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TWO YEARS EARLIER

It’s not okay. I need to breathe. I need to… Oh my God.

My lungs burn as I drag in the dank air that’s thick with the scent of saturated earth.

I might be sick again.

A raindrop lands on the backs of my fingers where they’re curled around my necklace, shielding it from the rain. The diamond is cold to my touch, like a stone.

Stone cold dead.

My father steps toward the newly dug graves, his arm outstretched, hand full of dirt.

He opens his palm, letting the dark brown earth fall freely.

The sound of it hitting my mother and brother’s caskets beneath is like a round of bullets straight through my heart, tearing what’s left of it to shreds.

“No!” I sob, turning into Sullivan’s chest and fisting his suit jacket for support.

My brother wraps his arms around me and says softly into my hair, “It’s nearly over, okay?”

I cry so hard that I tremble in his embrace. If I wasn’t clinging so tightly to him, then I’d be on the floor being pummeled into the earth by the beating rain before it washed me away.

Tempting.

My heart thuds in my ears as I stay buried in the safety of his protection. Maybe if I squeeze my eyes shut, it will all be over when I open them again. Like a bad dream. One where I didn’t witness my father’s yacht explode, taking both my mother and brother with it, stealing them from us.

He didn’t even reach his thirtieth birthday. In what kind of world is that fair? I'll never witness his smile again, hear his laugh, watch his face light up as he tells me about whatever latest crazy stunt he wants to do.

And my mom…

I whine, and Sullivan tightens his grip around me. I’ll never be able to talk to her again. Ask her advice. Ask her why…

“Let’s wait in the car,” he says.

I nod, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other as he leads me away. The other mourners give me sympathetic looks as we pass their cloud of black.

Black suits. Black dresses. Black umbrellas.

It’s all so dark. So depressing. Like the two deep holes they’re buried in.

“Oh God.” I clasp a hand to my mouth as acid rises up my windpipe like a swelling tide.

“Not much further,” Sullivan soothes.

I try to focus on the cars, lined up like a row of ants, but my vision is blurred by tears.

The heel of my shoe sinks into a soggy patch of ground, throwing me off balance.

Sullivan’s arm jerks around me, his other hand holding an umbrella over our heads.

A low curse breaks from his lips as he tries in vain to prevent me from stumbling.

But he’s too late. My ankle twists, sending a shot of ice up my calf.

The pain is welcome. I soak it in, grateful to feel it someplace different, somewhere other than my soul; where the constant hell has been eating away at me since we lost them.

I wait for the ground to take me, swallow me whole, wash away all traces of me with the rain until I no longer feel anything.

I wait…

A large hand grasps above my elbow, encircling my arm entirely and pulling me up before the bliss of nothingness can take me.

I want to scream at it to let me go.

My breath stutters as I look at the strong arm holding me up. Such extreme care with the gentlest touch for something so big.

“You okay?”

“What?” I blink through tears, staring into deep green irises, flecked with gold. I never noticed that his eyes are green like mine. You miss so many things when you aren’t looking. Like what Mom was up to before she died. Who she was spending her time with. A man who wasn’t my father.

“Thanks, Denver,” Sullivan says.

My father’s head of security gives my brother a curt nod, then quickly shifts his gaze back to me.

“Are you okay?” he repeats, his hand still wrapped around my arm. He studies me, two thick dark brows pinching together and forming a valley at the center of his forehead.

My throat is too thick and sore from crying to answer.

Dad told me Denver was in the US Special Forces before he came to work for our family a few years ago.

I’m guessing he’s around thirty, but I’ve never asked.

He’s always working with my father and rarely speaks to me.

He’s a silent wall of muscle, watching everything with a stern expression permanently on his face.

I’ve never seen him come close to smiling.

He glances down, his mouth curling toward his chin at the sight of my heels.

Disapproval tightens his jaw as he glares at them.

Irritation bubbles inside me that he felt it necessary to intervene, breaking my fall and ruining my chance of feeling a different pain for a change.

Because now my grief comes whooshing back, stealing my breath straight from my lungs.

The same way it does each time I wake from another nightmare where all I see is the explosion, over and over.

And fire. So much fire.

“I’m fine,” I snap, shaking his hand off and dislodging my heel from the mud.

His eyes darken as they rise to meet mine again. But his voice is gentle, a direct contrast to the storm behind his eyes. “Sincla?—”

“I said I’m fine!”

I tug Sullivan, ripping my gaze from Denver’s. “Keep walking.”

I don’t need Denver’s help.

And I certainly don’t want his pity.