CHAPTER 16
When Wil Jordan explained the events in the morgue, Axel felt a small measure of the hope he had heard in Wil’s voice.
The two families had come together in forgiveness and understanding.
Dan Brown had even gone on live television and exonerated the young man who had hit his son, explaining the extenuating circumstances and placing blame on the true guilty party—the drive-by shooter.
Axel hadn’t asked Clint for details about the shooter’s “final moments.” What mattered was that he was gone, one less threat in the world.
On the morning of the funeral services, Axel dressed in the only suit he owned.
The families were holding a joint graveside service, and the two boys would be buried next to each other.
Wil and Frank had been invited to the services and had been asked by the families to extend the invitation to Clint and Axel. Devlin and Abel would also be there.
When Clint emerged from the bedroom in a suit, Axel felt a chill. Not a ‘damn, he’s handsome’ chill—though he was—but an eerie chill, as if they were preparing to attend their own child’s funeral. The thought made him feel sick. He couldn’t imagine what the two families were going through today.
“You okay?” Clint murmured as Axel just stared at him.
“Not really,” Axel admitted, his voice thick.
“Except for the day it happened, this is going to be the worst day of their lives. I want to offer my condolences, but I don’t know what to say.
” His eyes stung. “Saying I’m sorry for your loss feels so generic.
I wish…” He lowered his eyes as his vision blurred, then cleared his throat.
“I wish there were something I could say that actually… helped.”
Clint walked over and hugged him. “If it were our child,” he murmured, “is there anything anyone could say to make this day hurt less?”
Axel rested his head on the cowboy’s shoulder, tears sliding down his face. “No.”
“No.” Clint held him tighter. “There isn’t.” He kissed his head. “Just being there, showing them that their kids’ lives mattered—even to strangers—I think that will mean more to them than any words of sympathy.”
Rita Healy entered the bedroom to find Connor standing before the mirror, his hands trembling as he struggled with his tie, tears in his eyes.
She went to him and took over. He raised his chin and stared at some distant point across the room, his jaw tight and his throat working as he battled his emotions.
“There,” Rita whispered, finishing the tie. She helped him into his suit jacket and smoothed the lapels. “You look real nice.”
He stared at his reflection, his eyes vacant, glossy with tears. “I don’t want to go, Mom.” His chin trembled, and tears slipped free. “I don’t…” He bit his lower lip as a sob caught in his throat. “I don’t want to… say goodbye.”
“I don’t either, sweetheart.” Rita let out a slow, shaky breath.
It took everything she had not to break down.
They had a long day ahead, and if she broke now, she would never make it through.
“But not saying goodbye isn’t going to bring him back.
I know it’s hard.” She felt cracks forming as her eyes filled.
“But we need to do this so he can rest in peace.”
“How…” Connor’s head drooped, and tears dripped from his chin. “How do we… move on? I-I don’t know how to do that.”
“We take it one day at a time,” Rita said, her voice quiet. “Today, the funeral. Tomorrow…” She swallowed. “We’ll face tomorrow… tomorrow. And each day after that the same way until we can start looking forward again.”
“I don’t think I ever can.” He closed his eyes as more tears squeezed out. “I can’t look ahead without him. I don’t want to.”
“I know, baby.” Rita wrapped her arms around him. “I don’t want to, either. I know it will be a long time before I can.”
His breath came in broken gasps. He hugged her for a long moment, then whispered, “I don’t want to see them again.” Quiet sobs escaped him. “I don’t want to see… what I did.”
“They don’t blame you, Connor,” Rita said softly. “They told you that. They know it was an accident. They’re not angry with you—they’re angry with the shooter. He is the one at fault, not only for Gage but also for the loss of their son. They understand that.”
“But I was still the one who…” Connor withdrew from his mother and turned away, pressing a hand to his eyes as sobs shuddered through him. “I took everything from them.”
Rita hugged him from behind, pressing her lips to his shoulder. “It breaks their hearts that you blame yourself. They don’t want you to carry that unbearable burden.”
Rita understood her son, though. She understood his guilt and pain. No matter how many people assured him it wasn’t his fault, he would carry that guilt for the rest of his life; his heart was too good not to carry it.
Dan Brown sat on the edge of the bed, dressed and ready to go—but not ready.
He leaned forward, resting his face in his hands as pressure built in his chest until his lungs constricted.
He wondered if his heart would give out.
Maybe he would die of a heart attack today.
If it were just him, he would wish for it.
For Nora, he prayed his heart was strong enough to make it through this day.
“Are you ready to go, hon?” Nora asked quietly from the bedroom doorway. Her voice sounded small and frail.
Dan sniffed, rubbed his eyes, and lifted his head.
“Yeah,” he rasped. He wasn’t, though. He would never be ready to bury his only child.
Jamie had been their miracle baby. Nora wasn’t supposed to be able to have children; all the doctors said so.
Some even urged her to have a hysterectomy.
She wouldn’t do it. She believed in miracles. And Jamie was that miracle.
Why give us a miracle, then take it away?
Dan blinked as the room blurred. It made no sense to him, and he wanted to demand that God explain Himself—explain this…
act of cruelty. All Nora had ever wanted was to be a mother, and she’d never taken a single day of Jamie’s life for granted.
She cherished every breath he took. She thanked God every fucking day for the miracle he’d blessed them with.
“Dan…?”
Clearing his throat, Dan wiped away tears and rose from the bed. Gravity felt twice as strong today, pulling at every muscle in his body. Each step across the bedroom was heavy, as if his bones were carved from granite.
Nora took his hands as he drew close and raised them to her lips.
She held them like that for a long moment, a tremor in her body.
She was no more ready for this than he was.
Watching his wife—Jamie’s mother—try so hard to be strong, not only for herself but for Dan, made his anger toward God flare hotter.
Had he grown bored with the prayers of protection that Nora and Dan offered over their son every day?
Did he just not give a shit anymore and look away while their child walked out in front of a fucking car?
Dan tilted his head down and pressed his lips to Nora’s hair. He didn’t want to be angry today. Anger made him lose control, and he needed to be in control, to be Nora’s rock, no matter how much he was crumbling inside.
He gently gripped her shoulders and drew her into a tender hug. “We should go,” he whispered. His throat quivered as fresh tears welled. “Jamie’s waiting for us.”
Wil held Frank’s hand as they crossed the cemetery lawn, their shoes crunching on frost-stiffened grass.
A low, bitter breeze sliced between the headstones, making the funeral flowers tremble on nearby graves.
Dark clouds hung oppressively low, threatening snow as they approached the small procession gathering a few hundred yards away.
Frank had taken the deaths of these two boys especially hard, maybe because he was now a father of teen boys, too.
The last time Frank had shown such emotional distress was the horrific day his tables had filled with children from the orphanage.
That had been a bad day for everyone, especially for the cowboy.
The only “comfort” was the kids who were found alive and rescued from that house of horrors.
They slowed when they saw Clint and Axel climbing out of their car on the gravel drive just a short way down the hill.
Their breath formed small clouds that dissolved quickly in the raw air.
They waited for the couple, then resumed walking when the two men joined them, their collars turned up against the chill.
Axel looked as distraught as Frank, his face pale against the colorless landscape.
“Are you okay?” Wil asked.
Axel sighed and seemed to take strength from the cowboy as he held tightly to his hand. “Not so much. But…” His gaze drifted forward to the families. “… not having as bad a day as them.”
“They’re such kind folks,” Frank murmured, swallowing thickly. “It’s so heartbreaking what they’re going through.”
Wil squeezed his hand, and Frank drew closer to him. Wil loved the man’s heart and wondered for the umpteenth time why it took him so long to realize he was a gay man madly in love with his gay best friend. It hadn’t taken Frank nearly as long to figure out he was in love with Wil.
Warm thoughts of their love helped ward off the chill of grief and loss hanging over the cemetery grounds.
Wil glanced at the cowboy who remained silent, eyes focused forward.
He didn’t ask about his “pursuit” of the drive-by shooter, and suspected the man had been apprehended and dealt with already.
The cowboy wasn’t one to drag his feet in such matters.
Not asking allowed Wil to maintain plausible deniability.
It was the core of his and the cowboy’s special “relationship” as outlaw and lawman.
Don’t ask, don’t tell. It was working so far.
Wil cleared his throat. “Both families received substantial financial donations for the funerals, more than enough to cover funeral costs as well as any hospital bills.” He looked curiously at the cowboy. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
The surprise on Clint’s face was answer enough. “No,” the cowboy said. “They don’t know who it was from?”
“Entirely anonymous,” Wil replied. “I know you have some wealthy friends, I thought perhaps…”
“No,” Clint murmured again. “I had planned to arrange a donation, but… no, that wasn’t us.”
“Hm,” Wil nodded. “Interesting.”
“Who would have donated so much money?” Axel asked.
Clint shook his head and mumbled, “No idea.”
Noting the slight crease in his brow, Wil wondered if he did have an idea.
Rita sensed Connor’s steps slow as they approached the Browns, who stood with a small gathering of family and friends.
Rita had no extended family to lean on for comfort and no close friends to confide in.
The friends she’d had while she was married drifted away when her husband left her to raise two boys alone.
Maybe the loss of her “friends” had something to do with the fact that her husband was cheating with one of them.
Maybe more than one. She didn’t know. She didn’t care anymore.
Especially not today. When her husband abandoned them, he’d left behind the best part of himself—her boys.
What was left over wasn’t worth keeping.
She grasped her son’s hand when he faltered again.
It wasn’t only the Browns that made him draw back, but their loved ones all around them.
Rita hesitated as well. Would they be as understanding as Dan and Nora?
Dan Brown had defended her son on TV, but there would always be some people who blamed him.
“Rita.” Nora Brown stepped forward as soon as she saw them. She hugged Rita, then the young man beside her. Tears shimmered in her eyes, magnifying her grief and anguish. “Please, join us.” She led them to the small group and made the introductions.
The others appeared sympathetic and offered their condolences. Connor stood with his eyes on the ground, not meeting anyone’s gaze. Dan drew the boy closer, wrapping a thick arm around his bowed shoulders. He cupped the back of Connor’s neck and drew his head to his shoulder.
“We’re going to get through this,” he murmured into his hair. “All of us, together.”
Connor turned his face into the man’s broad shoulder and broke down as Dan enveloped him in both arms, crying softly with the brokenhearted boy.