grief-stricken people. Her chin lifts with something else I can’t name. Daring me to come at her, her son, to what? To cause more pain and destruction when there’s already so much occurring? There’s only one way I know I can avoid that. Turning to the men I’d do anything for, I beg, “Get me the hell out of here before I lose it.”
“You got it.” Nick grabs me under the elbow and drags me for the nearest exit, Brad and Kody bringing up the rear.
The minute we’re all safely in the car, I turn on Brad. “Is. He. Mine?” I demand.
He clutches the steering wheel for a moment before he faces me, disclosing, “She didn’t deny it.”
I thought I came to Alaska to pay my final respects to one of my closest friends. I didn’t think I’d end up so angry my throat feels too tight to speak, and there’s an ache in my chest worse than when I found out Jed was gone. I barely manage to get out, “Let’s go,” before I lapse into a silence.
I don’t hear anything being discussed around me. All I can think is, Jed, you bastard. Why didn’t you tell me?
Jennings
I should be paying attention to the words of the minister, who’s talking about the life enriched by love Jed led, but I can’t. Because my mind is still reeling with the words of condolences he offered to the members of Jed’s family spoken a few moments ago.
First to his last relative by blood, his sister, Maris—a long-standing member of the Juneau community.
Then he went on to give his condolences to Kara Malone and her son, Kevin of Ponte Vedra, Florida, nephew of Jedidiah Jonas Smith Malone.
How the fuck didn’t I know? How could he not tell me?
Kara’s head is dropped, so all I see is the arch of her slender neck. The new cut exposes a neck I remember spending hours kissing. When during one of the many times I made love to her that summer did we make him? Did her amber-colored eyes blink up at me like an adorable owl after we made him? God, Owl. I called her that so many times. How did I forget?
What else did I forget? Protection? I frantically try to remember, but damnit, it was close to sixteen years ago. I feel myself overheating in the small sanctuary. I want to howl in frustration, grab her by her slender arm, and drag her out to demand all of the answers. But I can’t.
Her shoulders are shaking with silent despair as the minister says prayers over the urn. She turns her head and lifts her hand to wipe under her eyes. As she does, the light streaming through the church windows glints off her tears. After her fingers brush back and forth, she wraps her arm around the boy sitting next to her, who is sobbing so openly, it echoes in all parts of the vestibule. His dark, mahogany hair stands wildly on end, as if no amount of hair product can tame it. Only a good haircut will, son. My heart burning, I force myself to look at him again.
Kara’s son. My son. No matter how much she may try to protest, there’s little doubt in my mind.
The conflicting feelings inside my chest are threatening to cause me to collapse. I want to howl in pain over Jed’s loss and somehow breathe life back into those ashes so I can kill him all over again for not telling me.
But a tiny voice whispers in my mind, Did he try to?
I guess I’ll never know, I think brutally, tuning back in to the minister’s words.
And then I’m stunned for a second time. “The life Jed shared with his husband was vital to him. He wrote these words to be read: ‘I was a man whose heart was bound by promises in two very different worlds.’ He hoped everyone understood that no matter what, he loves them. Now, for all of eternity, he and Dean will be together, as they were in life.”
My lips part in shock when I hear the minister’s words. Jed’s husband, Kara’s brother, is gone too? My heart softens a bit, remembering the look she shot me across the room last night, as Kara slips her other arm around Maris and pulls her tightly against her as well. I can barely hold on—how is she standing?
Brad leans over to hiss in my ear, “What do you think—”