Beyond the Horizon (Sons of Templar MC #4)(6)
Aiden gave me a long look before he moved in front of me, putting his coffee cup down so he could frame my face with his hands. His eyes searched mine.
“You’re strong because you think you have to be,” he started softly. “But it’s okay to let it out, be upset. I’m here for you, sweetheart.”
I plastered on a fake smile. “I’m okay, really,” my voice sounded weak to even my own ears, but I soldiered on, “Thanks, Aiden. You’ve been great. The best, I don’t want you to have to drop everything in your life because of what’s going on in mine.”
Aiden frowned. “It’s not dropping everything; this is where I want to be. With you. Supporting you. Taking care of you,” he responded firmly.
“I’m here too,” Bex cut in from the refrigerator. Everything was a competition for them, even who was the most supportive.
I frowned, on the inside at least. My outward smile hadn’t dimmed. It was on autopilot, a separate entity from my actual emotions. I didn’t need anyone to take care of me. I took care of myself. My mom took care of me in her own slightly eccentric way, and when she couldn’t do that, I took care of us both. Now it was just me.
“I’ll go home, shower, change,” Aiden interrupted my heart-breaking thought process. His hands tightened, and he bent slightly to catch my eyes. “I’ll come pick you and Becky up, take you to the cemetery, ‘kay?”
I nodded, not feeling like protesting anymore.
He looked at me once more, nodded, almost to himself. He leaned in to kiss me softly on the mouth. It was nice, comforting almost. But no fire.
“You got me through this, you know that right?” he asked against my mouth.
I nodded mutely again.
His hands tightened, and he pulled back. “I’ll be back just before we need to be there,” he said.
“Thanks,” I replied softly, meaning it. I couldn’t exactly process whatever our relationship was right now, but it was nice having him here, however selfish that was.
When he shut the door, Bex made a farting noise with her mouth sticking her head out of the refrigerator where it had been stashed.
I gave her a look.
She looked back. We had a wordless conversation about her not saying mean things about my kind of boyfriend who was hot, caring, nice, and completely perfect—also completely not right. I didn’t add the last bit into our non-verbal conversation.
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever,” she said, sticking her head back into the refrigerator.
I grinned, despite myself. It almost held a bit of true amusement, deep down. I stumbled toward the shower, coffee cup still in hand. I didn’t drink, smoke, or take drugs, but coffee was my vice. Hence, me taking it to the shower. Plus, it was a requirement in my normal life when I was lucky to get five hours sleep. Ever since the news, I’d been functioning off what felt like five minutes. I regarded my reflection in the bathroom mirror setting my cup down on the cracked sink.
“You’re a mess, Lily Smith,” I muttered to myself.
My blonde hair was parted in the middle, and the side braid I’d put in last night was half falling apart, strands of my long hair escaping down my back. The skin on my face was sallow, almost transparent it was that pale. My blue eyes were lost in the bags and dark circles surrounding them. They were the one thing I liked about myself. Everything else was just ordinary. My height, my weight, my face, even my freaking last name. My eyes had always been something I’d felt made me different. They were blue, ice blue, and my mom always said they changed color when I was in different moods. If that was true, then I feared they’d always be this dull and lifeless.
“You can do this,” I whispered to the defeated girl in the mirror.
“You can do this, peanut,” my mom’s voice whispered in my ear.
A single tear trickled down my cheek.
“I can do this.”
We arrived early. I had this thing about being early. I had to be early. If I wasn’t, the ever present weight on my chest got heavier, the later it got, the heavier the pressure was. Which was funny, considering my mom was always late. No one got annoyed with her whenever she finally arrived, smiling, beautiful, and full of life. I spent most of my teenage and adult life hurrying her, dragging her along so we’d be on time. She’d always said she’d be late to her own funeral. It was some kind of sick irony or cosmic joke that she hadn’t actually “arrived” yet, considering the hearse was running late.
“They should fire the dude,” Bex declared from beside me, her dark glasses obscuring her face. “I mean, it’s a pretty f*cking stressful day to begin with. You’ve got people like ... f*cking mourning, ready to say their last goodbyes, and it’s like … sorry peeps had to stop for a latte. Body’ll be here soon,” she babbled, sounding disgusted.
I failed to be offended by her demeanor. It was Bex. She didn’t have a filter.
“There’s no one here, Bex. We’re good,” I reassured her, squeezing her arm.
She pushed her glasses up, revealing her kohl-rimmed eyes which narrowed on me.
“You’re here, Lil. The grieving daughter. I’m giving that guy a piece of my mind when he gets his creepy ass here,” she declared angrily. “Anyone driving dead bodies for a living’s got a screw loose,” she added, wrinkling her nose.