Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Chesney
Funerals are strange. Everyone dresses in black and speaks in hushed whispers. They tell you how sorry they are, and you’re expected to know the right thing to say back. But I don’t.
By the time Truett and I pull into the church parking lot, it’s already filling up. It looks like the whole damn town is here today.
“Dad would’ve hated all this attention,” my brother says as he parks in a spot toward the back.
“Yeah.” I snort.
Truett turns off the engine, but for a long moment, we don’t say anything, and we don’t make any move to get out.
We simply…sit here. My chest has been tight for the last twenty-four hours, knowing this was coming, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to calm my nerves.
The hardest part is over—Dad’s gone—so why does this feel significantly more difficult?
Probably because there’s an unspoken expectation about how a family should grieve.
I’ve seen it before, especially at Lyle’s funeral.
Families going through the unimaginable are placed under a microscope, judged by how much or how little they cry or react to it all.
It feels almost like a performance, and it doesn’t make any sense.
“You ready?” Truett asks.
“No.”
He nods once, a mutual understanding. “Me neither.”
We climb out anyway, because grief doesn’t wait until you’re ready.
The church is already buzzing when we step inside, but the minute everyone sees us, they stop talking.
They stop moving. Then, one by one, it begins.
The handshakes. The hugs. The kind words about how he was a good man and if either of us needs anything, they’re here for us.
The words blur together after a while. I take it all in, but barely hear anything. I thank people I don’t register, accept hugs from people I haven’t seen in years, smile when I’m supposed to, and nod when I don’t know what else to do. I’m moving on autopilot.
Through the haze and the chatter, I spot Jasper.
He’s standing near the back with his hat in both hands, wearing a dark suit that looks like it was made for him and polished boots.
His eyes are scanning the room, and when they finally find mine, something inside my chest loosens.
The smile he gives me is small but sincere, and he waits until the line of well-wishers thins before coming over.
He wraps one arm around my shoulders, keeping it brief and gentle, and exactly enough.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I say.
He squeezes once before stepping back. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be today.”
The words send warmth through my chest, and an odd sense of safety blankets me, like Jasper’s presence alone gives me a shoulder to lean on. Like I’m able to find the strength to get through this day simply because he’s near.
I think about the other night. About how he was there for me, no questions asked, when I called.
Then I think about waking up to find him asleep beside me after one of the worst days of my life.
I hadn’t realized how badly I needed that until he gave it to me.
The support. The kindness. The love, be it platonic or otherwise. I needed Jasper, and he was there.
“Hey.” A familiar voice has me turning. Wade looks wildly out of place in a suit, standing beside my brother, who must’ve walked over at the same time.
His tie is crooked, boots muddy, and he opens his arm dramatically, and does something I desperately need today—he makes me laugh. “I was told there’d be free food.”
“Couldn’t behave for one day, huh?”
“I am behaving,” he says cheekily. “I wore a shirt with a collar.”
Despite everything, I chuckle again. It’s small, but real, and it feels good. Really good. Emotion catches unexpectedly in my throat as I squeeze Wade’s shoulder. “Thanks for being here, man. I appreciate it.”
He shrugs. “You fixed my truck for free that one time.”
“I charged you.”
“Emotionally free,” he corrects with a smirk.
Truett scrunches his nose, watching the entire interaction with furrowed brows. “What does that even mean?”
A smile curves my mouth as I shake my head. “I have no idea how you’ve survived adulthood.”
Winking, Wade says, “It’s all my charisma,” emphasizing the last word with spirit fingers.
“I think you mean delusion,” Jasper retorts, but I don’t miss the twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“Eh, same thing.”
I shake my head, breathing out a small laugh.
For a few brief, blessed minutes, I almost forget why we’re here.
I forget about the ache in my chest and the ball of anxiety furled tightly in my stomach.
It’s nice, and refreshing, but unfortunately, it doesn’t last long.
The service begins shortly after. The pastor speaks about Dad’s generosity.
About his stubbornness. About the way he loved this town, even when he pretended not to.
People laugh through tears more than once, me included.
Truett eventually gets up there and shares a story about when Dad taught him to drive a car.
Then it’s my turn.
Given the history of our relationship, I felt torn about whether I should speak today.
For so much of my life, I couldn’t stand the man we’re all here mourning.
But that doesn’t mean every memory I have of him is bad.
And despite the rocky relationship, I feel different now that he’s gone.
I feel different now that I’ve said my piece.
So, despite still being unsure, I get up behind the podium anyway to honor my father, even with shaky hands and a pounding heart.
“I spent a long time trying to figure out what I wanted to say today.” I glance down at the folded piece of paper before laughing quietly. “Dad would’ve hated that I wrote it down. I remember him telling me once, if you have to write something down, you probably didn’t mean it enough. I was seven.”
Soft chuckles ripple through the room. My eyes find Jasper. He’s smiling, and when he nods, a sense of calm washes over me.
“Truth is…” I continue. “We weren’t always easy with each other.
We lost a lot of years after Lyle died. Years I’ll now always wish we could’ve gotten back.
We both carried our grief differently, and somewhere along the way, we forgot how to find each other inside it.
” I pause, clearing my throat before swallowing hard.
“But the last few weeks gave us something I wasn’t sure we’d ever have again.
Acceptance and an understanding of each other. ”
Tears sting my eyes.
“He apologized for things he didn’t have to apologize for.
He told me he was proud of me. I don’t think he knew I’d spent nearly twenty years needing to hear those words.
” I laugh softly through the lump in my throat.
“Dad wasn’t the kind of man who said ‘I love you’ every day.
He showed it by changing your oil before you realized it needed changing.
By pretending he wasn’t cold while giving you his jacket.
By standing in the pouring rain because you were too damn stubborn to quit learning something.
“And if you burned a steak…” I smile, shaking my head.
“Well, he’d let you know real quick that you’d committed a crime against cattle.
” Laughter echoes through the church. “He wasn’t perfect, but he was my dad.
And I’d give just about anything to hear him tell me one more time that I was doing it wrong.
” My voice breaks, and a tear spills over, rolling down my cheek.
“I love you, Dad. Thank you for never giving up on me, even when we forgot how to find each other. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make you proud. ”
When I return to my seat, Jasper squeezes my knee. “That was perfect,” he whispers.
It feels like there’s a weight pressing down on my chest, but I’m glad I did that. I’m glad I didn’t let our past steal this away from me. And I’d like to believe Dad’s looking down on me right now.
After the service ends, we migrate to the cemetery.
That’s harder than the church. It’s harder than the soft voices, the hugs, the eyes on you.
The finality of it, the sound of dirt hitting wood, the way everyone slowly drifts away afterward.
By the time we make it back to the banquet hall, my head is pounding.
Someone asks a question, then another, and even more after that.
The room feels too small, the voices too loud.
My breath catches, and I excuse myself without really knowing where I’m going.
All I know is that I need to be outside.
I need to be away from the sad eyes and the nosy questions from people who, I’m sure, mean well.
I barely make it around the corner of the building before I brace both hands against the brick wall and suck in a gulp of air.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
In—
“Chesney.” Jasper’s voice, soft and careful, cuts through my panic.
“I’m okay,” I lie.
“I know.” He doesn’t come closer right away. Doesn’t crowd me. Instead, he just stands beside me, giving me a space to break down. “It’s a lot.”
I nod, seemingly unable to do anything else. My heart feels like it’s going to burst through my chest at any moment.
“Don’t try to talk to everyone,” he says softly.
“I feel like I have to,” I admit, my voice cracking.
“You don’t.”
I swallow down another deep, shaky breath. “But I should.”
“No.” He finally steps closer and rests his hand between my shoulder blades. “Chesney, you buried your dad today. You don’t owe anybody anything.”
Something shatters deep in my chest. “I can’t…” I press the heel of my palm to my eye. “I can’t think.”
“I know.”
A minute later, the door opens again. Wade pokes his head outside. “There you are.” He takes one look at my tear-soaked face, then at Jasper. Then back to me again. “Good.”
My brows pinch. “What?”