It’s been a week since Adam died and was cremated. My parents are holding off on a funeral to give our extended family time to arrange travel plans, so his service isn’t until next Sunday. They’re both off work on bereavement, but I’ve already missed a week of classes.
I’ve learned in the last several days that everyone grieves differently. While Mom and Dad can’t think about going back to work yet, I need to go back to school. I need something I can put my energy into that isn’t thinking about my little brother. He wouldn’t want me to be sad forever, even if deep down that pang of loss will always be there.
I’ve spoken to Allison a couple of times since it happened. Tristan calls every night and stays on the phone while I cry myself to sleep. Both of them wanted to come to Mapleville, but I wouldn’t let them, fearing it would make everything feel more real. I’m barely hanging on as it is.
My parents drive me back to Rockdale after dinner Sunday evening, and it’s never been so difficult to say goodbye to them, even though I’ll be home again in less than a week.
“You don’t need anything before we head back? Groceries or anything?” Mom asks.
I manage a small smile. “I’m okay.”
They’re having as much trouble saying goodbye as I am. If I think about them driving back to an empty house, I’ll never let them leave. I’m sure Tristan would give them a suite at the hotel, but I wouldn’t ask that of him, and they wouldn’t want to live in a hotel for a week—no matter how fancy it is.
I hug them both for a long time, praying Mom won’t cry again. I won’t be able to hold back my own tears if she does, but I’m thankful she keeps it together.
Once they’re gone, I head to my room and dump my duffle bag on the floor beside my desk. Allison isn’t here, so I write her a note that I’m back in the city before I leave, walking with my head down through the residence building. I feel eyes on me everywhere; word travels fast around here.
At the campus streetcar stop, I stand in the pouring rain without so much as a hood to cover my head. When the streetcar arrives, I stare out the front window the entire ride and get off at the stop I’ve gotten so used to over the last few months.
I swipe my all-access employee card and ride to the penthouse suite. My reflection in the mirrored panel of the elevator makes me cringe. I look like a drowned homeless person. My hair and clothes are soaked through, and yesterday’s mascara that I’d put on to meet with the funeral director streaks down my cheeks.
Once I get off the elevator, I stand in front of the door for a lifetime before I knock. My hand shakes as I rap against the dark wood with a closed fist. Water from my hair drips down my face and onto my shirt. My body shakes, and my toes are all but numb—like the rest of me.
The door swings open, and I lift my head until our eyes meet. His expression is hard, the sharp lines of his face defined by the dim light behind him.
He closes his eyes and lets out a breath. It’s such a human thing to do. “Aurora,” he says in a hushed tone.
When he opens his eyes, he reaches for me, but I flinch away. If he touches me, I’ll come undone.
“I . . . don’t know . . . why I’m . . . here,” I admit through chattering teeth.
He ushers me inside. My skin sings at the warmth of his living room, but I feel awkward dripping rainwater on his floor.
“You’re going to get sick,” he says.
I don’t respond.
He sighs. “Skylar,” he calls.
The door to his home office opens, and Skylar walks out, frowning when she sees me. “What’s this?” she asks.
“I need you to help Aurora into the shower. Get her warm so she doesn’t get sick.” Ha. Wouldn’t that be tragically ironic? Me getting pneumonia.
She blinks a couple of times. “Okay. They’re waiting for you.” She jerks her thumb back toward his office.
He nods, shifting in front of me, and grasps my chin in a gentle hand. “I’ll be back. Please let her help.”
Once he decides I’m not going to respond, he drops his hand and walks away.
Skylar eyes me as she approaches with hesitation. That’s a first.
When she puts her arm around my shoulders and leads me through the suite, I don’t protest. Once we make it to Tristan’s bedroom, Skylar leads me into the en-suite bathroom and flicks on the light.
“I know we’re not friends,” she says.
I glance at her.
“But I’m sorry,” she continues. “I know what it’s like to lose someone important. No one deserves that.”
I nod in acknowledgment.
Skylar turns on the shower and turns away while I peel off my wet clothes. Under other circumstances, I would be mortified, but right now I couldn’t care less. She gathers my clothes and leaves me alone.
My eyes travel around the room, taking in the elegance. Marble counters line one wall with two massive sinks, a white porcelain clawfoot bathtub, an all-glass shower, and a fireplace with a flat-screen television installed in the wall above it. Over-the-top is an understatement.
I stand in the hot spray of the shower until I stop shaking and can feel my limbs, and then I continue to stand there, letting the water mix with the tears rolling down my cheeks.
“I love you, Adam,” I say to the empty room.
The last words I should’ve said to my little brother keep playing over in my head until my legs give out and I slide down the glass wall onto the floor of the shower. Hell, I don’t even remember what the last words I did say to Adam were.
I pull my legs to my chest and wrap my arms around them. I’m shaking again, but it’s no longer from the cold.
My brother is dead. My brother is dead, and I didn’t get to say goodbye.
“Aurora.” Skylar’s voice makes me glance up. “Oh.” She frowns. “Tristan asked me to check on you.”
I don’t say anything.
“You should get out now,” she suggests before reaching over to turn off the water.
“Don’t!” I scream.
Her eyes widen as she steps back. “Aurora—”
“Get out! Leave me alone!”
“It’s okay—”
“Get out,” I cry.
She shuts off the water, getting the front of her blouse wet. She wraps her fingers around my wrists and pulls my hands away from my knees. “You can’t stay in here,” she says in a firm tone, holding my hands in hers.
When I don’t say anything, she sighs, reaching behind her to grab a towel, which she wraps around my upper half.
“Stand up,” she instructs in a softer tone.
I blink at her. I don’t want to move.
She tucks the towel under my arms and lifts me until I’m standing in the shower, holding onto her arms. She guides me out and onto the bathmat.
“Your shirt’s all wet,” I inform her.
“I don’t care.”
“Okay,” I mumble, staring at the delicate buckle on her belt.
“Aurora,” she says in a quiet voice.
I glance up to meet her gaze, and my bottom lip trembles. I blink a few times, but the sting of tears is too strong. “Adam is dead,” I say as a sob tears free.
“I know,” she says and wraps her arm around my shoulders. “I’m sorry.”
She hugs me to her side while I cry in the middle of the bathroom.
Skylar leads me into the bedroom and hands me a shirt. It’s one of Tristan’s. She looks away when I drop the towel like she didn’t see me naked in the shower a few minutes ago, and I pull it on, buttoning it until it covers my breasts. It falls to just above my knees, and I roll up the long sleeves.
“I’m going to get Tristan,” she says, heading for the door.
“Skylar,” I call after her. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
She pauses, turning to face me. “It’s okay, human. You’re forgiven. This time.” The faint quirk of her lips manages to make me smile. For once, the tone of her voice when she calls me human doesn’t sound like an insult.
I’m fidgeting with the hem of the oversized shirt I’m wearing when Tristan walks in. His eyes darken as they take me in.
“What?” I ask.
His jaw works. “You, in my clothes . . .” he trails off as his eyes continue to devour me where I stand. “Are you warm enough in that?”
I nod, closing the distance between us and grip his arms. “I’m sorry I showed up without any notice,” I whisper.
He dips his face down, and some of his hair falls into his eyes. “Don’t apologize, Rory. I’m glad you came,” he says. He wraps his arms around me, and I press my face into his chest, inhaling, comforted by his clean, crisp smell. It’s familiar—it’s Tristan.
“Stay here tonight,” he murmurs.
I peer up at him. “In your bed? With you?”
His lips twitch. “In my bed. With me.”
I nod. “Okay.”
He leans down and brushes his lips across my forehead, alleviating the pounding behind my eyes. I’m not sure when the dynamic between the two of us shifted so significantly, but it’s during moments like these that it’s clear that it has.
I slide my fingers along the fabric of his collar. “Thanks,” I murmur.
He nods. “Can I get you anything?”
“I’m okay.”
He grazes my cheek with the back of his hand before he walks away and takes off his dress pants, tossing them into a hamper. He takes his time undoing the buttons on his shirt before adding it to the laundry, and pulls on a pair of dark gray sweatpants.
I sit on the end of his bed, staring at my hands in my lap. “Skylar was nice to me.”
He chuckles. “You sound surprised.”
I lift my head to look at him. “Aren’t you?”
He tilts his head. “Maybe a little, but I think you’ve grown on her.”
I find myself hoping he’s right.
Tristan sits beside me and sighs. “‘I’m sorry’ isn’t sufficient for me to say to you, but nothing is right now. Adam was a kind young man who didn’t deserve to have his life cut short before he had a chance to live it. I know you’re in pain. I know you’re devastated—I can feel it. But try to remember, through all of the pain you feel, Adam is watching over you. He’s right there with you, always. He’s proud of his older sister, and he loves you. That love will last forever,” Tristan continues, “long after tonight and long after his memorial when you’ll say goodbye to him for the last time.”
My lower lip trembles as I nod. “Th-thank you,” I manage to say.
“Why don’t we get some sleep?”
“Okay,” I say, standing to walk around to the side of the bed and crawl under the covers. Tristan does the same on the other side.
We lie facing each other for a while before I slide over and wrap my arms around him. He circles an arm around me and runs his hand up and down my back.
“I don’t think I can do this,” I cry into his shirt.
He tips my chin up with his other hand. “It feels that way right now, but you’re the strongest person I know. This pain, this heartbreak, is the worst thing you’ve ever experienced in your life, but you will bear it, and it will make you stronger.”
I shake my head. “What if I don’t want to? What if I can’t?”
A hint of a smile touches his lips. “You underestimate your own strength, sweetheart. I thought you knew better than that.”
I cast my eyes downward, my damp lashes fanning my cheeks.
“Rory,” he murmurs. “You don’t need to be brave or strong right now. Just know that when all of this is over, and you have a minute to breathe and start to move on, you will do so with a grace that continues to captivate me every day. That’s who you are. You know that.”
Somewhere, deep down, a part of me that isn’t broken and grieving knows he’s right, even if I don’t believe it right now.