The day of Adam’s memorial, the sky is bright and clear—the first day without rain in a while.
Mom and Dad spend the morning locked in their bedroom, which leaves me to get ready in silence. I sit on the end of my bed in the plain, knee-length black dress I picked out last night. I drop my gaze to the notecards in my lap and sigh. I spent hours working out what I wanted to say about Adam, but right now nothing seems good enough. I stare at the words until they blur into black splotches on the cards, and then I tuck them into the pocket of my jacket.
There’s a soft knock at my door before Mom peeks her head in.
“Almost ready?” she asks. Her dress is similar to mine aside from the short sleeves on hers where mine is sleeveless. Her hair is up in a soft twist, and she applied a bit of makeup that she has already cried off. Her eyes are puffy and red. How else should she look?
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll be right down.”
She nods, a solemn expression on her pale, tear-stained face, and closes the door.
I take a shaky breath and let it out before I slip on black heels and shrug on my jacket.
I walk out of the room and pause at the closed door before the staircase. My hand reaches for the handle, but I stop myself, biting my lip. I shake my head and keep walking, meeting my parents downstairs in the front hallway.
“We can do this,” Dad says.
I nod. “We have to. For Adam.”
“For Adam,” he agrees, and Mom covers her mouth to muffle a sob.
We’re escorted into the back of a car, and I stare out the window the entire drive to the cemetery.
Adam would be happy. So many people sit in rows, facing where his silver-and-black urn sits on a podium. We sit in the front row with Mom’s parents and Dad’s mother, and behind us sit family members I don’t remember that well or have never met. Among the crowd are teachers from Adam’s school, some of his friends and their parents, and more faces I’m unfamiliar with. Allison and Oliver are two of the only ones I recognize, and they offer small, sad smiles when I see them.
The pastor talks about love, life, and loss, and a bit about Adam and his short life. Dad chokes back a sob beside me, and I reach over to grasp his hand. He looks over at me and smiles through the tears, squeezing back.
The time comes for me to speak, and I stand, giving my dad his hand back. I walk the short distance to the podium and pull out my notecards, the crowd silent as I prepare myself.
As the wind blows and the faint smell of the roses surrounds me, I close my eyes and inhale, letting the breath out a few seconds later. I lift the notecards and read the first line in my head before I stop and set them face down beside the urn.
“Adam was this incredible person that my parents brought into this world—into my life—and who I had the privilege of calling my brother. We all knew him differently. Some were friends, some were family, and if you were lucky enough, you were both.” I stop to take a breath, and my eyes connect with familiar stark blue ones in the crowd.
Tristan holds my watery gaze, his expression soft and solemn.
For the number of moments he’s made my head spin, his presence now is steadying. It’s exactly what I need to get through the rest of Adam’s eulogy.
I return to my chair and stand with my parents as the urn is placed into the ground. Mom, Dad, and I step forward and drop roses on top of the soil after it has filled the spot where Adam’s ashes now lie. I close my eyes as wetness trails down my cheeks, and my parents wrap me in a sob-filled hug while we all say goodbye to Adam one last time.
My house is filled with people after we return from the cemetery. I don’t remember whose idea it was to have a reception here, but if it was mine, I’m regretting it now. A grieving person can only handle so many offers of condolence and hugs from people they should know the names of but don’t. That’s what happens when you have a huge family. I’ve been offering smiles and accepting hugs from family members I don’t know for over an hour now, and all I want to do is sneak to my room and lock myself inside until everyone leaves. Allison and Oliver are around here somewhere, helping my parents by handing out drinks and whatever sympathy food people brought with them. I feel guilty, but they’re such social people, they don’t mind chatting with my family.
I’m leaning in the doorway to the living room when a hand touches my shoulder, and Tristan shifts closer to kiss my cheek.
“How are you doing?” he whispers.
“Honestly?” I sigh. “I want to get the hell out of here.”
He slides his fingers through mine and gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “Why don’t we get you something to drink?”
I lean back into his chest and glance up at him with an arched brow.
“Tea or coffee, sweetheart,” he says.
I purse my lips. “What about coffee with something a lot stronger?”
“I’m not sure that would be a good idea right now.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I grumble.
“What’s that now?” he checks.
I roll my eyes. “I’m not going to say it again, Tris. Nice try.”
Before he can say anything, Mom approaches, offering a small smile. “Hello, Tristan,” she says.
“Mrs. Marshall,” he greets in a warm tone, reaching out to shake her hand. “Please accept my deepest condolences.”
“Thank you for being here today and for being so supportive of Aurora.”
“Of course. It’s been my pleasure.” He steals a glance at me and smiles.
I look over at my mom. “How are you doing?”
Her smile fades. “I’m hanging in there. Your father has barely left my side since we walked in the door. He’s talking to your uncle right now, so I thought I’d sneak away and check on you.”
“You don’t need to worry about me, Mom. Please take care of yourself and make sure Dad is doing the same.”
She blinks, trying to clear her watery eyes. “You’re my daughter, Aurora. I will always worry about you.” She glances past me to where Tristan stands. “Maybe you two should get out of here for a bit,” she suggests. “Go grab lunch or something. I’m sure we can hold the fort for an hour or so. You’ve been so strong during all of this, Aurora. Take a break.”
I shake my head. “I don’t need to, Mom. It’s okay. I’m not going to leave you and Dad to talk to all of these people.”
“Please, Aurora. This is your mom taking care of you.”
“Okay,” I concede. “Please call me if you need anything.”
“Deal,” she says, stealing a quick hug before walking back into the living room, where a group of people pull her into a conversation.
When Tristan pulls into the parking lot of one of the most expensive restaurants in the city, I shoot him a look.
“We’re not eating here,” I say, glancing over at the people walking into the building with suits and formal wear. “We could’ve gone for something more casual.”
“Is that what you want?” he asks, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.
My stomach growls at the thought of kung pao chicken. I glance over at him and offer a small smile. “Maybe.”
“Whatever you want, Rory, say the word.”
“There’s an amazing hole-in-the-wall restaurant a few blocks down.”
“You got it.” He pulls back out onto the street and holds one hand out to me, keeping the other on the wheel.
I slide my hand into his, resting it on the gear shift. “Thank you,” I murmur.
It only takes a few minutes to get to the locally owned Chinese place I told Tristan about. My family has been ordering from this restaurant since I was born, and from what I can tell, it’s still as amazing as it was over a decade ago.
One of the waitresses I’ve chatted with on several occasions, Tess, seats us in the far back booth and leaves us with menus. I scan mine as if I don’t already know what I’m going to order. I peek over at Tristan, watching him for a moment before his eyes flick up and catch me staring.
He shoots me a wink and sets his menu on the table. “Do you know what you want?”
I nod, dropping mine on top of his. “I knew before we walked in the door.”
He chuckles. “You’re always prepared.”
I tilt my head. “I spend so much time with you,” I say. “I have to be.”
Tess returns to the table with our drinks, so Tristan doesn’t say anything in response to my remark. I hand her the menus and order my kung pao chicken and vegetable chow mein before Tristan orders. She scribbles down what we want and hurries off to get our order in.
“Crap,” I mutter. “I left my phone in the car. I should go grab it in case my mom calls.”
“Stay here. I’ll get it,” he offers.
I shake my head, standing. “Toss me your key, and I’ll be right back.”
He fishes the key out of his pocket and drops it into my open hand. “Always so stubborn,” he murmurs.
I walk backward to the front door and blow him a kiss. Outside, I head toward the parking lot at the back, clicking the unlock button as I approach the passenger side. Swiping my phone out of the cup holder, I slip it into my jacket pocket and lock the car after I shut the door.
Before I can turn around, a hand clamps over my mouth. Someone slams me against the car. I cry out, pain shooting across my face where it hit the window. I spin around to face my assailant and wince when he grabs me by my throat. His dark brown eyes narrow, his white blond hair flying all over the place with the wind.
“Aurora,” he purrs, cocking his head to the side. He looks over my face as his fingers dig into my jaw.
I try to smack his hand away, cringing at the sharp pain. “Who the hell are you?” I growl, as two others step into my line of sight—a guy and a girl who both look my age.
He presses his knee between my legs and leans in until his face is inches from mine. “Keep quiet,” he snaps.
“Ease up,” the other guy barks.
“Fuck off, Nik,” the guy snaps but lets go of me.
“We were told not to harm her,” the guy—Nik—says.
“So what?”
Nik rolls his eyes, thrusting a hand through his messy black hair, and shrugs. “Your funeral, asshole.”
The girl sighs. “Can we hurry? I’m getting bored.”
I shove the guy away from me. “I’m going to take a shot in the dark and guess that you lot are light fae.”
Nik slow claps from where he’s leaning against one of the parked cars.
“What gave us away?” the guy still blocking my escape asks with a snicker.
“Well, it certainly wasn’t your friendly demeanor,” I remark dryly.
The light fae whose name I still don’t know growls and rears back to hit me, but his fist never connects. I blink, and he’s flying through the air until he smacks against the brick side of the building.
I suck in a sharp breath as Tristan prowls toward the guy crumpled on the ground. “Don’t.” I grab his arm. No matter how much that fae deserves what he’d have coming to him, I don’t think I can watch Tristan kill someone.
“Nice suit, Westbrook,” Nik laughs from the same spot against the side of the car.
“You want to live, Sterling?” Tristan snaps.
Nik snorts. “Oh, threatening. Showing off for your girl?”
Tristan steps around me, and faster than my eyes can register, he has Nik by the collar of his jacket. Seeing fae shifting from one place to another so fast makes me queasy. “Since when do you do Jules’s dirty work?”
Nik cocks a brow. “Who says Jules sent us?” He shakes his head.
“Nikolai,” the female fae snaps.
“Why are you here?” Tristan demands, and his knuckles go white as he tightens his grip.
“Now where’s the fun in me giving that up?” Nik’s eyes glimmer.
“Well, you might get to keep your life. That could be fun.”
“You’re so uptight, Tristan.” Nik glances over at me. “Anytime you want to get away from Mr. Broody over here, you let me know.”
Tristan growls and slams him into the car, which shatters the passenger-side window.
I offer a tight-lipped smile. “Not in your lifetime.”
He chuckles. “I’m immortal.”
“Exactly.”
Nik rolls his eyes and twists Tristan’s arm enough to slip free, stumbling to the side. “Believe it or not, Westbrook, your fight isn’t with me.”
“My fight is with the light fae,” he barks. “Until they—you—stop killing my people, my fight is with you.”
Nik fixes his jacket where Tristan wrinkled it. “I haven’t killed anyone.”
“You’re going to act like you weren’t going to kill me?” I cut in.
He licks his lips. “I wasn’t.” He shrugs. “I was going to watch.”
Tristan backhands him so hard, he falls to his knees. Tristan hauls him to his feet and strikes again and again, slamming his fist into Nik’s face until blood is spraying from his nose and mouth. The female fae disappears at that point.
My eyes focus on the battle in front of me. Nik isn’t getting many hits on Tristan, but it doesn’t look as if Tristan is putting much effort in either, and he’s practically pummeling Nik.
Nik disappears, and Tristan whips his head around, growling.
A hand snakes around my waist and a hand clamps over my mouth. This shit is really starting to get old.
“Let. Her. Go,” Tristan says in a voice so hard, so low it hurts my ears.
“Relax, Westbrook. I’m not going to hurt your girl, especially not today.” Nik spins me around to face him and tucks my hair back. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
My mouth goes dry. I blink at him, and then he’s gone.
The fae on the ground comes to, groans, and gets to his feet. “Your days are numbered, Tristan,” he grumbles. “Jules will make sure of it.” With that, he disappears, too.
“Are you okay?” Tristan asks, stepping in front of me.
“I’m fine,” I say.
He tilts my head back to look over my face, and his features sharpen. “Does it hurt?”
“It doesn’t feel particularly good,” I answer.
He closes his eyes and exhales through his nose before he traces his fingers along my skin to heal the marks from being thrown against the car.
When he leans down to kiss my cheek, I cup the side of his face and guide his lips to mine, kissing him fiercely.
After we break apart, I say, “What the hell was that about? Jules has people tracking us now?”
He shrugs, tucking my hair behind my ear. “It’s possible.”
“Tris, you don’t think my parents are in danger, do you?”
“We can’t be sure of anything, sweetheart, which is why I’ve had a team of my people watching them for a while.”
I let out a breath. The idea of Jules targeting my parents makes my pulse surge with nervous energy, but knowing they’re protected eases the weight on my chest. “Thank you.”
“Maybe we should take this food to go?”
I’m not about to argue with that.