More Than Lies (More Than #1)(76)

This reality blows.

I can’t bring myself to touch his body. I don’t want to remember him as being cold and stiff; that was the opposite of who my brother was. My earliest memory is of my brother being kind, warm, and loving to me. He used to take me everywhere he went. He never left me behind when I was a small kid.

“You were the greatest brother a girl could ever have. I hope you know that. I’m sorry if I never told you. I love you so much, Trent and I miss you. It shouldn’t have been you. You shouldn’t be gone. It’s not fair!” The tears are falling hard now. So hard, making the form in front of me a blur. “You were always there for me when I needed you. It’s like you had this sixth sense or something when it came to me. You just knew, and you were there. Now you’re not here, and I’m all alone. I don’t want to be alone.”

Large hands wrap around my hips. Shawn has been standing behind me this whole time. He steps into my space. His chest meets my back, and I have to admit it’s helping having him here. It’s comforting, and eases a fraction of the weight centered on my chest.

“You’re not alone, Tara. You’ll never be alone.” His voice is a whisper for my ears only. He’s wrong, but I don’t correct him on it. I don’t want to let our night in bed together jeopardize the friendship that has grown deeper since he confided in me about buying the tattoo studio, but deep down I know being friends will never be enough for me now that I’ve had a taste of how good we could be together if he just gave us a chance. “It’s time to go into the chapel.”

I give Trent one last look before I let Shawn lead me away. Away from my protection, away from the only love I’ve ever trusted, away from my big brother.

I miss you, Trent.

Every pew in the funeral home chapel is filled with bodies. Some I recognize. Most I don’t. Shawn leads me to the front row where my father and mother are seated.

“You were supposed to be in here ten minutes ago.” She whisper yells as we walk past.

“Katherine,” my father whisper yells back at her. It sounds like a warning, but after what happened outside earlier, I doubt it’ll do any good. He’s back to taking her side. Everything he said on Christmas morning must not have meant jack.

My father doesn’t utter another word, but his eyes scrutinize us as we take our seats. I sit next to my dad, and Shawn sits down next to me. He rests his arm on the back of the pew behind me and the other he takes my hand. Within a few seconds, the hand he has resting behind me moves closer. Shawn places his warm palm on the back of my neck, stroking softly. His touch allows me to breathe a little easier.

The preacher conducts the service. I’m sure it would be considered lovely, but I can’t view it as such. This is the worst day of my life. This is even more difficult than the night I found out he was dead. This makes everything too real. And then there are Kylie’s cries coming from behind me—it’s all I hear the whole time.





CHAPTER TWENTY





SHAWN





The funeral ended with a graveside service. The entire day has slowly crept along. I’m spent, but fuck, I can’t leave Tara now. I may be a regular jerk, but I have to set aside my desire to just get the fuck out of here. For Tara.

It’s nearing nightfall, and everyone close to Trent is at the Evans’ home. I’ll be heading to my parents’ house around the corner to crash at some point. I want to talk Tara into coming with me. She’s spent enough time around that bitch she’s forced to call Mother. She needs to be around the ones that love her effortlessly and endlessly: my family.

Matt’s voice in my ear rouses me from my thoughts.

“Damn,” Matt breathes out with a slight shake of his head and small remorseful laugh. “You guys remember when Trent got so pissed off and wanted to murder Shawn for getting Taralynn sent to in-school suspension for five days?” My eyes snap up to hers. She’s staring at me from the comfort of Matt’s lap. They’ve been off for months now, but you couldn’t tell it right now. He’s finally acting like a best friend should. Comforting her when she needs it.

My gaze is the first to falter as the memory of that day sinks into my head, playing out like an old movie right in front of my eyes.

“Mr. Braden,” Principal MacIntyre blows out as he leans forward in his oversized black leather chair from behind his equally oversized dark wooden desk. “I’m at my wit’s end here. I’m at the end of my ropes with you. I’ve tried, for nearly four years. I’ve tried to get through to you. Nothing has worked!”

Wonk, wonk, wonk.

It’s the same speech I get every time I’m in his office, sitting in this same ugly ass brown chair. As often as I’m in here, you’d think I’d become accustomed to the hard, uncomfortable wood underneath my ass. But I haven’t, and I swear the man keeps me in here longer each time.

“Mr. Mac, it’s not you. It’s me.” I stifle the laugh that’s trying to escape my mouth. He doesn’t like my humor. Oh well, I do.

“This,” he fumes with a stern tone as he points his finger at me, “Mr. Braden, isn’t a laughing matter. There isn’t any humor in the situation you’ve gotten yourself into today.” I toss my head back as I grip the sides of the chair and slouch down until my head meets the hard surface behind me. What the hell is his damn problem? I sit up, looking him in the eyes once more.