worked, and I was lucky because even though the judge made me go to rehab, I wasn’t an addict. Even when I was chasing my next high, there was nothing I wanted as much as I wanted Mia Mendez.
“You . . .” she whispers. “I thought . . .”
It’s still true. I can’t think of a single thing I want more than her. Especially at this moment when these secrets are too much and my guilt is too heavy. I could lose myself in her. Touching her would chase away the ugliest parts of this world, let me hide from the ugliest parts of myself.
And that’s exactly why I can’t do it.
“Mrs. Barrett called before I came up.” I swallow hard as I watch her moment of mortification melt away. “I’m sorry, Mia.”
“He’s gone.” She wraps her arms around her waist and squeezes her eyes shut. “Shit. I’m sorry I came in here. I’m sorry I . . .” She shakes her head and rushes from the room.
“Mia.” I go after her, but she closes her door before I can get there. I lean my head against it and spread my fingertips over the wood. “Don’t shut me out.” I’m not being fair. I pushed her away, and now I’m asking her to let me in.
“Go away, Arrow. I need to be alone.”
Turning my back to the door, I lean against it and spot Gwen just outside the baby’s door.
She studies Mia’s closed door and then looks at me. “Would you tell Mia that Uriah and I are taking an impromptu trip to Louisville? Mom’s keeping the baby, but we’ll be gone a few days.”
I grimace. “Brogan just died. The funeral will be this weekend.”
She sighs heavily. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Dad should be there. It’s not a bad drive. He could come back and—”
“It’s not always about you, Arrow.”
I clench my fists and bite my tongue. “Fine. Have fun.”
She nods and starts toward the stairs, then stops and turns back to me. “Piece of advice, Arrow?” She tilts her head to study my face. “About Mia?”
I don’t want any advice from her—especially not now and especially not about Mia—and I can only set my jaw and stare at her, hoping she’ll go away.
Her façade seems to crumble with every second she stares back. No more perfect trophy wife, only a vulnerable young woman. “Don’t try to compete with a dead man,” she says. “The dead always win. Take it from someone who knows.”
Mia
The line at the visitation extends out the door of the Blackhawk Valley Catholic Church and all the way around the block. It’s full of college students, football players, coaches, Blackhawk Hills University professors and administration, and residents of Blackhawk Valley who have probably known Brogan from the day he was born. Some of the crowd he grew up with gathers here and there. Some of them make jokes, tell stories, and laugh together while they wait. Others wait in complete silence, stepping forward when they can, pausing when they must. A receiving line of grief.
I keep thinking about what Brogan would think of this line. I think he’d be surprised to see all these people came out for him. I think he’d say, “Don’t you all have something more interesting to do than stare at me? I mean, I’m good-looking, but I’m still a dead guy.”
But in a world full of ugliness, you just have to take the time to say goodbye when you lose one of the good guys. And despite what Brogan thought in those last lucid moments on Deadman’s Curve, despite his mistakes and terrible judgment that night, he was one of the best.
Brogan’s mom and younger brother stand at the foot of the casket, shaking hands and hugging people as they come by. Mr. Barrett stands at the other end, his jaw working like he has to swallow back tears he’s determined not to shed in front of this crowd. Lying in the casket in between is Brogan, half the man he used to be, his cheeks hollowed out, his shoulders narrow, his body a weak imitation of the powerful force it once was.
The funeral is tonight, and I still can’t bring myself to promise I’ll sing. Mrs. Barrett is being unbelievably patient with me and told me the organist will play either way, but she hopes I’ll do the vocals.
Arrow’s there, and I’m so relieved to see his face and have his strength so close. He’s not Brogan’s competition. Not his