Page 70 of Breaking Point (IceHawks #1)

Grayson

ONE WEEK LATER

B ella stands at the foot of the bed, motionless, her skin ashen as she stares down at the black dress Layla laid out on my bed for her.

I had to bring her here.

She couldn’t be in that house with the memories of her mom. We tried. Bella would wake in the middle of the night calling out for her mom, only to fall into a fit of sobs.

On the second night, she broke completely.

I came out of the room to find her taking a golf club to her mother’s pill bottles that were left over—and the side of her father’s closet.

I thought that was all until she spotted her art supplies and there was no stopping that woman.

Fury and venom overcame her face and she began screaming at the top of her lungs how unjust the world is.

I didn’t realize her mom was the one who got her into art. That it was something they did together when she was a little girl. If I had known, I would have put the supplies away.

But after that, there was no going back to the house for a while. She’s been at my home ever since, never leaving my room.

The soft padding of feet from the hallway makes me turn. I spot Layla’s fiery red hair come around the corner and I step out, lowering my voice to a whisper. “She hasn’t gotten dressed yet.”

Layla was on a flight home the moment Charlotte called and she hasn’t left Bella’s side since. Neither of us have. We’ve been taking shifts, making sure she’s never alone.

Bambi, too. She’s been glued to Bella’s side, has been since the moment I brought her here. She knows something is wrong and has taken it upon herself to watch Bella as well.

Layla’s heavy eyes, with the telltale signs of lack of sleep, flick over my shoulder. “I’ll do this. Why don’t you go call the funeral home and make sure everything is ready for today?”

Dipping my head, I go to move but find I can’t.

Layla steps into the room, her movements slow like she’s approaching a cornered animal. Her voice is a hushed whisper and I can’t make out what she’s saying, but it doesn’t matter. Bella doesn’t move an inch, her body remaining rigid.

I come up behind them, Layla’s helpless expression locking on mine. I cock my head, motioning for her to call the funeral home instead.

She’s as reluctant as I was to leave, her face tightening with pain. But once she does, I lay a gentle hand on Bella’s arm.

“Blaze, do you want help getting dressed?”

Her eyes are boring into the dress as if she’s waiting to see if it will go up in flames.

She doesn’t respond so I brush a lock of hair behind her ear. “Come on, baby, let me help,” I say softly. She doesn’t stop me when I pick up the dress, so I continue on. “I’m going to take your robe off now, okay?”

A small fraction of a dip of her chin has me exhaling with an inch of relief.

She can hear me.

All week she’s been comatose. Not eating, not drinking, not talking. It’s like she completely shut down. Layla and I have had to force-feed her so she doesn’t pass out.

Gently pulling the tie of the robe, it comes loose, revealing her nude-colored bra and panties. After prying the robe off her shoulders, I bend, laying out the dress for her to step into .

The front door downstairs opens, no doubt my parents arriving.

Clearing my throat, I lift my head to find her eyes on me with the dress in my hand. “You can do it, Blaze. One step at a time, baby.”

Her chest rises on a deep inhale before she gingerly lifts her left leg.

“That’s it, Bella, keep going.”

She steps in and her body shudders.

“You’ve got it,” I coax gently.

When I had to put my suit on for Drew’s funeral, it felt like each step of the process I was being shot by a gun.

Each movement fatal, solidifying that he was gone.

By the utter devastation that fills her eyes as she steps her other leg in and I lift the dress over her body, Bella must be feeling the same.

Slowly rising, I take in the way her chin lifts, that fire I’ve been waiting to see slowly rekindling. Until it’s doused in water as quickly as it arrived.

I press a kiss to her forehead before moving around her and zipping up the dress. I remain there as I whisper, “I’ll try and keep you away from people but they’re going to give you condolences and it’s going to feel like hearing nails on a chalkboard.”

I wish someone had done this for me when Drew passed, so I’m giving to her what I needed in that moment.

“It’s going to hurt, Bella, but if it gets to be too much squeeze your hand in mine three times and I’ll get you away.”

“Three times?”

Her voice is rough. Gravelly. It shocks me into silence for a moment because I haven’t heard her beautiful voice outside of crying and screaming in a week.

Walking around to face her, I note her gaze tracking my movements. “Three times.”

“Three is my favorite,” she whispers.

“Well, then I picked well.” I check the time on my watch and dread my next words. “We have to go.”

Her shoulders tense.

Gently placing my fingers below her chin, I lift her gaze to mine. “Three times, remember? That’s all it takes. Three squeezes.”

She nods. “Three squeezes.”

Lacing her fingers through mine, I don’t let go of her hand. Not as we go downstairs and she says quiet hellos to my parents. Not as we sit in the back of the car I hired. Not as we walk to the service outside by the empty hole in the ground.

I never let go.

And neither does she.

The tips of my fingers have turned white, but I don’t care. I couldn’t care, not as her lip was trembling and I could see the silent tears rolling down her cheeks past the sunglasses she hasn’t removed.

It got worse as the speeches came and when the pastor called out for Trisha’s daughter to come forward, my heart hurt painfully at the idea of letting her go up there alone. But to my surprise, she remains standing, looking down at me expectantly, and that’s all it takes.

One single look, and I’m right there beside her.

Walking with her to the front of the hole they buried for the casket, Bella keeps her chin lifted, looking ahead. I don’t know if she even glances at the casket or the ground.

She clears her throat.

Twice.

“I’m not that great with my words, never have been.” Her lips purse before she blows out a breath. “It’s why my mom handed me a sketchbook, to allow me to express myself in a different way.”

Her hand in mine tightens.

“My mom was such an extraordinary person who was taken far too soon. She painted my life with color, and now that it’s gray without her, I’m afraid I’ll never experience any other shades.”

She stops suddenly, her throat working.

“But I’m grateful to have experienced a life with her that was full of color, even if it feels like someone stole her painting before she was able to finish it.”

Bella turns away, her lip quivering. I step in front of her, blocking her body from the large group of people that came to give their condolences to a beautiful woman taken too soon.

“Breathe, Blaze, breathe,” I coax gently.

“I-I can’t do this. I can’t say goodbye in front of everyone. These words aren’t for them.”

Realization dawns on me.

I motion the pastor to continue on as I wrap my arm around her, steering her toward her seat again, trying my hardest to block the sight of her crumbling from view.

Layla is on the other side doing the same despite tears pouring down her red, blotchy face. Layla’s family has been a godsend this past week, same as Layla. They’ve helped in every way they can, giving their support to Bella despite grieving themselves.

Bella is holding on by a thread but it snaps as the pastor asks her to come to the front and place the white rose she’s been clutching in her free hand on top of the casket.

“It’s time to say goodbye,” he says solemnly.

Those words.

They hit her physically.

Her face turns red, starting from her neck upwards, and the heaving her chest begins to do makes panic take over at the thought of her passing out.

“Three squeezes,” I remind her. “I’m right here.”

She nods furiously as tears pour freely down her cheeks.

Rising on wobbly legs, a small whimper escapes her. Layla stands with her, wrapping her arm through her best friend’s to add additional support. We all but carry her to the coffin.

Bella stumbles, her hands landing on it. Her lips move a mile a minute but I can’t make out what she’s saying before she kisses the casket and gently places the rose on top of it.

With her hand still in mine as she steps back, I wrap my arm around her, trying to cocoon her with my body like I can shield her from the pain. The pastor gives a nod and the casket lowers.

Everyone behind us leaves, but Bella remains fixed.

Even after the casket is fully lowered, the seats behind us empty.

She never takes her gaze off the casket.

Until a deep male voice calls out behind us.

“Bella?”

Bella’s head snaps up so fast she almost falls over. Lifting her sunglasses, I expect tears to be filling her eyes but instead, there’s just pure vicious venom.

“You have some fucking nerve showing up here,” she spits.