67. Gabrielle
Gabrielle
I can’t breathe. I’m tired of breathing.
My hands shake at my side as Kinsley zips up the back of my dress, her touch is soft and hesitant as if I might break under her fingers.
My mom watches from the doorway, her eyes filled with so many unspoken emotions—grief, worry, helplessness.
This is the first time I’ll be leaving the apartment since Cam died. The weight of it, the finality of it, presses against my chest like it’s trying to physically crush me.
Today is the last time I’ll get to see him, touch him, or feel him.
That realization slams into me so hard that my knees nearly buckle. My throat closes. My vision blurs. I start to feel nauseous.
I can’t do this.
I stumble back, my breath hitching, and before anyone can stop me, I’m running into the bathroom and locking myself in, collapsing onto the cold tile floor.
My dress—this stupid black dress—it feels too tight, too suffocating. Clinging to my body like it’s trying to claw its way inside of me. My breaths come in sharp, shallow gasps, my chest rising and falling too fast, my heart hammering from the pain I feel inside.
knocking.
“Gabrielle. Babe, open the door.” Her voice is trying to be calm and soothing, but I can hear the worry underneath it.
I can’t move.
I can’t make my body respond.
Today feels too real. And I’m not ready for that.
Today I have to say goodbye for the last time.
Anger surges through me, swallowing the panic whole.
None of this is fair.
The world is so cruel for taking him from me when I had just gotten him back. I hate it so much.
I push myself up, grabbing the first thing I can reach—a glass soap bottle on the counter—I throw it as hard as I can against the wall. It shatters, a violent crack against the tile. But it’s not enough.
I grab a candle next. Then my perfume bottles. Then the stupid framed photo of sunflowers that’s hung on this bathroom wall, like some cruel mockery of life in a room that now feels like a tomb.
I throw all of it.
I know I’m screaming. I can feel the screams coming out, the raw ache in my throat from the force, but I can’t hear myself.
I can’t hear anything. I don’t even know what I’m saying, or if I’m saying anything at all.
I just keep going, breaking everything in sight, until my body forces me to stop—until I collapse, my back sliding back down the wall next to the door, my limbs shaking from the sheer force of my grief.
My fingers fumble for the lock.
Kinsley is still there.
As soon as I unlock the door, she’s beside me, sinking to the floor and pulling me into her lap.
Neither of us speaks.
She just holds me, lets me fall apart in her arms, lets me cry until my throat hurts so badly I have to stop, and my body is too exhausted to keep fighting itself.
Finally, after what feels like forever, because every second feels like eternity without him, I whisper, “How much longer?”
Kinsley’s hand smooths over my hair. “Maybe twenty minutes.”
I nod weakly, my face still buried against her. “Stay with me? Just for a little while longer.”
She presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Of course.”
Not long passes before I hear the front door unlock. I can hear Wes’s voice talking to my mom briefly before finding us on the bathroom floor. He doesn’t say anything. He just extends his hand to help Kinsley up from the floor and then reaches back out for me.
Guiding us both to his car, Wes helps Kinsley into the front seat and then guides me into the back seat next to where my mom is already seated.
The drive passes by in a blur. And I stare out of the car window, but I’m not really paying attention. I’m too lost in thoughts, memories, grief, and heartache to pay attention to anything else.
I sit there and wonder if I’ll ever feel anything that’s not this deep, gut-wrenching pain again.
* * *
The funeral home is grand, almost cathedral-like, with towering ceilings and soft golden light spilling through the stained glass windows. It makes the room feel warm—a space that was built for beautiful goodbyes.
When we step inside, we’re the first ones here. They give us a moment before everyone else arrives, a small sliver of time to take the first steps into this unbearable new reality.
You know, I thought I’d shatter the second I saw him. I thought my body would cave in under the weight of my grief, that I’d crumble before I could make it across the room. But as I step closer, something washes over me. Not devastation. Not panic.
Peace.
It’s like he’s here.
Like I can feel him beside me, his touch warming my skin, his arms wrapping around me from behind, his breath against my ear, whispering, I’m right here, Gab. You’re gonna be okay.
A single tear slips down my cheek, but for once, it doesn’t feel like sorrow. It feels laced with love. So much love.
His mother steps aside, dabbing at her eyes with trembling fingers, and I move forward, closing the last bit of space between us.
He looks…still. Perfect in a way that doesn’t make sense, his face untouched by the suffering he carried. His lips are slightly parted as if he’s about to say something, one last joke, one last I love you.
I reach out, taking his hand and brushing my thumb over the ridges of his knuckles. It’s colder than it should be. I swallow down the lump in my throat and lean forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
And then, softly, I whisper, “You always did have to be the best looking in every room, huh?”
A small choked laugh escapes me, the kind that hurts but feels like him laughing through me.
I let my fingers trace over his once more, memorizing the shape of them, the way they always used to hold mine. My voice is quieter now, just for him. “You better be waiting for me like you promised.”
Wes steps up beside me. He looks at Cam and exhales. “Man, I hope they have a stocked bar and the biggest screen for you to watch all the games up there, Bud.”
It’s such a Wes thing to say.
Something Cam would’ve smirked at, tossing back a quick-witted reply.
But there’s no reply now. No smirk. Just the weight of silence between us all now.
I glance at Wes, and without saying anything, I wrap my arms around him. He stiffens for a second, then exhales sharply, his arms coming around me, holding on like he needs it as much as I do.
My voice is hoarse when I speak. “You weren’t just his best friend, Wes. You were always his brother. He adored you so much. And behind closed doors, he never stopped talking you up and telling me how proud he was of you.”
Wes swallows hard, his breath hitching. He just nods against my shoulder, unable to speak, and hugs me tighter.
Then, as if drawn by the same invisible pull, Kinsley steps forward and wraps her arms around us both, holding us together in the way only she can.
And for a moment, it feels like Cam is holding us too.
* * *
The pastor stands before us, his voice steady yet warm, carrying the weight of grief and love in equal measure.
“Cameron Hayes was the kind of person who left an imprint on the world—not just through his kindness, but through the love he gave so freely. He was a healer in every sense of the word, not just in his career but in his life. He had a way of making people feel seen, of making them feel like they mattered, even in their darkest moments. He taught us what it means to cherish every second we have. To love with everything we are. To laugh, even when life is unfair. To be present, to be kind, not because it was easy, but because it was right.”
He pauses, looking around the room of weeping people.
“To those who knew him, Cameron wasn’t just a kind man.
He was a light, a force of warmth and joy that made the world a little softer, a little brighter, a lot better just by being in it.
And though his time here was far too short, the love he gave and the memories he left you with will never fade.
Because love like that—it doesn’t disappear.
It stays. It lingers in the spaces he once filled, in the lives he touched, in the people who will carry his love and kindness forward.
Cameron may have left this world, but his love remains. ”
The room is silent. Some wipe their eyes. Others bow their heads. I clutch the fabric of my dress in my lap, my breath trembling.
Then Wes stands.
He walks to the podium, his usual confidence tore down by grief, his hands gripping the wood as if it’s the only thing keeping him standing. He swallows hard as his eyes scan the crowd before settling on me for the briefest moment. Then, he clears his throat and speaks.
“My best friend used to tell me that life was too short to be so serious all the time. That we should laugh more. Love harder. Eat the damn cake.”
Small, teary laughs ripple through the room.
Wes smiles slightly, but it fades just as fast. “Cam was…a lot of things. Reckless. Stubborn. A pain in my ass—” he pauses, voice thick with emotion, “but he was also the best person I’ve ever known.
He was the kind of guy who would show up for you, even if you didn’t ask.
Even if you didn’t want him to. Because that’s who he was.
That’s who he always was. And I know everyone in this room has a story like that.
A moment when Cam made you laugh when you didn’t think you could.
A moment when he showed up when no one else did.
A moment when he made the world a little easier to bear.
He had a heart bigger than anyone I’ve ever met.
He gave more than he had, and he never asked for anything in return.
He was the guy you wanted in your corner—whether it was in a fight, in a crisis, or just in life. ”