Chapter 8
Creed
The burial site is on the cemetery hill, the hole in the ground dug, the priest standing at its head, next to a simple gray stone engraved with Jeremiah’s name and the dates of his birth and death. No rank, Loving Father, or Beloved Husband. I’m many things, but a fucking liar isn’t one of them.
Greta’s closest, a big black hat obscuring half her face. She’s clutching a white handkerchief, wiping her dry eyes every few seconds, face still flushed with anger because, save for the two of us, my friends, and Miriam, no one came.
And it gives me the kind of sick satisfaction I’ve craved for years. No one ever came for me. No one thought about digging deeper to uncover the real reasons behind the bruises, split lips, and black eyes I wore daily for almost a decade.
No one cared... and it gives me immense pleasure that no one came to say goodbye to Jeremiah. I didn’t announce his death, but our neighbors watched his body being wheeled out, so it’s common knowledge.
I wouldn’t have shown up if it were an option, but I need to see his coffin go six feet under with my own two eyes.
The priest drones the same generic bullshit he repeats at every funeral. I gave him nothing to work with. Not one detail about Jeremiah, so he’s spewing the long-rehearsed lines he’s invented for all the Jane and John Does he’s buried over the years.
Hyde’s on my right, his long black coat billowing in the wind.
Dash is on my left, and Noah’s two steps back with Millie, his coat draped over her shoulders.
He gave it to her as we exited the car, and while my father’s corpse is being lowered, all I think about is tearing his coat off and wrapping her in mine.
I don’t understand why I’m annoyed, but Noah’s easy familiarity with Millie sets my teeth on edge. And if Hyde’s stiff shoulders are any indication, it annoys him, too.
Greta sniffles when the casket hits the bottom of the ditch. She throws a single snow-white rose onto the pine box before grabbing a handful of dirt to sprinkle the casket.
Miriam’s watching, waiting for me to move, but I don’t. I stare at the ground, mind drifting through every hit I took over the years. Every insult, broken bone, and tear I ever shed.
I hate funerals. I was five when my mother died of cancer, but I still remember the day of her funeral like it was yesterday.
The crowd was considerably larger for her than it is for Jeremiah.
Hundreds of people showed up. Hundreds of flowers were laid around her grave, piled so high I couldn’t see the ditch through my blurry eyes.
I remember Dad’s hand squeezing my shoulder, fingers digging in hard, his stoic expression, not one emotion flickering across his face.
The wake was held at our house, dozens of people mourning, crying, all wearing black.
I sat in front of the fireplace holding two toy cars, but I wasn’t playing.
I didn’t play with anything after she died.
I just sat there with the cars and listened to people talk about how gracious and lovely my mom was.
How it was such a shame she died so young.
My father nodded along, nursing one drink after another, and once he’d closed the door behind the last guest, another door opened into a black hole that swallowed my childhood, my safety, and whatever was good inside me.
I went to bed that night with bruises all over my body.
Jeremiah hated me because when Mom was too sick, he had to retire from the army to take care of me. He wouldn’t earn more stars, wouldn’t advance the way he dreamt of. Mom and the army were his whole life. I was just something Mom wanted, and he despised after her death.
“Creed.” Dash nudges me with his shoulder.
I glance at him, focusing on the here and now. There’s no point reliving the past. Normally, I make it a point of honor, but today... I knew it’d be inevitable.
Miriam sprinkles more dirt on the casket, then comes closer, squeezes my hand and mutters a few rehearsed sympathies. A minute later, she stalks off down the hill in her bright raincoat while the priest huddles with Greta, then whispers “I’m sorry for your loss” as he follows Miriam.
“Where’s the wake?” Greta stops in front of me, picking invisible lint off her coat. “I’m starving.”
“There isn’t one. We’re heading back to college soon.”
Her eyes flash again but she glances over her shoulder at the hole in the ground and decides her brother’s burial place won’t be tainted by this argument.
“You’re a disgrace, Elias. He deserved better than this.”
“He deserved worse and you know it,” I snap. “You saw me every week. You knew what he was doing and you said nothing. You did nothing, so how about you get the fuck out of my face.”
She looks like I’ve struck her, a hint of shame swimming in her eyes. Her lips open, then close, the lies dying on her tongue as she puts her shades on and stalks away without another word.
Dash waits until she’s out of sight before whipping his cock out and pissing on the pine casket.
Hyde waits until she’s out of sight before pulling out a bottle of Jeremiah’s most treasured bourbon.
He was presented with it, along with medals and gifts, when he retired, and all these years he never drank it, saving it for a special occasion. My funeral, most likely. He told me he’d kill me at least once a week.
Well, the joke’s on him.
Hyde uncorks the bottle and passes it over. I take a large gulp, the alcohol burning down my esophagus. Noah comes closer, taking the bottle next. He drinks in silence, eyes on the dirt, his face ashen from the cold.
He doesn’t say a word, but his eyes track Millie as she steps forward, his coat falling to her knees. She stands over the ditch, a single, long-stemmed white rose pinched between her fingers.
Hyde stopped at a flower shop on our way here, but no one went inside with her. My friends know Jeremiah Creed didn’t deserve flowers. He deserved prison food and a daily raping.
But Millie bought the rose, and now she’s standing at my father’s grave, pinching the stem, eyes cast downward. Hyde pulls from the bottle next, then passes it over to Dash while Millie’s still toying with the flower like she’s second-guessing her gesture.
And then... her closed fist hovers over the hole in the ground. She opens her palm, dropping a handful of thorns she’s plucked...
Blazing heat swells behind my ribs when she turns, the thornless rose still in her hand, eyes catching mine. She doesn’t say anything, but she smiles softly, holding the white rose out to me.
I catch Hyde smiling, and Dash chuckles.
“Something tells me you’ll easily fit in this dysfunctional group. You get it, Mini Ward.”
She does. She fucking does. She smiles the same smile that made my chest constrict earlier, takes the bottle from Dash, while holding my gaze, and swallows three gulps, then cringes as the alcohol slides down her throat.
Her cheeks immediately turn my favorite shade of pink.
Dash cheers, pulling her in for a hug. He releases her before his arms make it all the way around, though.
“Shit, sorry. I forgot.” He steps back. “No cuddles.”
She passes the bottle to me, eyes sparkling, but I don’t drink from it. If she weren’t here, I’d get smashed, but she is and I feel... responsible. One sip to mark the end of Jeremiah’s journey, the end of his hold on me, is enough. From now on, I don’t owe him a single thought.
From now on, it can be as if he never fucking existed.