Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 52357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
But that’s the thing about grief. It doesn’t wait for permission. It just plants a seed that grows a root inside you. And it doesn’t ever leave. In time it withers some, but it won’t leave.
“I loved you, Benji. I love you.” A sob wrecks through me. “Always,” I whisper.
With every broken piece I had left, I loved him. Not in the naïve way I love Justin. No, Justin “Toon” Miller owns a piece of me I can’t get back. Or maybe I never want to. But it doesn’t change that I loved Benji. No one can take that away from me.
Not his mom.
Not a memory.
Not time.
I will forever love Benjamin Henderson.
No one can invade that, it’s ours alone.
Not even Toon, even if he shows up thinking I need him.
I don’t hear him pull up, but I do hear the gravel crunch under boots. Heavy footsteps make their way from the parking lot to the grass behind me.
I don’t look up.
I don’t care.
It doesn’t matter who it is.
I stare at the mound of dirt. The person stands a little ways behind me, not approaching.
Well, it’s not Benji’s mom. She would have marched right up here and told me this was her place, not mine. I’m sure that woman will hate me until the day she stops breathing.
The wind blows and I catch a small scent. A familiar one.
His cologne.
Of course it’s him.
Justin “Toon” Miller is the only one stubborn enough to come out here and stand in place without saying a word.
“I told you when I left my condo not to follow me.” He was literally sitting at my doorstep when I exited.
Who does that?
He’s been gone for years. Now, I lose the man who literally wasn’t afraid to stick around for me and this man, the one who has a piece of my soul comes back for what?
“Didn’t follow you babe,” he mutters the rasp in his voice takes me back to easier days with him. “Went and got coffee, then came.” His voice is low, sandpaper rough, but warm and gentle. “Figure it wouldn’t be fair to Clutch to sit back and watch you like a creeper.”
I say nothing. He waits it out a few seconds.
“You want me to go?”
“Yes,” I whisper as new tears fall from my eyes and I still don’t look at him.
There is a pause. Then I feel him coming closer. He stops right behind me. He doesn’t sit down. Doesn’t crouch. Just lets the moment sit heavy between us.
“I know you miss him. We all do.”
“You didn’t love him like I did. Yes, he was a brother, but he was mine.” I say sharper than I intended to.
“No, I didn’t love him like you.” He pauses. “But I loved you. Still do.”
His words break something inside of me. I inhale a deep breath, that comes out in a sob. A full, raw, guttural sob through my throat. Everything I have been holding inside escapes me. I cover my face with both hands, shoulders shaking.
He drops to the grass beside me, wrapping his arms around me pulling me into his lap against him. He holds me tight.
I don’t resist.
No, I collapse.
Right into him.
My forehead against his chest, my fist clutching his cut like it’s my lifeline.
“I can’t do this,” I cry out. “I can’t go on without him.”
“You can,” he whispers. “You can because Clutch would want you to.”
“It hurts, Justin.”
“I know so let it out.”
I cry against him as he sits there rocking me. We sit like this for a long time. Just me, a grave, the man I lost, and in the arms of the man who has never wanted me to be anyone but me. Even now, when there are expectations for me to talk, to press on, Justin doesn’t ask anything of me but to be.
FIVE
TOON
"The bear's paw print reminds us: leave your mark on the world, however small." — Unknown
There ain’t no party like a Hellions party.
Hellions throw wild parties. Tonight, though the alcohol is more silence than celebration. The clubhouse is lit up with soft, string lights. The music hums low, old classic rock. No roaring engines, no shouting over the noise. Just a low hum of voices with laughter laced in grief.
Tonight is for Clutch.
Benjamin Henderson.
A guy I only dealt with in passing, but never actually knew. A man I owe a lot to. The man who picked up the pieces of her that I broke. I’m leaning against the bar, nursing a beer, eyes scanning the crowd waiting and wondering if she will show.
I feel her before I see her. She walks in, but Dia Crews doesn’t look like herself.
She’s not bright-eyed and vibrant, high on life. She isn’t even the woman I held this morning at the grave lost in her pain, shut down and hollow inside.