Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
Hudson
Igive up trying to get my tie to lay correctly and move on to fixing my hair.
I’ve already styled it once, but I keep running my hands through it, trying to get a handle on my anxiety.
My pill bottle is staring at me, but I’m trying to use all the techniques Maria has drilled into me before going that route.
None of them are working.
It’s been four days since Mrs. Amy found Ella’s body lying on the floor of their living room, her bag of pills spilled around her. The police are calling it a suicide—asphyxiation from too many pills lodged in her throat.
The moment we found out about Ella, I had a full-blown breakdown—shaking and hyperventilating to the point I almost passed out.
Cullen made me pull over on the side of the road so I didn’t get us into another wreck.
He held me while I cried, his arms keeping all my pieces from completely shattering.
Every time I close my eyes, I keep seeing her on that couch with a blanket over her lap, smiling at me like everything was normal. Then the memory twists into the last time I saw her, glassy-eyed and crying as she confessed to things I never imagined she was capable of.
My heart squeezes.
She was my first best friend. The girl who spent summers with me catching lightning bugs in mason jars, and who I used to ride bikes with down her street. I don’t know what to do with all the good memories now that they’re tangled up with the bad ones.
I’ve been battling my anxiety and panic all week, which has been made worse by everyone around me also living in their grief. My brain has been working nonstop to try to erase all the hard work I’ve put in, but there is no way I’m going back to the dark place I was in before.
This time, I’m fighting, and I won’t let the thoughts win.
The crawling sensation is becoming unbearable, so I finally relent and take my pill, the first one I’ve needed in months. There is no shame in needing the extra help, but I still hate it. I’m proud that I’ve gone this long without it.
“Hey.”
I turn and find Cull leaning against my doorjamb, his black suit perfectly fitted to his frame. Just the sight of him has me breathing easier. I reach my hand out, a silent request that he understands. He walks over and engulfs me in a hug, his evergreen scent calming the rest of my frayed edges.
“Need a pill today?”
All I can manage is a nod.
“Is this real? Tell me this isn’t reality…” I bury my face in his neck, my tears wetting the collar of his shirt.
He holds me tighter, his cheek resting on the top of my head. “Yeah, it is, Hud. A really shitty reality.”
“I should have figured out how to help her. I knew, and I didn’t do anything, just cut her off—”
“Hey, hey…” Cull pulls me away from his body just enough so he can look me in the eyes. “This isn’t on you. Her parents knew, and they didn’t take it seriously enough. This is on them, Hud. Not you.”
We found out that Ella’s parents knew about the pills and that it was a source of many arguments. They just let her keep doing it, thinking that she wasn’t in too deep or that it was a phase. Now, because of their lack of concern, they’re burying their only child.
“It’s not fair…”
“What’s not fair, baby?” Cull uses his knuckle to wipe away a tear, smearing the wetness across my cheek.
“That I had you. My parents. Ella didn’t have anyone after I cut her off. What if that’s what pushed her to do what she did?”
I know what that darkness feels like. I know what it’s like to look at tomorrow and feel absolutely nothing. To convince yourself the people who love you would be better off without you.
The difference is that someone grabbed my hand before I could disappear completely.
Ella never reached for one.
“Hud, Ella made her choices, and you did the right thing by breaking up that friendship.”
“Doesn’t make me feel any less guilty.”
“I know,” he says on an exhale, pulling me back into another hug. “Let’s just get through today, yeah?”
“Yeah.” I drop my arms from around him and walk back to my dresser to make sure I look okay. Cull comes up to me and straightens my tie, his magic touch helping it to lie as it should. He hands me my jacket, helping me get my arms in, then we head downstairs.
We find Mom frantically pacing from the kitchen back to the foyer, her cellphone to her ear, nose red from crying.
She’s been distraught ever since she found out the news.
Mom was still working through the fight we had with Mrs. Amy, then she found out what Ella did to me. It’s been a lot for her to process.
“Okay, thank you.” Mom ends her call and finally stops pacing, her shoulders lifting with a deep inhale.
I cross the room and pull her into a hug. She folds against me immediately, her sniffles muffled by my suit jacket.
“Are you alright?” I ask, rubbing a hand up and down her back.
“Yes.” She clears her throat as she steps away. “That was Amelio’s. I wanted to make sure the Hackford's had a meal waiting for them after the service.” A tired smile flickers across her face. “Amelio’s is Amy’s favorite.”
“You’re a great friend, Mom.”
Her smile wobbles.
Mom and Mrs. Amy hadn’t spoken since their blowup. The Hackford's didn’t even try to reach out when I was in the hospital. But the moment Mom heard the news about Ella, she called Mrs. Amy, offering comfort the way she always does.
That’s who Mom is. No matter what happened between them, she saw her best friend grieving and showed up anyway.
Mom bends down to slip on her heels, using my arm to steady herself. Dad joins us a moment later, Hadley trailing behind him.
My sister comes over to me and wraps her arms around my waist. Her eyes are red-rimmed like the rest of ours, black smudges from where she’s wiped her mascara.
For a second, we’re twelve years old again. Ella is stretched across our living room floor with a bowl of popcorn, Hadley is stealing the good blanket, and we’re arguing about what movie to watch.
The memory hits so hard it steals my breath.
We were the Three Musketeers. That’s what our parents always called us.
Now there’s only two.
I don’t know if I’ll ever untangle who Ella was from what she did.
She hurt and betrayed me. She altered the course of my life in irreparable ways.
And I still miss her.
The truth sits heavy in my chest.
This could have been my funeral.
I see that realization every time someone has looked at me this week. Like losing Ella reopened a wound that never fully healed.
Especially for Cull.
My gaze drifts to him.
He’s been my rock this week, steady when everything inside me wants to come apart.
But every now and then I catch something dark flickering behind his eyes before he shoves it back down.
His smiles don’t quite reach his eyes anymore, and the muscles in his jaw stay locked so tight I’m surprised his teeth haven’t cracked.
I’m worried about him.
“Is everyone ready? We will need two cars.” Dad grabs his keys from the bowl by the front door and hands Mom her purse.
“I’ll drive,” Cull offers.
He laces our fingers together and leads me out to his mom’s car, opening the passenger door before circling around to the driver’s side.
“Can I ride with you guys?” Hadley asks, swiping at her cheeks.
Cull doesn’t hesitate. He simply opens the back door for her.
“Thanks.” She lays a hand on his forearm before climbing in.
I pass her a handful of tissues over the seat and she takes them with a watery smile.
We ride to the church in near silence, the hum of the tires filling the car. My knee bounces the entire way.
Cull rests a hand on my thigh.
The pressure doesn’t stop the anxiety, but it keeps it from swallowing me whole.
“I’m still angry with Ella,” Hadley murmurs from the back seat. “And heartbroken at the same time. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. And that just makes everything worse.”
I glance at her in the mirror.
Her face crumples
“I know what you mean.” My voice comes out rough. “What she did…” I trail off and stare out the window. “I’m having a hard time fitting that person together with the Ella we grew up with.”
Hadley sniffles and nods her agreement.
We arrive at the church behind a string of vehicles, Cullen pulling into a spot near the back. No one moves to get out of the car, the silence pressing down on us as we absorb what we are about to endure.
Knowing we can’t stay hidden here forever, I take a deep breath and finally open the door and get out.
My hand searches out Cullen’s as he comes around the front of the car.
He twines our fingers together, and I offer my free arm to Hadley, her shaking hand grasping my inner elbow.
Together we walk towards the entrance, stopping when we see Matt and Archer standing at the base of the steps.
“This is crazy, right?” Matt remarks, his eyes wide. “I’ve never been to a funeral before.”
That may not be the word I’d use for this situation, but to some, I guess it is crazy.
When no one responds, Archer chimes in to break the silence. “Heard about your wreck, man. What happened?”
Cull’s hand tightens in mine. “Tire blew and I lost control. Cops think the tire had a weak spot.”
“A puncture, maybe?” Archer tilts his head to the side, assessing Cull’s response.
Cull furrows his brow. “I mean, it would be hard to determine now, but I guess it’s a possibility.”
Archer nods and shoves his hands in his pockets.
“Found out this morning that my truck is totaled. The airbags deployed, and they can’t be repaired, so.” He shrugs, squeezing my hand so hard my knuckles pop.
I give him a gentle squeeze back, and he exhales.
“Uh, we should go in,” Matt states, checking his phone. “Service starts soon.”
He leads the way into the church and finds an empty pew. We settle in, our parents joining us once they break off their conversations with some of the other attendees.
There is soft music filtering through the speakers, and the smell of roses is thick in the air.
My attention catches on the pale pink casket at the front of the sanctuary.
For a second, I just stare.
Ella hated pink.
She used to complain that everyone bought her pink things because she was a girl. She’d roll her eyes and trade them for blue whenever she could.
Beside the casket sits a framed photo from prom night. Ella is smiling at the camera, bright-eyed and happy.
A tear drips from my chin.
The music changes, and a hush falls over the congregation. The doors to the church open, and the preacher signals for everyone to stand. My legs begin to shake, and I’m not sure if they will hold my weight.
Cull senses my hesitation and wraps his arm around my waist, helping me to stand. “You’re okay, I’m here,” he whispers in my ear as I cling to him like my life depends on it.
Ella’s parents are leading their family to the seats in the front of the church. Mrs. Amy has a dead-eye stare, Mr. Isaac practically holding her upright as they make their way down the aisle. They settle into their seats, and the preacher motions for us to sit before beginning the service.
The moment he starts to speak, the room blurs and the pink casket fades.
In its place is a soft silver one covered in red roses.
My parents sit in the front row, Hadley beside them. My grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins… all packed into the first few pews with bowed heads and tear-stained faces. A figure stumbles to the casket, knees threatening to give out as he grips the velvet-lined side for support.
Cullen.
Whose funeral is this?
I’m moving before I can stop myself, drifting down the aisle while the service continues around me. I need to know. Need to see.
My hand reaches for my mom as I pass, but she’s further away than she should be, just out of reach.
I turn back to the front. The last few steps bring me beside Cullen. My hand rests on his shoulder, and for a split second, I feel the shudder of his breath beneath my palm.
Then I look inside.
Nothing.
The casket is empty.
A shaky breath leaves me.
It’s not me.
I’m still here.
Thank God I’m still here.
“Ella will truly be missed,” the preacher laments.
The words snap me back to reality like a rubber band stretched too far.
The casket is pink. White and blush flowers spill over the lid. Ella’s smiling prom photo sits in a gold frame beside it.
My chest tightens. I swallow hard, my heart still pounding too loud for a room this quiet.
I get to sit in this pew. I get to breathe.
Ella doesn’t.
My gaze stays fixed on the casket, this one not empty.
The relief flooding my system curdles into something heavier.
A couple of months ago, everyone in this room could have been mourning me.
The thought sinks deep in my bones, painful and undeniable.
All I can see is the image of Ella at twelve years old, sitting cross-legged on my floor with Hadley beside her, both of them laughing at something I can’t remember.
The memory is bright.
Back then, none of us could have known how her story would end.
My throat tightens because I’m the one remembering it. The one sitting in this pew.
I’m the one who gets to walk out of this church when the service is over.
Ella doesn’t.
My fingers tighten around Cullen’s hand.
The second chance I was given feels heavier than it ever has before.
But I don’t intend to waste it.