Page 38 of Heartland

And she's still good to me anyway. She doesn’t judge. “You’re a good friend, Chass. Seriously. Thank you for dragging my ass out this morning, so I don’t miss this thing I totally dread but shouldn’t blow off.”

“You’re welcome,” she says a little stiffly.

That’s when I remember something. “Hey, is my coat within reach on the seat?”

She glances over her shoulder. “Sure, why?”

“There's something for you in the pocket. The left side.”

“Forme?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. It's just a little thing. Grab it, okay?” I need to leave my hands at ten and two on the steering wheel. My head is still a little foggy, and I won’t take chances with Chastity’s safety.

God knows I’m willing to fuck up my own life from time to time. But not hers. She’s had enough trouble with idiots already.

She unclips her seatbelt and stretches back between the headrests to grab my wool coat. I glance to my right to check her progress, and I can’t help but notice the smooth skin of her belly where her sweater has ridden up and the way her hips are framed by her jeans.

And, yup, I may be sober now, but I'm still an asshole. Because friends do not stare at friends’ stomachs, wondering if their skin is as soft as it looks.

Luckily, Chastity quickly flops back into her seat, holding the dainty little brown box in the center of her hand. “It’s adorable. And it smells like chocolate.”

“Put your seatbelt back on?” I prompt. “And then open it. Maybe it’s a little early in the day for treats, but…”

“It'snevertoo early in the day for treats!” she says, clipping her seatbelt and then pulling the ribbon on the little box. “Oh, wow. These are adorable. Great presentation.”

“Show me.” She holds the box closer to me, and I take a quick look. There are four little chocolates inside, anchored in individual paper cups. “Nice. I spotted them in the bookstore. It’s toffee from a candymaker in Bennington. It’s a treat, but it’s also market research.”

“Thank you,” she says softly. Then she picks up a chocolate and studies it before taking a bite. “Umm! Wow.” She lets out a little moan. “These aremagic.”

“Better than Rolos?” I ask.

“They’re so good. You have to have one.”

“But they’re for you.” I definitely have a thing for feeding her. I saw those little boxes on the counter and knew they were something she’d never buy for herself.

“Market research, Dyl. Here.”

She reaches up and slips one into my mouth. Soft fingertips graze my lower lip. The chocolate begins to melt on my tongue, and then I bite down. The toffee breaks immediately, with a nice crunch.

“Wow.”

“Right?” She closes the box. “I’m saving the other two for when we need a lift. Can I have a sip of your coffee?”

“Of course you can. You can have the whole thing, Chass. My coffee is your coffee.” And my stomach can’t handle it right now. Even the chocolate was a risk.

I step on the accelerator and push on toward the cemetery in Colebury, where my father is buried. Thanks to Chastity, I can almost make it on time.

That will have to be good enough.

* * *

I dread this day all year long, and yet it feels even worse than I even expected. Standing here in the carefully snipped grass, gazing down at the new chrysanthemums decorating dad’s grave? It never gets easier. Six times we’ve done this. No—seven if we’re counting the funeral.

My memories of the funeral are hazy. I remember the crowds of people standing around and all the hugs I was made to withstand. An itchy tag in the collar of my shirt. And the feeling that nothing would ever be right again.

The worst part about this ritual is my mom’s tears. I can’t handle them.

I mean—I do it anyway, standing here with a locked jaw as Father Peters says nice things about Dad. But I can’t concentrate, because the sound of her crying is like a knife through my chest.