“Yes,” I say, fighting back tears. “Although, murderer is a more appropriate term.”
“Can you point him out?” the judge requests.
In my sleep.
“Yes. That’s him.” I shove a finger in the twit’s direction.
The judge nods. One single nod. A tiny movement of his head. “Thank you. That will be all.”
How can everyone be so calm?
I’m about to crawl out of my own skin.
The asshole actually has the nerve to wink at me before I take my seat. Vomit creeps its way up my throat, and I choke it back. It takes everything within me not to dart across the aisle and strangle him with my bare hands. The officer witnesses the exchange and leans in my direction.
“You don’t have to stay for the rest,” he whispers in my ear.
Thank God.
I’m not sure I could be held responsible for my actions if I had to sit here much longer.
Ryleigh was right. I can’t hide in this room forever. By Sunday, the Landry’s have all the funeral arrangements set up. Public viewing starts tomorrow, and the service will be held on Tuesday.
The service.
Reid’s memorial.
My official goodbye.
Several of his fellow officers have expressed their sympathies and are even flying in from all over the country to attend. I have one more day to omit myself from the world, staying within the confines of what used to be our happy place.
Everyone I know has been really supportive, and I know they all only mean the best. But a huge piece of me is gone—a piece I’ll never get back. No amount of kind words or gestures is going to change that. I have gotten calls from people I haven’t heard from since high school as well as a few of the people I work with. Carlos Suppato has always been nothing but an understanding and supportive boss, and this time is no different. He tells me to take as long as I need, and I can honestly say I don’t know how long that will be. My one and only friend from work, Jaxon, stops by and offers his condolences. His usual welcoming smile doesn’t even make me feel better. I manage to spare each of them a few minutes to thank them for their concern, but that’s about all I can give.
During the wake, the same people comfort me and shower me with words of wisdom and sympathy, but I can’t make myself move from the chair I have placed next to the casket. The director asks me to move, and I tell him to blow a donkey. I’m not moving until Reid does. Instead, I sit here, frozen, holding his hand, willing him to wake up, begging God to make this all a nightmare. This isn’t my Reid. This Reid is ice cold and hard as stone. My Reid, the one with the sparkle in his eyes and a smile that could melt hearts, the Reid whose touch ignites a fire in my veins like I’ve never known before and never will again, is still in there. He’s still in me. He always will be.
It’s been weeks since the funeral, and the most groundI’ve managed tocoverhas been within the 800 square feet of our apartment. I’ve just settled into the well-worn corner of our slip-covered sofa, getting ready for a highly anticipated crime show marathon when Mrs. Landry stops by to drop off an envelope they found in Reid’s things. She stays for a few minutes while we talk, then pulls a small black box out of her purse.
“They found this in Reid’s pocket the night he—” She chokes on her words. “—that night,” she tells me, unable to say the word, the other one, the one I refuse to say out loud.
The night he died.
I accept the box and give her a hug. I’m sure the pain I am feeling is nothing compared to the pain of his mother. She says she wishes I would visit once in a while, and I agree, although I can’t say when. I’m not ready for that yet. The memories here are hard enough to deal with.
After she leaves, I sit on the sofa, holding onto the box and staring at the envelope for a solid hour before deciding to open it.
Inside is a letter:
My beautiful little freak,
If you’re reading this letter instead of lying underneath me naked, it’s for one of the following two reasons:
I didn’t make it home.
or
I’m too chicken shit to say this in person
Should it be the first reason, I have to tell you I am sorry. So fucking sorry. But you need to know that it’s not because I didn’t try. I’ve been hungry. I’ve gone days with no sleep. I’ve been out in the pouring rain until I’m so cold and numb I can’t feel my trigger finger. I fought for you, Maks. I fought for us. I fought my ass off. I guess the odds were just in the other guy’s favor this time.