I ran inside, convinced Ruby was deliberately making a scene to get sympathy. And I'd obliged her, enjoying the feel of her little body pressed against mine a lot more than I was expecting. But when I stepped into the vestibule, I realized she'd actually been telling the truth.

I'd missed it.

I'd fucking missed it.

I felt the sick realization settle into my limbs, weighing me down. And then right after it came the dull detachment as I pulled back from that awful feeling, unready and unwilling to feel it fully yet. This was Gid's funeral and I'd fucked up and missed it. I knew the despair was going to hit me soon enough, but right now all I could do was sigh as I opened the second set of doors and entered the funeral home.

The sickeningly floral smell hit me first - nothing natural or fresh smelling about those flower arrangements, they all smelled like they'd been spritzed with old lady perfume - and then the sound of scraping chairs and stretching bodies. The service was over and everyone was making to leave and no one seemed to be looking for me, or towards me, at all.

It was odd. I couldn't remember the last time I entered a room without all eyes on me.

The pissed off adrenaline over the closed bridge was slowly draining away, leaving behind a muddy sort of unreality. Half because I was in a funeral home and that was my Uncle Gid in a box over there. And half because I was back in Crown Creek and I hadn't seen any of these people in almost two years. I stood there for a moment, trying and failing to collect myself, to call on the years of being in front of an audience to pull myself together, but the old creeping anger was still raising the hairs on the back of my neck. And it only got worse when I caught sight of my brothers. I touched the flask in my back pocket. I'd filled it with the good shit when I'd left very my hotel in Ohio very early this morning, knowing I might need a lot of help to get through this day.

Beau had been the one to call me, and at first I thought it was some kind of sick joke. Maybe a cheap trick to get me to come home and force a reconciliation with my brothers. I'd even been hoping that the closer I got to Crown Creek, because the alternative was too insane to bear. Uncle Gideon, dead? That couldn't possibly be true.

That last hope had drained away when I pulled into the parking lot and saw my parents' car in the lot. Now all I had was detachment, and fucking despair.

My sister Claire was the first to notice me hovering in the background. "JoJo!" she cried, in that voice of hers where you don't know if she's going to hug you or slug you.

I let out a laugh that was more like an exhale than anything else. "Hey," was all I managed to say. The casket was looming there in the front. I couldn't take my eyes off it.

"There you are!" my mother cried, immediately stepping past my blank faced brothers to fold me into her arms. She had a way of pulling you down into her hugs, trapping you in a hunched over posture that quickly grew uncomfortable, but there'd be hell to pay if you tried to wiggle out of her embrace. You had to let her hold you for as long as she needed.

She needed to hold on to me a long while now. I sort of got it. I didn't mean to let two years go by without returning to Crown Creek. I really didn't. Not intentionally, anyway. It was just a matter of having a lot of work to do, being so damn busy carving out a solo career, rebuilding from the ashes of the King Brothers.

"Hey there," I said to her, because what else was there to say? I tried to straighten up without disturbing my mother's hug and caught my father's eye. "Dad," I sighed. "I'm so sorry."

My father blinked once and then nodded. He was never one for outward displays of affection, that was my mom's job. "You drive here?" he asked me.

"There's really no other way to get all the way out here, right?" I replied, standing up as my mother finally released me. "Crown Creek isn't exactly a hotbed for public transit.

Dad let the snarky comment slide. "How's your rental?"

"It's fine, Dad."

"Did you check the air pressure in the tires?"

I blinked. "It's a rental. They do that for you."

"Jonah's used to having people do things for him." Gabe piped up, managing to smile wide enough that everyone laughed except me.

"It's a rental," I repeated.

But my Dad was already putting on his coat, mumbling about checking the oil. As he stepped aside, the casket came back into view again.

I ducked past my sister's eager smile, my mom's sad one, and my brothers' uniform glowers. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the funeral director hovering, like a black-suited shadow. The service was most definitely over now, and they were probably waiting to whisk my uncle out of sight, down to the crematory to reduce him to nothing more than gray ashes.

I swallowed back the bile this thought raised. Fuck it. They could wait. "I'm going up there," I told them all. "To say goodbye." If my brothers wanted to give me any kind of shit - whether about being late, being successful without them, or maybe just about the shoes I was wearing - they were going to have to do it while I was saying goodbye to my uncle.

There was a kneeler set up by the side of the casket. I supposed it was there in case I wanted to say a prayer for Gid's soul, but he didn't need that from me. Better or worse, he was already headed to where he was ending up. This moment was all for me.

I forced myself to look down at the body. The set of Gid's mouth was all wrong, and his hair was combed straight back all neat and proper like instead of falling all over the place like a gray-maned lion.

"You look like shit, man," I said under my breath.

This would have normally earned me a smart retort, maybe a smack on the back of the head and then an invite down to the shed for a jam session and a sip - "just a sip so your dad doesn't kill me" - from the 'good Scotch.' I'd had all different kinds of Scotch by now, but none had been so smooth, so perfectly balanced as the stuff my uncle would slip me.

I blinked and then blinked again. Gid was the dad I should have had, I'd always secretly believed it. He was the one who'd given me my first guitar. He was the one who'd taught me to watch people's eyebrows so eye contact didn't freak me out, a trick I'd used in countless interviews since then. Gid had sat there quietly and listened to my dreams, and more than that, he'd told me I'd make them happen. Instead of telling me to be practical and have a back-up plan like the man I'd actually called Dad. Gid was my cheerleader, the only one who understood the all consuming ambition that drove me, and instead of calling me crazy, he'd celebrated it. Maybe he thought the music I played was shit - he'd definitely told me that once or twice or twenty times - but he always admired me for devoting my life to playing it.

I blinked again. The tear fell before I could catch it and landed on Gid's navy-blue lapel where it pooled for a moment before soaking in to the fabric.

I reached back and pulled out my flask. My hands were shaking, but I managed to get it unscrewed. The quick sip burned the tears away and I took a deep breath. It was good Scotch. Just like Gid liked.

The funeral director cleared his throat, I had half a mind to give him the finger, but an idea occurred to me.

Quick, before I could think about it, I slipped the flask in next to Gid's arm. "Here, Uncle Gid," I whispered. "In case you get thirsty."

I stepped back quickly before I lost my shit completely. The hovering shadow got closer and I nodded. "Yeah," I said, clearing my throat. "I'm done."

I was done. Gid was gone.

I felt like a part of me had died alongside him.

I blinked away so I didn't have to see them close the coffin and wheel it out of sight, and that was when I saw my sister's friend Ruby watching me and realized she had seen the whole thing.