Waiting for Willa (Big Sky, #3)(8)

“Are you okay?” Mom asks, and I know it’s not about the keys.

“Yeah. I won’t be long.”

“Take all the time you need,” she says.

“See you in a bit, Bubba.”

“Bye, Mom.”

“Oh!” I rush back, poking my head into the living room. “He had a shower last night, so—”

“Willa, my love,” Mom interrupts me with a soft smile. “We’re fine.”

“Right.” I nod. “Thanks. See you later.”

I wave and walk out to my car in the garage. It’s been giving me trouble lately. I should replace it, but I just paid the sucker off, and I’m determined to get through two years payment-free, so I’ll make an appointment to have it checked out later this week.

The drive to town is uneventful. It’s a cold Sunday morning. The roads are clear of snow and not busy at all. Most people are either at church or still in bed.

Where I’d like to be.

I don’t know why I do this every year. Cary isn’t in that casket. I often feel him around me, and I talk to him all the time. He’s not at the cemetery.

Yet, I go. Every single year. I always take a bouquet of red roses. Some years, the snow is deep, and I have to uncover his headstone. But it’s been a dry year. Cold, but without a lot of snow.

I park my car along the small drive about a block away from where Cary is, zip up my coat and grab my gloves, and head out, crunching through the snow between the headstones, and see someone already at Cary’s grave.

It looks like he’s talking. He’s sitting in a red camping chair, bundled up in ski gear and a hat, but I’d know those shoulders anywhere.

Max.

I don’t know why I’m surprised. Max was Cary’s best friend and was with him when he died.

Of course, he misses him.

I don’t want to startle him, but I also don’t want to hang back and be a creeper, so I keep walking closer, my boots crunching the hard snow. Max turns.

“Hi,” I say softly.

He raises a beer. “Come join us.”

I cock a brow and walk closer, noticing the beer at Max’s feet, and the open one on Cary’s headstone.

“I always wondered who brought the beer,” I say when I walk around Max and set the roses next to the brew. “I should have known.”

“Want one?” he asks.

“Actually, that sounds good. It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?”

“That it is,” he says, pops the top on a bottle, and passes it to me. I take a swig, surprised that it feels good on my throat despite the bitter cold.

“Do you need a ride home?”

Max’s lips twitch the way they always did when he was particularly amused by me.

“I only have two, then I leave the rest for him.”

I nod and take a deep breath. “I’ve never minded the cold, you know.”

He nods.

“I think it feels nice.” I take another swig of beer and sit on the snow, leaning against Cary’s headstone.

“I should leave you be,” he says, moving to stand, but I hold up a hand.

“Wait.” I clear my throat. “I have some things to say, and I think this is a good place to say them.”

He stands, and I think he’s going to leave anyway, which I wouldn’t blame him for, but the next thing I know, he reaches for my hand, pulls me to my feet, and gestures for me to sit in his chair before sitting in my spot on the ground.

“You shouldn’t sit on the ground, Wills,” he says softly after settling on the snow. “What do you want to say?”

“That I’m sorry,” I blurt and blink rapidly, making this up as I go because I didn’t expect to see him here today. “I want to apologize for what I said to you that day.”

“You don’t need to.”

“Yeah, I do.” I nod and take a sip of beer. “I was angry, Max. Not just at you, but at Cary and, well, the universe. I took it out on you. It was like all of the grief and the pain just boiled up, and I spewed it all over you.

“It wasn’t your fault that Cary died, Max. He was a thrill-seeker, especially when it came to skiing. He loved it. I can’t even count how many times I told him to stop going out of bounds because it wasn’t safe. He would just pat me on the head like I was being cute and do it anyway.”

Max takes a deep breath, and I swear his shoulders sag as if a huge weight has been lifted off them. Jesus, has he been carrying that around all of these years because of me?

The thought of that tears a hole in my heart.

“You lost him, too. It took me a long time to see that I wasn’t the only one who was grieving. I know that makes me selfish.”

“No, it makes you human,” he replies, and my gaze catches his for a long moment. My God, I loved him. Once upon a time, he was everything to me.

“I was incredibly angry with you,” I admit and watch as his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t drop his gaze from mine. “But my anger was layered.”

“In what way?”

“You left me,” I remind him. “And you didn’t come back. You were my life for years, and suddenly, you were just gone. I was sure that something was wrong with me.”

“No,” he says adamantly, shaking his head.