Elect(52)

It was like his mouth was moving but I couldn’t understand the words coming out of it. I tried to stay strong on the outside. I put my arm around Trace and held her close. She was shaking in my arms. I wanted to fix it.

I was so damn pissed at Nixon. How could he go and die on us? With every fiber of my being, I wanted to jump into that damning hole and open the casket. I wanted to shake him, I wanted to hear him yell at me and tell me to do my damn job.

But he was dead.

And I was alive.

Holding his girlfriend.

Mo was inconsolable. She leaned against Tex and refused to even look at the casket. She hadn’t eaten all morning and kept saying that if Nixon had died she would have felt it—apparently it was a twin thing. When one was in danger the other felt the loss.

It took us two hours to convince her he was gone. Even then, she refused to believe us and began screaming his name up and down the halls.

Trace locked herself in the room.

Between the two of them, I was ready to lose my damn mind, not to mention the fact that I’d just lost my cousin and best friend. I was a wreck, ruined, and I wasn’t quite sure I’d ever be the same again.

Apparently Luca had lied to all of us. Nixon had gone over to plead our case, and offered himself up like a lamb to the slaughter.

Mafia lesson number one, don’t do the noble thing. You’ll just end up dead. Nixon wasn’t stupid. He’d known it was a suicide mission, but he went anyway, leaving me to pick up the pieces.

According to my dad, he’d confessed to his own father murdering Trace’s parents and said he sought punishment for all wrongdoings. Luca had said a life for a life, and he’d meant it. He meant to make an example out of Nixon—out of all of us.

One bullet to the head. That was all it took. The sick bastard even did it from behind. Nixon had to know it was coming, though. Anyone with a brain would have. And he’d just stood there… he stood there and did nothing. He took the fall.

The morning of Nixon’s death my dad received a package with a picture of Nixon’s dead body. The ring he used to wear—Nixon’s family ring—was enclosed.

I was in such denial that I didn’t believe it, not until my dad showed me the picture.

When the priest finally stopped talking, we all got up from our seats and slowly followed the crowd outside. The procession to the gravesite was so long that the police had to direct traffic. Trace and I rode in silence the entire way. I didn’t know what to say to make it better—nothing would make it better and that was the problem. A piece of her was missing, buried in the cold, wet ground, and I was left trying to fix a heart that was broken in half.

* * *

Later that evening when we finally returned from the funeral, I ran to the bathroom and lost everything I’d eaten that day. I’d never been so violently ill in my entire life. I was in the bathroom for an hour before Tex finally came in to tell me that Trace needed me.

I found her in the corner of the room rocking back and forth. She was staring at the damn picture. Who had been so careless as to leave it on the counter in the first place?

Guys always have this insane need to fix things. I wanted to pick up her heart and hold it in my hands. I wanted to revive her, but how do you revive someone when your own heart is breaking at the same time?

“Trace?” I knelt down in front of her and pried the picture from her hands. She wasn’t crying, which freaked me out. Shouldn’t she be crying? I mean, I had even cried.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered.

I pulled her onto my lap and held her. “I’d be lying if I said I did, Trace. I have no idea what the hell he was thinking.”

Seriously. What. The. Hell. Was. He. Thinking.

He took her virginity. At least I’m assuming he did, and then he went and got himself killed? Knowing full well that going to see Luca made that a huge possibility.

For once in my life I was so ridiculously pissed at him. Angry that the one guy who’d been a selfless monk for the past few years had done something that rash and stupid.

Which just proved again how desperate he’d been for any piece of Trace to take with him into the afterlife. And if I was completely honest with myself, I would have probably done that and more. And I wouldn’t have regretted a damn thing. Not that I could tell her that.

“What do we do now?” Her voice was so quiet. Shit, she was freaking me out.

“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “Go to school, pretend like we aren’t dying a little bit every minute he’s not with us. We live, we move on, and we make him proud.” Geez, I sounded more together than I felt.

She nodded and then a tear slipped down her cheek, followed by more. Her arms went tight around my neck as she sobbed. “Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me. I can’t—Chase, I can’t do it. Please, please, please!”