tears fell freely down his cheeks, and he made no move to wipe them off. After it was over, after the alarms alerted the nurses and doctors that there was no coming back this time, he was ushered to the lobby, and it was only moments later that his brother met him.
For the second time in as many weeks, Van clung to him, this time tighter and more desperate. He knew Van regretted not being there, but he hoped his brother understood that this was enough. There was no eleventh-hour miracle, there was no death-bed confession. The last time their father had been conscious was days before Van left the city. That was their goodbye, this was just the final stamp on the seal.
It was over.
They were orphans—old enough to stand strong through it, but young enough to keenly feel the loss and just how alone they were now in the world.
He went home with his brother that night after making sure all of the paperwork was in order. He sent a mass-text to his clients letting them know that, for the time being, lessons were canceled. He left his voicemail to Vanessa as short as he could keep it, and he did half wonder if he’d bother going back after all this. The kids knew their notes, knew their songs. Someone else could lead them on the last day. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to them, but so little of life had been fair to Nik, so why kill himself over and over to benefit people who would never have his back?
Of course, he felt guilt over that, because there were people who did care. The night he lay in bed after Van retired to his sanctuary in the basement, he rolled over and dialed Jay. His heart wrenched when he heard Adam’s voice in the background, and the angry part of him clawed at his throat that Jay had chosen Adam that night. But the rest of him—the bigger part that loved Adam and would until the day he died, was grateful Jay was strong enough to make that choice where Nik couldn’t.
“What’s next?” Jay asked, tension in his voice.
Nik sighed and rubbed at his face. “He wanted to be cremated, so we’re doing that. And we’ll have services. I know a lot of his old colleagues will want to come, and my parents had friends who had been keeping tabs on him since Mom died.”
“And you?” Jay pressed. “You know you don’t have to do this alone.”
“Yes, I do.” It was penance, in a way, and safety. It was easier to be alone. It hurt, but not as much as when he was let down. Jay let him change the conversation after that, let him work out what he needed to do for the funeral out loud instead of in his own head. He knew Van would be next to useless when it came to planning, but he didn’t mind shouldering this burden.
The real task would come when he had to face the question of what next. What next, after his dad’s body was entombed in a small jar on the mantle? The house would go up on the market. It would sell eventually. Van would probably make his way closer to the corporate office now that neither of their parents were tying him anywhere.
And Nik.
Nik was floating in the void with no sense of direction or purpose. He could go back to the conservatory and ask for a job, he could pursue the last leg of his education and add doctor to his name. He could find some other town—god only knew where—and he could rebuild. Get pupils, open a music school, maybe perform again.
His composition was still in progress, but it would end. As everything did, there would be a moment when the notes just stopped, and he felt that rush of elation and grief that it was over.
But not yet.
For now, he had more to deal with.
The funeral crept up on him faster than expected. It was a risk, doing it on a weekday, but it was better. He woke before the sun—or at least, that’s what his phone told him when he checked the time. He slipped into the hallway and could hear faint snoring coming from his brother’s room. He was grateful for it. Where his appetite suffered when life got the better of him, Van was robbed of sleep. He woke too often to the sound of his brother’s pacing, but he