I straighten my tie and check myself out in the rearview mirror of one of my less extravagant vehicles since my Ferrari is kaput. I wish Brandi had come home after the match –not just so she could help me with my tie like she always does but so I have tried to make up for what had happened in the locker room. I can’t believe I knocked her in the face.

After several minutes of debating with myself, I climb out of my car and head down the stretch of walkway towards Gabe’s graveside funeral. My stomach churns slightly. I don’t want to be here. There is a large, framed picture of him set up on an easel as I make my way towards the large tents and chairs. I pause here. It’s an older picture of him from when he was probably just seventeen; I have to remind myself that for him that was only four years ago. It was the last formal picture he had taken –his senior photo. This makes it all the more surreal for me; he was still just a kid having just turned twenty-one.

There is a considerable crowd already here; I can hear his mother up front sobbing while she talks to other mourners about Gabe. Damion is up there talking to her. Despite Damion always giving Gabe hell, Damion had been Gabe’s idol. Hell, he was mine too. I go to offer Gabe’s parents my sympathies, and they thank me for coming –but they are fairly distant with me. I don’t really blame them; most people are pretty sketched about knowing that I had been there when Gabe had been killed.

For a moment I am able to pull Damion aside before the ceremony can get underway. “How’s Brandi?” I ask. “How pissed is she?”

“Honestly, she was not that angry. She was just real quiet,” Damion says, and I definitely do not think that that is a good thing. “You really fucked up, kid,” he tells me.

I see Marty and Tyler pulling up together. The two of them look pretty ghostly. I had not seen them since Gabe’s passing; I had been the one to call them both and tell them what had happened, though, and they had sounded pretty wrecked. I head towards the back of the tent area towards the picture frame where they both had paused. “Awe, man,” Marty has to look down and away from the photograph. “You told me what happened, but I guess I just didn’t really believe it until I got here today.”

I nod. “Yeah, well, reality is a bitch.”

Tyler is really quiet. Gabe was the kid brother to all of us, not just to me. Marty reaches out and puts a hand on Tyler’s shoulder. Marty’s eyes go up towards the tents. “A closed casket?” he asks, “They didn’t have a viewing at the funeral home, so I thought-”

“He was shot in the face, man,” I say, and I shiver slightly because the words make the memory of it flash in front of my eyes for a second, and I can almost feel the blood splatter against my face again.

This makes Marty and Tyler all the paler. I had told them that on the phone, but being here at the funeral is an entirely different ballgame. “Damn,” Marty says, getting a little choked up.

“You all right, Ty?” I ask, not having heard Tyler’s voice since they had first arrived.

“We had just been with him, you know?” Tyler says, “We should have just all taken a cab together. We just didn’t want to have to ride across town and then back again. We should have just-”

“Relax,” Marty says as Tyler’s voice starts to crack.

There is a long pause in which none of us speak, just silently reminiscing about Gabe. “It’s about to get started,” I say, “we should-”

Before I can finish my thoughts, Marty suddenly blurts out, “Had you had anything to drink, Jonathan? When you took Gabe home?”

I frown. “He was shot, Marty.”

“I know. You told me what happened. You cut some guy off, and then he chased you guys down and shot Gabe. I was just…”

I get defensive. “What?” I snarl, “You think if I hadn’t been drinking then I wouldn’t have cut the guy off? Man, fuck you, I swear-”

Marty takes a step back. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like I was blaming you, Jonathan.” His tone his harsh.

“Let’s just go find some seats if there are any left,” Tyler says quickly and starts to push us both under the tents before we can get into an argument.

The funeral service gets underway, and I have to try my best not to lose it while I’m standing in the back of the tent beside the guys listening to stories and praises about Gabe. Suddenly I look over, and I see Brandi standing on the far side of the tent –having arrived late, probably to avoid having to speak to me. She’s dressed in a black dress and black funeral hat, and I see that her fucking arm is in a sling with her wrist and elbow tied up in a brace. Did I do that? Her lips are swollen, and I can see a line of stitches running along her bottom lip –and that makes me feel like hell. She’s wearing sunglasses to avoid eye contact with anyone.

After two of Gabe’s older cousins give him a sound off with an acapella style Amazing Grace, the funeral dismisses, and Gabe’s casket is lowered. Brandi suddenly makes a run for the parking lot without sticking around, and I hurry after her. We get a good distance away from the crowd before I shout after her, “Brandi!”

She reaches her car, and I can see her dad jumping out of the driver’s seat and running around to the passenger’s side to open the door for her. “You better walk away now,” he warns me.

I’m a bit taken back by this. I’ve always gotten along real well with her parents, but I’m sure Brandi showing up at his home with a busted lip and an arm in a sling probably did not bode well for our in-law relationship. “Look, I just want to talk,” I say as calmly as I can. Brandi pokes her head out the window of the now closed car door, having removed her hat and sunglasses. I can see now that I had gotten more than her lip during my tussle with Donte; she’s got a damn black eye from all the swelling in her face from where I had busted her dead-on her lips. “Awe, shit, Brandi,” I say under my breath when I see her.

She has been crying –probably from the ceremony. “Fuck off, Jonathan,” she tells me, “I’m done.”

“Done? What do you mean?” I ask, talking around her father and not daring to come an inch closer. I definitely don’t want to get into a fight with her dad.

“You’re just a washed up boxer and a damn drunk! I’m tired of your bullshit. Gabe’s dead because of you, and I don’t want to be next!” she lets the window roll up, and I can still feel the sting of her words as her father walks around the car and peels out of the parking lot.