Page 32 of Sweet Silver Bells

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.

W ithout Olivia by his side, Hunter felt like he was missing a limb. At least that was how it seemed as he stepped up to the church the next morning.

He was alone with a clear blue sky, the sun shining with a vengeance despite the temperature plummeting more than in the previous few days.

When the gray and the clouds departed, it was always colder.

There was a strange comfort in the claustrophobic press of the storm.

The haunting, stormy skies wrapped around him like a blanket, holding in the warmth—just like the phantom ache of his missing limb.

Just like Olivia.

Hunter stood there on the walkway, and the tan brick structure's gothic, tall, pointed architecture didn’t feel welcoming at all. Inside, he knew, would be his coworkers, and a person who’d been killed at the hands of the person he loved.

Loved.

You fucking love her.

Of course, he did. He wouldn’t be here, he wouldn’t be protecting her from what she did, if he didn’t. She was no monster. She was his.

My moon. My tree siren.

It’s time, Sarah. It’s time to move on.

Tears started accumulating in Hunter’s eyes, a few droplets falling and staining his white button-up shirt and black tie.

“No shame, man.” Darius walked up behind him, slapping his shoulders. “I didn’t care about Tom, but I don’t think I’ll be able to get through this without crying either.”

“Saying goodbye, closing a door for good, is the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” Hunter admitted, nodding his head. “But I love Olivia. I can’t believe I’d ever say that again.”

“We are talking about two different people,” Darius said. “But congratulations, I’m happy for you. I could see you disappearing, wrapped in love, never to be seen again.”

“That would kill my mom.”

“Kill, what a word to use here,” said Sadie, walking up behind them. “Let’s get this over with, shall we? I think the rest of our group is already inside.”

A few other people dressed in black walked around the three of them, entering the church.

Hunter, Darius, and Sadie walked in behind them, entering a large room with wooden pews, a closed coffin surrounded by flowers at the front.

He had been here before. He had done this before.

His chest slowly rose and fell as he was hurled towards a pew in the middle of the room.

Before he sat down, he spotted a grieving Nina in the front row, her body shaking as she wiped her tears from her face. He knew this. He had been through this.

I’m sorry, Nina.

Hunter sat between Darius and Nina, noticing Elaine and Celia a few spots down. Both of them looked entirely too fabulous with bold red lips and dark glasses, even indoors.

He was stuck—caught between two worlds, and two versions of himself.

One was the man who had known a normal life, who had loved Sarah too deeply and mourned her for years.

The other lived in a new reality, one shaped by the woman who made him think of the moon, who made darkness feel like the very source of beauty and power.

He could never see the night the same way again. His entire worldview had shifted, and there was no going back.

How do you move forward? How do you wrap yourself in that darkness? In her world of trees and stars?

“Thank you, thank you for coming to honor our departed beloved, Tom.” A minister moved toward the casket, a microphone on his lapel.

A large sob erupted from Nina.

Everyone who could reach put their arms on her for comfort.

He hated how sadness permitted people to touch you. He’d never understood why that was a comfort. That was why he’d quickly disappeared into his house, into his hobbies. He couldn’t stand the compassionate touch on the shoulder, the arms out wide embrace offered, but felt like he had to accept it.

I won’t touch you, Nina, he promised her, though she would never hear it. I will leave you be so you can find your own way. So you won’t be confused.

Hunter, on the other hand, was finding so much clarity in those moments of collective grief.

The support given was so wrong. He gripped his hands into fists, sitting there through the rest of the funeral, through the strangers who stood on the stage, saying their public goodbyes and giving the families their condolences.

It was such a show.

This just cannot be how you say goodbye.

For the rest of his time there, Hunter only dreamed of the night sky, of the shine of the stars that reminded him of Olivia’s hair, the awkwardness of her words that brought so much clarity to him, her social graces gone from her time away from humans, from ceremony.

That woman was so strong. She knew what she wanted, and even though it was absolutely terrifying, she went for it. People got hurt in the process, and perhaps they always would.

Hunter shook his head and chuckled to himself. The naked woman in the forest, the one that needed his help, the damsel, was anything but. She was so complex that now he had no choice but to rethink his entire life, all of his choices.

I can’t wait to get back to you.

As sniffles and tears flowed through the gathering, Hunter’s mind wandered to her. This was a funeral for Tom, yes, but it felt like more than that, a funeral for who he was once, a door closed on the chapter that he had been working these past few days to leave behind.

Poetic, that thought, with bodies cold in their caskets.

So was the person that Hunter once was. That person had loved so differently, needed so differently. The person who hadn’t been an individual, but a part of a marriage. He’d been no one outside of that.

Now he was different. Now, he had a job to protect and to love Olivia.

It was a job he couldn’t abandon—no matter how bloody it might get.

Sarah had shown him obsession, but Olivia had taught him how to love so imperfectly, filled with mess and iron and mischievousness. She showed him to love with his soul, not his brain.

She was with his mother right now, being dressed to look like someone else’s doll. She was no doll, but the moon, the stars, the crimson red of blood against pine.

Dread and anxiousness filled him, a macabre sense that told him to run, to get out of this place filled with someone else's loss—that he had a full life to live with the woman who had wrapped herself around his heart, his bones, his organs.

Never before has there been more beauty in my life, he thought to himself as the crowd rose, as bodies around him hugged one another in comfort.

They all moved to the front of the church, forming a line of dread and mourning, white flowers with large petals coercing their hearts towards the dead body that they were all there to say goodbye to.

I have to get her out of here.

The realization dawned on him.

Darius pushed Hunter out of the pew and into the line.

Olivia couldn’t be here.

She couldn’t be in this town.

She couldn’t build a life where she knew nothing, where everything was foreign to her. She would never have peace if she were always a danger to people.

If Olivia wanted to rot in a forest, Hunter would support that dream. He would be damn sure to make it happen.

My girl. My tree siren.

“It was a beautiful ceremony,” Darius said as he pushed past Hunter.

They made it to the front of the line, and his coworkers began hugging Nina, who couldn’t even look them in the eye.

She looked like she wanted to jump out of her skin, like this was a complete nightmare for her, being here at this church surrounded by this sympathy.

I know, Nina, I’ve been there. I won’t touch you.

“I’m sorry,” Hunter said to her. “I know how much it hurts. Even now, I still feel it.”

Nina looked up to him, blinking, realizing, remembering that he had once been right where she stood. Her bottom lip trembled.

“The last conversation we had was about a gingerbread house competition,” she said.

“It doesn’t matter, Nina,” Hunter tried. “What matters is that he did it with you, even though he probably didn’t want to.”

“You are terrible at this,” Sadie said through clenched teeth.

“No, no,” Nina said, “You’re right. He hated those things.”

“But he still did them. He did them for you,” Hunter said. “You were the love of his life. You made his life worth living. You did that, Nina. You gave him it all.”

“Okay, a little better now,” Sadie whispered.

Nina nodded as Celia went in for a hug, Elaine embracing them both as the church emptied.

“Merry Christmas,” Nina said, pushing the group away. She needed to be alone now, Hunter remembered. Hunter was still not quite past that, always preferring to be alone.

Until Olivia.

“Merry Christmas,” Hunter said. “I’ve got to go.”

“Where are you running off to?” Sadie asked, following him as he turned and walked down the aisle.

“I’ve got a ball to attend.”

“You’re actually going to that? And you’re not taking me?”

“Blame my mother.”

An hour had passed, the sun having moved to the western skies. His mother’s car was not in the driveway, so they were still gone. Hunter heard a small commotion when he stepped out onto the cement: the sound of metal falling and clanging, followed by a muffled swear.

“Dad,” Hunter yelled out, walking towards the garage, passing his dad’s truck. “Is that you I hear?”

His dad popped his head out, his handsome full head of salt and pepper hair, dirt on his cheeks, grimy yellow gloves on his hands.

“Ah, Hunter, you’re back. Come help me with this.”

He walked over, turning the corner to see inside the garage door, and stopped to laugh at its absurdity.

“Dad, what are you doing with a motorcycle?”

“It’s been my little project,” Mark said, picking up a wrench from a gigantic red toolbox. “I’ve been teaching myself how to fix it. It’s nearly there. I’m replacing the brake pads today.”

“Can’t say that I can actually help. This is one hobby I never got into.”

“You’re alright; why don’t you just keep me company? Your mother doesn’t care for this, so it’s usually just me out here by myself. How was the funeral?”

Hunter picked at some tools on a basic wooden cabinet. “I said goodbye.”

“Ah, but not to the recently deceased, I assume.”

Hunter turned, looking at his father in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I know you, son. I don’t know much about this Olivia girl, but I know that your heart is now hers. I also know that she doesn’t belong here.”

“Doesn’t belong here?”

His father couldn’t know.

Could he?

“I can’t say I know where it is that she does belong, but she sticks out clearly,” Mark said. “That can’t be a surprise to you, can it? You can’t keep something caged where it doesn’t belong.”

“That something being Olivia?”

Mark nodded, going back to his bike. Hunter listened to him grunt and curse under his breath for a few minutes.

“You think we should leave?” Hunter eventually asked.

“No, son,” Mark said. “I just know that you will. Hell, I probably would, too. There is a lot of pain here for you. I don’t know how you did it, living in that same house for all that time.”

“Mom would miss me too much.” Hunter rubbed the back of his head.

“I think it would be better for her.”

“Better? Would it be better for me to leave?”

“It would be better for you to leave than to keep watching your soul die slowly. You never recovered; you never reinvented your life. It was hard to watch.”

Hunter shook his head, anger building slowly, smoke rising in a hay barrel. “I’m sorry that my grief affected you all so terribly.”

Mark sighed. “I’ve never needed to be a poet, Hunter. I’ve never needed to be great with words in my line of work. Direct has always been best.”

“Just say it, Dad. Whatever it is, please say it so I can continue to hide in the house.”

“I’ll have to follow you in there. Your mother insists we figure out which suit of mine fits you best.”

Mark got up from the motorcycle and started peeling off his gloves, setting them on top of the toolbox.

“Did you finish those brake pads?” Hunter asked.

“Of course not, I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Hunter laughed.

“Son.” Mark walked up to him, throwing his arm around Hunter’s shoulder. The touch was awkward; their family was not affectionate in this way, especially not his dad. Mark usually wrote checks that Hunter refused to cash.

The two walked out of the garage, the sun at their backs.

Why aren’t they back yet?

“I just need you to know,” Mark continued, “that it doesn’t matter what you do with your life. No matter what, I support it. I trust that you know what’s best for you.”

The words sank deep. Hunter was surprised at how much the sentiment meant to him. Acceptance and approval were not normally things Hunter sought from his family because, at the end of the day, he’d had a happy childhood. His trauma came much later.

“Thanks,” Hunter said, looking his father in the eye.

“Let’s go through my closet. You know your mother—she’ll want you looking like a prince,” Mark said, a smile on his face.