The Darkest Part (Living Heartwood #1)(5)

Running my fingers over the long grass, I fall back into a memory.

Five Months Earlier

The smell of gum and wood polish assaults my senses, and slow background music with sad violins fills the air of our community church. Flowers are everywhere. The music lowers as the pastor takes his place at the podium. A blown-up black and white portrait of Tyler is propped next to an altar that holds his urn.

A closed casket was out of the question for Mr. Marks. If his son couldn’t have a proper funeral with a viewing, then he couldn’t stand the thought of burying him that way either.

Mr. Marks said Tyler’s face was beyond repair, the pavement having shattered nearly every bone. It was no longer his son.

I drop my head into my palms, unable to look at the urn anymore. Soon, I’ll have to go up there and talk. Talk about Tyler. And me. About his life, and how it was cut short. How it’s unfair, but how even in death, his memory lives on, encouraging us to live—the way he did.

It’s all written on a tiny piece of paper that my mother tucked into my cardigan pocket. She knew I was unable to write it myself, unable to find any words. She wrote it. Just one more thing I’m indebted to her for.

And I want to say all of it—to honor his memory. But the cruel irony is that he was my strength. My focal point in the chaos. The world is spinning off its axis, and I don’t know how to do any of this without him.

The pastor is talking, but my ears only hear the whoosh of my blood. The jackhammering of my heart. The room tilts, the annoyingly bright glare of the sun-drenched windows a mockery, a direct contrast to the mood within the church. I brace my hands on the pew, preparing to go up. Glancing around, I locate the exit. I don’t remember standing, or walking. But suddenly I’m pushing through the doors.

Running.

I don’t stop until the fire snaking up my calves reaches my chest, and I collapse. Little puffs of white fog leave my mouth as I pant, trying to catch my breath. Crawling toward a bench, I keep my head down. I feel like I’m going to lose my stomach. But then a pair of black combat boots catches my sight and I stop.

I look up at the guy seated on the bench, his head bowed into his hands. Holden.

Fury and grief and pain and every other emotion I’ve kept buried since I got the call of Tyler’s death comes rushing to the surface. And I’m on my feet and storming toward him.

“You bastard—”

His head jerks up. Mouth parts. Eyes squint. “What?”

Every nerve in my body is flaring, firing off in loud pops that pulse in my vision. My limbs tremble with restraint. “Where were you? Tyler said he was supposed to meet you. That you were supposed to hang out that night.” I take a ragged breath. “But you weren’t with him. Why?”

I haven’t seen Holden Marks since he left right after he graduated high school. And when he bounds up and moves toward me, I remember just how much taller he is than Tyler. How much taller than me he always was.

He towers over me now. I tilt my head back to look into his face and notice the trace of a tattoo on his neck, just peeking out against the collar of his black button-up. His dark hair falls forward, nearly covering his icy blue eyes. He draws in his bottom lip, pulling his lip ring into his mouth. Something passes over his face quickly, almost too quickly to discern. But it was there. Confusion, maybe.

“I was supposed to meet Tyler,” he says. It’s a statement, him repeating my words back to me, but there’s a question in it. As if he’s only saying it to give himself enough time to form a real answer. “I was supposed to be . . . and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sam.”

My anger vanishes. As quickly as it was triggered, it disappears, leaving me reeling. The cold air is suddenly biting. I know, somewhere in the depth of my soul, buried beneath the hurt and anguish, it’s not Holden’s fault. But damn it. I need someone to blame. Things like this, horrible tragedies, they have to have a reason why. Something or someone has to be the cause. Because I can’t go on in a world where horrible things happen for no reason at all.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Holden says again, and I break.

My knees buckle, and gravity pulls me downward. Only Holden reaches out in time to catch me before I hit the ground. His arms encircle me, cradling my body against his, as I’m wracked with sobs. His embrace is familiar, eliciting memories from too long ago.

His hand strokes my hair, and I’m ashamed that I’m allowing him to comfort me. He’s just lost his only brother, not more than half a year after losing his mother. I should be consoling him, standing by while he cries and shouts about how life isn’t fair.

Pushing against his hard chest, I back away. “I’m sorry.” I shake my head. “I have to go.”

“Sam . . . don’t. It’s okay.”

His hand reaches out for me, but I don’t look at him as I turn and head in the opposite direction. I don’t know where. Just away.

I meant what I said. But somewhere deep down, I still blame him for not being there to protect his brother that night. And I always will. It’s as much his fault as it is mine.





Sam

The crickets’ chirring grows louder, ringing in my ears like a siren. They cancel out the heavy footfalls I don’t hear until too late.

“I hear you dropped out of school.”

Holden’s deep baritone startles me and I almost turn around. Catching myself, I force my gaze to hold the last bit of sunset over the pond.