger anymore. I can't say I blame her. Misery is always best handled solo.

God—everyone in this town must think I’m a fool.

Not anymore. I’m done. I’ve spent more time searching for Savannah than I’ve known her. I should have realized years ago that you can’t force someone to see sense. I couldn’t drum it into my mom’s head, and I most certainly can’t force it on Savannah.

When she’s ready, she’ll come home.

I just won’t be waiting for her.