The Rebel of Raleigh High (Raleigh Rebels #1)(99)

In the mirror, I see her standing in the doorway to my bedroom. She’s already dressed in her funeral clothes, and there are dark, bruised shadows under her eyes. “You haven’t eaten anything,” she says.

“Can you blame me? I’m not really feeling hungry this morning.”

She smiles sadly, her mouth pulling into a tight line. “I know, honey. I just thought I’d try. Your dad and Max are already waiting downstairs.”

“Okay. I’ll be down in a minute.”

She leaves, and I tug at the collar again, this time trying to loosen it. It’s too tight. Too restrictive. I can’t fucking breathe. I give up eventually. No matter how much I pull and tug at the damn thing, I’m never going to feel comfortable in it.

We’re silent in the van on the way over to the cemetery; it was decided that it’d be better if there was no actual church service, since no one in town was likely to come.

The ground's covered in snow, the world too white and bright, after the first really heavy flurries of winter rolled in late last night. Max is somber next to me on the back seat, his face drawn. He looks wrong in the suit Dad took him to get fitted for—like he's a little adult now, old enough to handle something like this, when he most definitely is not. As Dad pulls into the lot and parks up, I take Max's hand and give it a squeeze. “You want to wait here in the car?” I whisper. “It's okay. You don't have to come. No one's gonna think badly of you.”

He grimaces, looking down at his polished shoes. “I don’t wanna be rude, though.”

God, I just want to hug him so hard. I want to hold him so tight and protect him from this kind of shit. This kind of violence was never supposed to rear its ugly head in a town like Raleigh. Max should have been sheltered from this kind of horror. “Honestly. It’s okay, Bud,” Dad says, reaching into the back and giving him a squeeze on the knee. “Wait here. It’s no big deal. The service won’t be long. Take a nap or something, kiddo.”

At any other time, this would be a strange suggestion to make, but in the ten days since Leon shot up Raleigh High, no one’s been sleeping very much, Max included. He’s been getting most of his rest in during daylight hours, when his nightmares seem to leave him alone for the most part.

I walk between Mom and Dad along the pathway that’s been cleared in the snow toward the gravesite with my heart in my throat.

Jesus, I can’t do this. It’s too fucking hard. I can’t take another moment, feeling so torn open and raw inside. I’ve cried so much, it’s a miracle my tear ducts even work anymore. My legs threaten to give out as we turn a corner and I see the priest standing there over the open grave. I want to turn back. I want to go and sit this out with Max in the back of the car, but I can’t. I wanted to do this, but now that the time’s come…it’s just so difficult.

As if he can read my thoughts, Dad puts his arm around my shoulders, tucking me into his side. “Sure you don’t wanna go get a milkshake at Harry’s instead?” he asks quietly.

“No, no, I’m fine. I’ll be okay.” I don’t think I will be okay, though. This is going to be brutal.

The priest looks up from his open Bible, smiling tightly at us when he sees that we've arrived. I look down into the grave, swallowing back bile. The casket that's already been lowered into the frozen ground is simple, plain, and inexpensive. There's no brass plaque on the top of it like the one Mom had engraved with a quote for Grandpa when he died. There are no flowers, except for the two large sprays of white calla lilies we've brought with us. Mom and Dad set the arrangements down at the foot of the grave, bowing their heads respectfully. The priest begins immediately.

“In the name of God, our Father, we are gathered here today to commit the body of this young man to the peace of the grave.”

Pain lances through my chest, so spectacular and blinding that I have to press my hands against my ribs.

“You gave him life, Oh Lord,” the priest continues. “Now we beseech thee to receive him unto your rest. Though the path be straight and narrow, often your servants wonder. The gift of this life is challenging, filled with love and laughter, but also with much hardship and sorrow. We pray to thee to stand beside us in our grief. Bring comfort and understanding into our hearts—

At first, I pay no heed to the rumbling in the distance. It’s not until the rumbling turns into a roar that I lift my head, frowning.

“...we plead for your mercy, Father, and pray for the soul of your troubled servant…”

The roar becomes a throaty snarl, echoing around the cemetery, so loud now and so close that my heart skips a series of fluttering beats.

It can’t be…

“…accept Leon Wickman into your heart, Lord. May he find in Heaven the peace he could not find here on earth…”

I look up at Dad, about to beg for his forgiveness, only to find that he’s already smiling at me. “Go on, kiddo. Go find him. It’s all right. We’ll stay.”

I'm bolting, kicking off my shoes and running barefoot through the snow before he can even finish his sentence. My pulse races, arms pumping, legs burning, feet stinging against the cold, but I don't stop. I run faster, as fast as my legs will carry me. And then, breathless, struggling to catch my breath, I reach the top of the snowy rise by the entrance of the cemetery…and there he is.