52. Jackson
Jackson
I stare at the sheer sea of crisp military uniforms. There are so many people here today for the lost soldier. I haven’t got a clue how Donovan managed to pull some strings to get the exact time and location for the service.
So here I am, awkwardly clutching a box of Crumb & Crust cookies, all because of a memory that popped into my head—how Splash and Brody used to fight over the care packages I sent. Who the hell turns up to a military funeral with fucking cookies?
I’d told the guys I needed to do this entirely alone. Logan and Donovan begged to come with me, but being here today meant missing a mandatory practice, and Coach already made it clear, my ass better be on that team flight to New York tomorrow morning.
A military honor guard stands just beside the flag-draped coffin. I hang back at the edge of the gathering, keeping my head down. I don’t want to be seen. It’s my first military funeral, and I’m not here for any other reason than to be a quiet shadow of support for Splash.
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
The sudden, loud burst of the three volley salute rips through the quiet air, making me jump.
My heart is hammering against my ribs as the echoes fade.
Off to the side, soldiers are meticulously folding the flag over the casket into a perfect, tight triangle, presenting it gently to the grieving family.
Life isn’t fucking fair. Why can’t Splash be here?
Why couldn’t they just let him come home to bury his best friend?
Eventually, the crowd thins out. People begin filtering back toward their cars, engines starting up in the distance. Once the very last mourner pays their respects and walks away, I finally step up to the coffin.
I look down at the polished wood, my throat tight.
“You don’t know me,” I whisper, my voice thick.
“But I’ve heard so much about you. Splash said you used to fight over the cookies.
” A wet, broken laugh slips out of me, and I place the bakery box gently on the edge.
“I’m here because he couldn’t be. You meant the absolute world to him. ”
I choke back a sob, reaching up to wipe my eyes beneath my glasses. As I stand there for a moment longer, paying my respects to the unknown soldier who was like a brother to Splash, a soft voice breaks the silence.
“Jackson?”
I jump, startled, and turn to see a woman standing a few feet behind me, wearing dark sunglasses that hide her eyes. I immediately recognize the raw grief in her posture.
“I’m Anna,” she says softly, stepping closer.
“Brody’s wife.” She looked at the cookie box resting on the casket, and a small, heartbreaking smile touched her lips.
“He told me everything. Right before that final mission, he called me. He told me all about the man who sends the best cookies. He told me how happy your letters make Splash. He was so proud of you both for finding each other.” She reaches out, gently touching my arm.
“He was so happy you were there for his best friend. Thank you for being here today.”
I blink back new tears, completely unable to form a word. All I can do is nod, my throat closing up completely.