18. Sofia
Sofia
The days following James Mylonas’s death had passed in a heavy, disorienting fog.
The morning after his death, an agency-wide email went out announcing that Gold Standard was shutting its doors that following Monday.
When we returned to work Tuesday morning, the atmosphere in the building was somber, the usual competitive chatter replaced by quiet whispers and an underlying anxiety about the future of the firm.
A formal invitation had been circulated to the entire staff: everyone was welcome to attend the funeral services that following Friday.
Throughout it all, Rick was completely missing in action.
I tried to give him the space he needed to be with his mother and brothers, but the silence was agonizing.
I sent him a few text messages over those long days, keeping them simple, just letting him know I was there.
He always replied, but his texts were short, hollowed out by grief, though he still managed to be kind.
The brief words did little to soothe the knot of anxiety twisting in my stomach. I knew how Rick carried the world on his shoulders, and I worried he was neglecting himself entirely to hold his family together.
That next Friday, the church was packed to the doors with friends and family and the entire staff of Gold Standard.
My eyes immediately locked onto Rick. Standing with Jax and Chris in the front pew, he looked completely pale.
His sharp jawline was tightly set, as if he were trying to keep from fracturing out loud.
There was a lost, distant look in his blue eyes that broke my heart.
But the moment I stepped up beside him before the service began, he reached out and slid his fingers into mine.
His hand was cool, but his grip was fiercely tight, as if he was trying to anchor himself to me.
He held my hand all the way through the somber eulogies, the heavy organ music, and the final prayers, not letting go for even a second.
After the formal services concluded, the crowd began to disperse, but a select group of close friends and family were invited back up the mountain.
Nova and I drove up together, following the slow procession of vehicles back to the stone-and-timber mansion overlooking the valley.
The grand house had been transformed for the funeral reception.
The expansive kitchen and dining spaces were filled with high-end catered food and a fully stocked bar.
As guests began to filter onto the back deck and into the great room, murmuring their condolences, I stood near the edge of the kitchen, watching the room.
My mother’s voice echoed in my head about how to handle grief, but my eyes were strictly on Rick.
He was standing near the double-sided stone fireplace, dressed in his dark suit, listening to an older gentleman talk.
Nova stepped up beside me, holding two small plates of catered finger food. She handed one to me, her eyes drifting toward the sofa where Jax was sitting, looking completely exhausted.
“How are you holding up?” Nova asked softly, her usual sharp demeanor softened by the gravity of the room.
“I’m okay,” I whispered, keeping my eyes on Rick as he politely nodded to the executive before him. “You?”
“I can’t believe he’s gone,” she said, setting her untouched plate down. “James was…” She tilted her head as if searching for the right words. “He was like a really cool uncle who showed me everything I needed to know about marketing.”
I nodded in agreement. Even though Nova had gotten more hands-on training from the man than I had, he had given me a chance when I was an out-of-luck college dropout.
“How is Jax holding up?” I asked, motioning toward the man I knew my best friend had been infatuated with since grade school.
Her eyes moved back over him. The three brothers had that same lost look in their matching blue eyes.
“He’s holding up.” She turned slightly toward me. “Do you think Rick will return to San Diego now and let Jax take over the family business?”
My heart sunk at the thought of Rick going anywhere.
“I… don’t know.” I felt my head start to pound.
“It’s not that I want Rick to leave.” She touched my arm. “It’s just, Rick has his own business and well…”
“I get it,” I said with a slight nod.
It was strange. This entire time I’d known that Rick returning to San Diego was a possibility. After all, Nova was right. He had his own successful business to run back there, and it had been a struggle to run both businesses since he’d gotten here a few months ago.
“I just want everyone to leave so I can finally wrap my arms around him.” I changed the subject and motioned toward Rick.
“You haven’t told him how you feel yet, have you?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Have you told Jax?”
“It’s… different. We’re complicated.”
I rolled my eyes and turned toward my best friend in the whole world. The person I knew as well as I knew myself. “Man up and tell that guy how you feel, will you?”
She let out a breath and shook her head. “Not the right time.”
I sighed and then wrapped her in my arms, seeing she was hurting not only for Jax but also for the loss of James.
“They’re going to make it through this,” I said softly into her hair.
“I know,” Nova whispered, leaning into the hug for a brief second before pulling back and wiping at her eyes. “Go on. He needs you.”
I squeezed her shoulder and slipped away, navigating the crowded room until I reached Rick.
The older gentleman was just wrapping up his condolences, patting Rick’s shoulder before drifting toward the bar.
When we were alone, I didn’t say a word, I just slid my hand into his.
His fingers instantly clamped down around mine, his grip almost desperate.
It was another two grueling hours before the crowd finally thinned out enough for us to make our escape.
After Rick gave his mother and brothers a fierce, lingering goodbye, we walked out to his car.
I had ridden up there with Nova, and had confirmed that I’d get a ride home with Rick so she didn’t have to wait around for me.
The weekend stretched ahead of us like a quiet, empty canvas. He drove us back to his rental house just as the sun dipped below the peaks. The second the front door clicked shut behind us, the tight, rigid posture Rick had maintained all day completely dissolved.
He dropped his car keys onto the counter, walked straight into my arms, and buried his face in the crook of my neck.
“I missed you,” he said into my hair.
I wrapped my arms around him, holding him with everything I had.
His chest heaved with a silent, ragged breath, and I just held him right there in the entryway, letting him finally drop the heavy mantle of the grieving executive and oldest son.
We spent the rest of the night just holding onto one another, tangled in the sheets of his bed, the silence of the house thick and protective around us.
That entire weekend became a sanctuary. The agency didn’t exist. San Diego didn’t exist. Death couldn’t touch us here. It was just the two of us. No outside world to worry about.
I spent those days listening to him. We sat out on the deck under the warm autumn sun, and for the first time, he really talked about his dad.
He told me stories about when he was a kid, about how James would drag all three boys out to the construction site of their cabin and make them carry lumber just to teach them the value of a hard day’s work.
He talked about the many fishing or camping trips they’d taken as a family. He told funny stories about the trips the family had taken abroad.
He laughed, a real, genuine sound, remembering how his dad used to cheat at golf when he thought no one was looking, and how he’d roared with pride when Rick had finally launched his own marketing business in California.
But I could tell that the nights were the hardest on him.
In the dark, when the stories ran out and the room grew cold, the weight of the loss would settle back onto his chest. I stayed awake with him, my head resting on his shoulder, my hand resting over his heart.
He would lie there for hours, completely still, staring up at the bedroom ceiling as the moonlight cut across the room.
He didn’t have to say anything. I just stayed right there in the dark, slowly rubbing reassuring circles against his chest, letting him know without a single word that wherever his mind was drifting, and whatever decisions he had to face about his future, he wasn’t going to have to face them alone.
We didn’t really talk about the possibility of him going back to California. I was too afraid to ask him.
Monday morning, the fragile sanctuary of the weekend was stripped away as the real world came crashing back down on us.
Rick returned to work, and on the surface the rhythm of Gold Standard Agency fell back into its relentless routine.
The creative team was deep into the asset pipeline for all our current customers, who were worried things would change now that James was no longer there.
I was completely submerged in coding the user registry for the Clear Creek Brewery app.
Rick was in and out of his office, taking meetings and reviewing contracts just like before. If you didn’t look closely at the faint shadow of exhaustion under his eyes, you would have thought things were completely back to normal.
Then Tuesday afternoon hit.
Rick had been pulled into a closed-door meeting with his brothers and the family’s legal team at noon.
When he walked back into the bullpen a few hours later, I could see the change in him immediately.
I was standing by the printer, checking some layout proofs, when he passed by.
He didn’t lock eyes with me. His jaw was set in a rigid, impenetrable line, his shoulders squared as if he were bracing for a physical blow.
The warmth that had anchored us over the weekend was entirely gone. He looked completely closed off.