Page 270 of Blackwood

“I’m here,” I whisper. “I’m fucking here, malyshka.”

She collapses into me. Arms clinging. Fists pounding weakly at my chest until they ball in my shirt and stay there. Cade drops beside us, fast but quiet. One hand wraps around her waist. The other grips my shoulder.

“We’ve got you,” he whispers to her. “We’ve got you, sweetheart.”

She cries. God, she cries. Like she’s trying to empty every scream she’s swallowed since that red-wrapped box hit the floor.

“I’ve got you, malyshka,” I whisper again. “We’re not letting you go.”

Cade pulls us tighter. Her body trembles between us. And for the first time since that fucking poem… she’s here. Not the ghost. Not the weapon. Not the survivor. Just Bella. Just our girl.

Broken, but alive.

♥♥♥

Fayetteville, Arkansas

7 Days Since Henry’s Death

It’s cold as fuck. Sky’s the color of ash. Trees stripped bare like bones. And the wind? It doesn’t just cut, it carves. Right through my coat, my skin, my goddamn soul. Like it knows I don’t deserve the warmth today. Like it’s punishing me for even stepping outside.

The air’s too still. Too quiet. The kind of silence that feels wrong. Like the world’s bracing for something. Or mourning something it already lost. Either way, it matches the weight sitting on my chest.

Bella hasn’t moved in ten minutes. She’s just sitting here, one hand in mine, the other in Cade’s, her eyes locked on the polished casket in front of her like she might shatter if she blinks. Her black coat is buttoned tight to her chin, her hood is pulled up around her hair, but her cheeks are still raw from the wind. Red and soft.

She’s crying. Silent tears. The kind that sneaks down without warning and leaves tracks on her skin. Not wailing. Not breaking. Just mourning.

The pastor’s voice is steady behind the pulpit, something about comfort and peace and eternal life and all that shit. About how Henry Harrington was a good man. A brave man. A family man. A man who loved his daughter more than life.

Bella flinches at that part. I squeeze her hand. Cade does too.

Everyone and their brother is here. Jack’s sitting next to Cade. Ellie and Haley sit one row behind us with Knox seated at their center. Javi and Rico stand with their hands clasped in front of them, heads bowed.

There are about twenty or so bundled-up strangers in uniform, Fayetteville Fire Department standing proud in their dress blues.

The entire Wexley football team showed up, lined shoulder to shoulder behind the Legacy girls. And behind them, a wave of old Razorbacks, former teammates of her dad’s, big and broad and broken-eyed as they watch their fallen brother’s casket being lowered into the earth.

The Whitmores came, somber and elegant. Tex is next to them in black with his arms crossed. Nate, sharp in a coat and scarf, jaw locked like he might kill someone just for breathing too loud.

Briggs, O’Malley, Khoza, Laing, and Sabine all made the trip.

Even my parents came down.

Roman didn’t come. Cade and I told him not to. Told him that she just lost her father and didn’t need to deal with another one at his funeral. He agreed. For once, he fucking listened.

She sniffles beside me. Still staring. Her fingers squeeze mine back. God, I fucking love her. And I hate that she has to wear black today. Hate that this is how her story with him ends—in a cemetery full of despair and solemn words, with no chance to say goodbye. No chance to scream. Just a casket, a cold wind, and a pain so sharp I can feel it in my spine.

I look down at her.

At her lashes soaked with tears.

At the tiny wrinkle in her brow that hasn’t faded since the night of the masquerade.

At her breath fogging in the cold.

She’s here. She’s alive. But she’s a long way from okay. And we’re not going anywhere. Cade and I will walk every mile of this grief with her, carry the rage if she can’t. We’ll wait for her when the world doesn’t, and never let go.

And Luca. Luca is going to die. Bymyfucking hands. Because I’ve seen her break before, but never like this. Not gutted. Not hollow. Not lost to the point where even her fire went dark.