So she let the subject drop. "Are you feeling any better?"
"A little. I can't go back over there, though. Can we sit here until it's over?"
"Sounds wonderful to me."
"Thank you, Savannah. I love you." Rowan nestled her head on Savannah's shoulder. Savannah held her, stroking her arm, and glanced up at the sky. The eagle was gone.
It was often said there was nothing more depressing than a funeral in the rain. Mike Larson begged to differ.
It was far more depressing, he thought, for the sky to be blue and cloudless above, for the birds to be singing from high perches in trees budded with new springtime life, while the group of mourners down the hill stood as if frozen in wintry grief.
He knew how that felt. For the earth to dare to keep on spinning while you were falling apart.
"This ain't the time, man," his brother said. "I keep telling you. You can't crash a family's private memorial service. It just isn't done."
Mike glanced over at Zane and nodded. "I know. You're right." Since learning about the service, he'd had the driving, irresistible urge to show up, do something, at least say something, but now that he was here . . . what was there to do or say? Tommy Dugas was down there in a casket, about to be-well, whatever they were about to do to him. He couldn't really tell, as the family was gathered around the opening of what looked like a marble mausoleum. Back home in Houston, Dugas would've been buried in the ground. But right now Mike and his brother stood among dozens of similar structures to the one surrounded by the family, some with elaborate statues and carvings, some plain, some pristine, some weathered, all situated like houses along narrow streets. But however anyone looked at it, and wherever Dugas was going, Mike was responsible for putting him there. He was the last fucking person the family would want to lay eyes on right now, or ever.
"Then why are we here? This place is creeping me out. I see why they call them cities of the dead." Dark sunglasses shielded Zane's eyes and his long black hair was tucked up into a ball cap, his standard disguise when he went out in public even though Mike always jokingly tried to assure him he wasn't that famous. Fact was, though, with hit singles on the radio and smack in the middle of a sold-out US – Canadian tour, the kid might very well get taken down by fangirls anywhere he went.
"I don't know."
"Then can we go?"
Might as well. Mike should have known he'd get all the way out here and punk out. Facing Tommy in the fighting cage had been one thing. There, Mike was in control of his fate and no one else. Facing Tommy's grieving family was another matter entirely. Words had never been his strong point. "Go sing your songs. I didn't ask you to come here." Zane's tour stop happened to be in New Orleans tonight, but when Mike had called him to tell him he was flying over from Houston, his brother insisted on coming along to the cemetery . . . mostly to talk him out of whatever he was going to do.
What am I going to do? Apparently, he wasn't going to do shit.
Zane checked his watch. "I do need to go for sound check. You staying over?"
It wasn't like he had anything else to do. "Might as well."
"Cool. Let's go." Zane turned to lead Mike back to the black Escalade they'd commandeered back at the concert venue. "I might even let you have one of my groupies. You look keyed up."
"You know that's not my style." If he was keyed up, it was because he'd come all the way out here just to lose his nerve. But what did you say to the family you'd destroyed? I'm sorry? Jesus.
Just as they were about to round a corner and lose sight of Tommy's mourners, though, Mike noticed two women break away from the others-one of them practically holding the other up-and disappear between two glaringly white aboveground crypts. He was a good distance from them and he'd only caught a glimpse, but he thought he remembered them both from front row at the fight. The one who had barely been able to walk was petite and blond, the other tall, willowy, and dark haired. "Hey, just a minute," he told his brother, not even waiting for Zane's response. He trotted in the direction the girls had gone, but of course Zane was right on his heels. Such had been the case ever since the little shit was born.
"What is it?"
"Two girls who were at the service. I think they were at the fight too. They might be leaving."
"Then it's not anyone who'd relish seeing your face right now."
Maybe not, but facing two was less daunting than facing many, and maybe he could get a feel for the situation. He had to try, damn it; he felt a responsibility to be here. To see the anguish he'd caused up close. Didn't he deserve that much, at least? If all those girls wanted to do was rage and curse at him, didn't he deserve that too?
As usual, Zane seemed to read his mind. "Don't let your guilt goad you into doing something you'll regret, dude. You're punishing yourself enough, don't let them punish you on top of it. It wasn't your fault and you know it. It was just shit luck."
Shit luck was all he'd ever known, and apparently he couldn't shake it. When he'd made a name for himself in the MMA cage, he'd thought maybe he'd finally left the bad times behind, that fortune would smile on him at last. But shit luck hadn't forgotten his name after all, and whatever happened when he came face-to-face with those women, Zane didn't need to witness it too.
"I don't need backup," he snapped at his brother.
"Well, you've got it."
Great. He couldn't worry about him right now, though; his target had reappeared. They were sitting on a bench, and as he watched, the blonde leaned into the other one, laying her head on the brunette's shoulder. She tipped her head back to look searchingly at the sky, revealing the long, graceful lines of her neck, and the closer he got, the more entranced he became. A week ago she been nothing more than another stricken face amid the chaos, but now he saw she had a lovely, classic profile, and her chestnut hair shimmered in the sunlight in a way it hadn't under the stadium lights. Shit, she was beautiful. He almost forgot why he was there . . . but then her gaze flickered to him.
Eyes widening, she shot up from the bench, apparently forgetting the other girl who'd been leaning on her. Her jaw worked but no sounds came out.
The blonde didn't have that problem. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, struggling to her feet. "How dare you-"
"Rowan, please," the dark-haired woman said. Her voice was soft, somehow as warm as the sunlight even in this terrible, awkward situation, and it quieted Rowan immediately. God, who are you? Mike wondered.
"Ladies," he ventured, noticing the tear-stained cheeks, the sad eyes, the down-turned mouths. All his fault. "I just needed to come tell you, your family . . . I'm sorry for your loss."
"I . . . Savannah, I can't." The woman named Rowan put a hand to her mouth and stalked away. Mike watched her until she was gone, feeling desolate, and noticed that Zane had been busy watching her go, too. Helplessly, he swung his gaze back to the other one. Savannah.
"I should go after her," she said, taking a few steps to do so.
"Wait. Please." Mike put a hand out but stopped short of touching her. "I might be crazy for being here. I know it's the wrong time. I just wanted to know if there's anything . . ." He drew a breath. "Anything I can do."
Savannah pulled her full lips between her teeth as tears welled in her eyes. She wiped at them, every movement seeming frustrated. "I think you did enough."
"You have to know that was not my intention."
Her eyebrows rose. "I have to?"
Shit. He sucked at this. "No, I only mean I hope you understand. Maybe you can't right now, I don't know. I don't even know who you are, I just wanted Tommy's family to know I'm sorry."
"Tommy was my big brother. The woman you just scared away was his wife. They had only been married a couple of years. She sees your face in her nightmares. There's nothing you could ever do that would even come close to replacing what she's lost."
"I know," he told her. He could see the resemblance between the siblings now: the dark hair, dark eyes, chiseled features. "I see Tommy's face in my nightmares too."
Something softened in Savannah's expression. Zane clapped a hand on Mike's shoulder, a let's get the hell out of here gesture. His little brother had been right all along; he shouldn't have come. He gave Savannah a nod and turned to head back to the Escalade.
A simple, soft "Wait" behind him stopped him in his tracks. He looked back. She cast a glance at the rest of her family, then took a few steps forward to close much of the distance between the two of them. This close, he could smell her: a faint hint of something sweet and mysterious. This close, he could see that her hair caught a few reddish highlights in the sun. "Would you meet me somewhere later? For coffee? If you really want to talk, I'll listen." Relief rushed through him, though the direct way she looked at him made his heart do strange things. It was as if she could strip through his mind layer by layer, exposing the truths at the core. She was welcome to them, but she might not like what she would find.