Trace moaned next to me. She moaned his name, not mine, and the knife went deeper into my heart.
“Sleep, Trace. It’s okay, you’re safe.” I tucked the blanket around her body and sighed when she turned to me and wrapped her arms around my stomach, thinking I was him. And for the first time in my life, I wished I was.
* * *
I awoke to a loud banging on my door. The clock on the desk said seven a.m. Who the hell would be waking us up this early? And how did they get in? Tex knew not to pound on my door that early and Nixon—well, I guess he could be pissed.
Sighing, I swung my feet from the bed to the floor to stand when the door burst open.
“Dad?” I rubbed my eyes. “What the hell are you doing here?” Normally my dad was good about texting or calling before he stopped by, so as not get shot on the spot. We never took any chances—even with family. Which meant only one thing. Something was wrong. Maybe Nixon let him in? I shook my head to clear all the thoughts swarming around.
His eyes fell to Trace and then back to me. She was starting to wake up, but no way was I letting my dad see that she was barely wearing any clothes. I pushed her down and covered her further with the blanket. “Nixon?”
“No.” I swallowed the emotion in my throat. “It’s Chase.
“Dad, can’t you see I’m a little busy?” Irritated, I glared at him and then pointed back at Trace.
“This could not wait.” His eyes looked tired. Bags hung beneath his lashes and the lines around his mouth seemed more pronounced. He’d always been a good-looking man, but right now he just looked old.
“What is it?”
He kept looking at Trace. Why the hell was he looking at her? She was covered in blankets, for crying out loud! I sighed. “I don’t have all day.”
“It’s Nixon.”
I could feel air in the room tense around me. It was one of those moments where it literally felt like time stood still. I watched my dad flinch as I looked down at Trace and then back up into his eyes. Please God, I didn’t mean it. Please let him be okay. I finally found my voice and asked with a croak, “What about him?”
“He’s dead.”
Chapter Thirty-two
Chase
“How we treat the dead says an awful lot about how we live. For the strong and able to serve the helpless dead…” I choked on the word “dead,” and my hands shook as I continued reading, “to honor the frail remains…” My eyes fell to Trace, her body was slumped against Tex, her eyes hollow, as if her soul had gone to the afterlife right along with Nixon. “… Reaches deep inside us to something basic to humanity—Paul Gregory Alms.”
Early afternoon light danced around the Holy Name Cathedral, almost as if mocking the darkness around everyone. There was standing room only. In the two days it took for us to plan the funeral, never once did it occur to me that it would be such a public affair. Families traveled from Sicily to offer their condolences. And people I hadn’t seen in years were coming up to me and shaking my hand, as if that made it better. A damn handshake? To bring back my best friend? Hell no.
Mo had wanted me to give the eulogy. I didn’t deserve the honor—hell, I didn’t even deserve to be in the same room as Nixon’s casket. I’d tried to go through the motions, making decisions for Mo, but I was dying inside right along with her.
“Nixon was my best friend.” I licked my lips. “He was one of the good ones. The type of guy you never wanted to piss off but, at the same time, wanted on your team. Everything he did was for others. ‘Selfish’ was never a word in his vocabulary. I think, if we take anything away from his unnecessary death, it’s that he lived life to the fullest, but he lived it for others.” My eyes locked with Trace’s. Tears poured in rapid succession down her cheeks. “He lived for those he loved, he died protecting what was most precious to him. And for that, he earns a place in heaven, because when it came down to the very end, he was willing to sacrifice everything for family—for blood. I don’t know how long I’ll be on this earth, but my prayer is that I go out just like that—fighting for the only true thing in our existence.”
I folded the paper and stuffed it back into my pocket. Taking the steps two at a time, I made my way to Trace’s side and sat. She gripped my hand so hard I winced. I hadn’t left her side since we received the news a few days ago, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to leave her side now.
The rest of the funeral was depressing as hell. I watched as the priest said a final prayer about not understanding the ways of God, but it was seriously falling on deaf ears.