Wordless nods and chin dips are all we can convey as we all glance around at the carnage.
It’s when Russell looks up to the second floor and freezes that I follow his line of sight and still—chest seizing. Tobias stands at the top of the stairs, Dom’s lifeless body cradled in his arms, drawing every eye to him before he slowly starts to descend. An anguished mewl erupts from Sean before he hits his knees, palming the top of his head, body bent as if taking cover while his grief echoes around us.
One by one, heads start to bow as Tobias draws closer, face twisted in agony, tears spilling from his lifeless eyes.
My own eyes spill over as Tyler clips out a hoarse request. “Russell, grab your—”
“On it,” he says, turning and making a beeline for his car.
When Tobias hits the bottom of the stairs, we all step back, giving him a wide berth. Unable to look away, I lift my head just as Tobias passes, staring straight ahead as he walks down the porch steps. It’s the sight of Dom’s limp hand that has my throat closing as Sean’s agonized grunts fill the air. With the slam of Russell’s car door, the morning birds begin to sing as if our whole world didn’t just fucking stop.
My only friend.
Tyler
The wind kicks up, the breeze rustling the trees above, creating a calming atmosphere just as the sun peeks out, highlighting the solid white casket before us. The roaring in my chest emanates in unison with the grief of every single one of us gathered—inked arms motionless at their sides.
No one speaks. No one wants to. There is no ceremony because our brother would have hated it. We don’t need words spoken because I’m certain we’re all lost somewhere in time with him. Our individual memories flooding us—a comfort to some, excruciating for others.
I’m the latter.
Most of us are banged up, bandaged, or in physical pain in some form or another due to the battle that started the minute Dom lost his. A fight we all lost, no matter how many of us escaped breathing because the aftermath is fucking excruciating.
Our new reality surreal.
One in which our magnet no longer exists.
Flashes of my brother shutter in. The day we met. Our first late-night bike ride. Sharing our first stolen beer. Coughing through our first joint. Our high school homeroom theatrics. The shared pains of growing from boys to men.
Homing in, I attach myself to a few that stick out. One being the day Sean, Dom, and I stood outside the newly purchased garage—rattling inside with the inkling that we were on the precipice of something bigger, better than the simplicity of our current lives. The wordless looks we shared before we stared up at the building. The satisfaction in Dom’s eyes when he fixed his first car. The day he left for Boston, hesitating briefly with his duffle on his shoulder—not turning back to face any of us, the same way I hesitated the day I left to train as a marine. Because we knew we wouldn’t be able to take another step forward if we did.
Staring at my brother’s grave, I travel through rips in time between us all, and the tie that bound us—brought us all back together. Our bond first and always before our purpose, reason, and agenda. It’s the very thing that made us that feels as though it’s breaking us now.
In my peripheral, I catch the slow lift of Sean’s head and turn to see his watering eyes zeroing in on Tobias, filled with a contempt I never imagined I would witness. Tobias stands on the other side of the coffin, dressed in an immaculate black suit, not a hair out of place, his expression that of a man utterly destroyed. Feeling Sean’s gaze, he lifts his eyes to meet his judgment. As they stare across Dom’s casket, I feel the true break set in between them, along with the knowledge that they will never be the same.
That crippling realization lodges a thick ball in my throat. Next to me, Delphine squeezes my hand, having missed none of it. Needing her, I grip hers just as tightly as Dom’s casket starts to lower. It’s with that finality that Jeremy bursts where he stands, grunts of pain leaving him as his tears flow freely. With Jeremy’s break, grief starts to disperse in spurts throughout the crowd. It’s then Tobias visibly fractures from the weight before turning abruptly and stalking toward his Jag.
Pressing a kiss to Delphine’s temple, I whisper a low, “I’ll be—”
“Go,” she whispers, her gaze fixed on Dom’s casket as it sinks further into the hallowed ground.
I’m ten steps behind when I snap out Tobias’s name in vain, knowing exactly where he’s going and to whom.
“Tobias . . .” I manage, my throat thick. “You can’t go,” I swallow, jogging to catch up with him as he quickens his pace. “You know you can’t—”
“Where is she?” He snaps, not sparing a glance back as he pulls his keys from his pocket.
“You don’t want to do this,” I warn. “It will only—”
He turns on a dime. “Where is she?!”
“At school,” I exhale, exasperated.
Within the minute, he’s inside his Jag, speeding toward Georgia, toward Cecelia. But even this far gone in his grief, we both know he won’t make it past the state line. He’ll protect her, even if doing so destroys what’s left of him. When his car is out of sight, I turn and start my climb back up the hill and through the gate. The sun disappears beneath a blanket of clouds as the crowd begins to disperse in scattered waves. Delphine remains the only one left, looking so small as she stands isolated at the edge of the grave, eyes cast down. Standing nearby with shovels, the two men at the ready look to me for permission to start, and I jerk my head, refusing to allow her to see it. Her grief and fear are too much of a combination to endure. Or maybe it’s mine.
It’s when I reach her that I see the true toll in her posture—which looks more maternal, like that of a grieving mother—as she stares down at her nephew’s grave. Standing idly next to her, it’s when the last car starts and begins to pull away that she finally turns to me and allows herself to fall apart in my arms.
Russell
Spotting the kid peeking behind the tree as the last of the soil is patted in, I wait at my car until he starts to approach Dom’s grave.
He looks to be no more than twelve or thirteen, but I can see in his posture that he’s matured far beyond his age. It becomes even more apparent as I approach, and he turns his watchful gaze toward me. His eyes are filled to the brim, a thousand emotions flitting through them. His lip is cut, and there’s a yellow bruise beneath one of his eyes.
I stand beside him in wait, sensing some familiarity but unable to place who he is.
“Hey,” I say, lining my footing up with his.
The kid’s chest bounces as he stares down at the fresh soil, and I appraise him. He looks like he hasn’t bathed in days or eaten well in months, his skin sickly.
“He was . . .” the kid starts, “he was the only . . .” he tries again and fails before deciding to allow his grief through—though he bats away a few of his tears. “He was the only person who ever saw me,” the kid sniffs and falters, face crumbling as though he’s lost everything.
My eyes burn as I stare down at the dirt and nod. “I can relate.”
For me, Dom was a mentor, a friend, and the only human being who truly saw the struggle going on inside me. He pinpointed it early, talked it out with me when I wanted to, and sat it out with me when I didn’t.