“Bean?” Dad rushes forward and takes hold of my shoulder, worry darkening his features.
“Brady…” I choke on a sob, and my eyes flood with tears. Denial wars with the harsh reality I’m struggling to face. My voice is strained, making my throat cramp as I force the words out. “Brady killed himself.” I grab hold of my father’s arm, needing to hold on to the strongest thing I have as the full force of what’s happening hits me. “He… he's dead.”
Dad’s arms fold around me, holding me tightly to his chest, and it keeps the pieces of me from shattering to the furthest corners of the world.
“I’m so sorry, Little Bean,” Dad whispers as he presses a kiss to my temple.
I begin to gasp from the pain searing through me. It’s tragic and relentless, not giving me a second to catch my breath. “Daddy.” My voice is torn between a wail and something hopeless.
Keeping his promise he made on my fourteenth birthday, Dad moves his arms under me and lifting me up, he walks us to the bed where he sits down and cradles me. ‘I promise to always be right behind you, Jade. So I can catch you when you fall and hold you up when life gets hard.’
Right now, Dad’s the only thing holding me up as my world distorts into something unrecognizable.
“Girls, give us a moment alone,” he orders my friends to leave. When the bedroom door shuts behind them, Dad frames my face and lifts it until our eyes lock. “I’m here, Jade. I know you’re hurting so fucking much, but I’m here, and I won’t let go.”
My body begins to jerk as the sobs rip through me, and I crumble in my father’s arms.
Brady’s gone.
Every dream I wove around us fragments into tiny pieces.
My Brady.
My best friend.
The love of my life.
He’s gone.
I won’t get to hug him again.
I won’t get to kiss him.
I won’t get to see his gentle smile that had a way of warming the coldest days.
Brady’s dead.
My sensitive, beautiful boyfriend left without warning, without a word… and he took my whole heart with him.My world has been a warped and hollow mess the past couple of days. For the first time since I was a toddler, I slept in my parents’ bed. They haven’t left my side since I got the news that Brady committed suicide.
Mom called Mrs. Lawson to find out where the funeral will be held so I could be there.
Sitting between my parents, my eyes keep drifting between the closed casket and the front row where Mrs. Lawson and Colton are seated. Even though it’s almost summer, the church is cold.
For a fleeting moment, I wonder where Mr. Lawson is. But it’s a constant fight to keep it together and to focus on anything. When Dad lifts his arm and places it around my shoulders, I scoot closer to him. He puts his free hand over both of mine, and warmth seeps through the ice barrier coating my skin.
My stomach burns, and my back aches from all the tension. I try to concentrate on the physical pain because facing the merciless devastation inside me is too much to handle right now.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to face it.
When the service starts, my mind becomes a torture chamber filled with questions, denial, and sorrow.
Our time together wasn’t long enough. We were never meant to say goodbye.
A tear rolls down my cheek, and I don’t have the strength to wipe it away. Mom frees a tissue from the stash she brought and gently dabs the trail away.
The turmoil in my head is so loud, it drowns out all the sounds around me. The preacher's lips move. Mrs. Lawson’s shoulders shake. People get up and sing, and I lean heavily against Dad to keep myself standing.
When the service comes to a close, we make our way to the exit. Stopping in front of Mrs. Lawson and Colton, I somehow manage to force a smile around my dry lips. Their faces blur as I unconsciously pay my respects. “I’m so sorry.” I blink the tears away, and immediately I’m struck by the anger and pain in Colton’s eyes.
This must be so hard for him.
Another fleeting thought as Dad guides me out of the building toward the car. The only constant in my world is the tormenting reality that Brady is gone.
We follow the procession to the cemetery, and even though the sun is shining bright, the grounds feel dark and morbid.
Brady doesn’t belong here.
Brady was sweet and caring. He was sensitive and gentle and doesn’t belong in such a grim place.
Beside me lays a single poppy, and I notice it’s already wilting. It was Brady’s favorite. When we come to a stop near the gravesite, I carefully take hold of the stem, so I don’t accidentally break the flower.