Page 23 of What’s Left of Us (What Left #3)

It rains a lot in Florida, but I like to think the sky wept a little extra for him today. Right now there's no reason left to smile, and sunshine would just be a mockery.

I try to focus on what the priest is saying, the wooden box containing my love sitting on the green grass. The priest gives a standard speech but I can't grip onto a single word he's saying.

Beside me, Emeric gives my hand a squeeze. We barely had time to talk when he finally booked a flight, and on his other side I know my cousin Serenity is here, sitting in silence, trying to take it all in.

Weeks. It’s been weeks. These were the three longest weeks of my life, and it feels like we didn’t actually get anywhere. There was little I could do to help except try to not burn in the midst of my grief.

On my other side, Vinny won't let go of my hand. He's not left my side for weeks, always finding a reason to touch me. Now, more than ever, it feels like my life is absolutely out of control. I need my husband beside me to be my rock.

Somewhere in the crowd is Sterling, and I believe the rest of his team as well. For obvious reasons we didn't sit together; I'm sitting in the front row reserved for family, but I wish I could have him next to me as well. We all need each other's strength.

We lost Alastair, and the thought alone makes my heart squeeze tighter at the reminder. He’s gone, and now I can’t even keep Sterling beside me as we say goodbye.

“...long live the Slayers! Long live the Slayers!”

I turn my attention to the group standing almost half a mile away in the cemetery.

Apparently since they aren't protesting, but boldly sharing their love, no one can kick them out. They aren't enough of a disturbance it seems, and they’re far enough back from the funeral procession that they aren’t officially impeding on the proceedings.

But they are ruining the funeral. His funeral. Fake fans don't belong here.

The hat I'm wearing blocks my view of the coffin like this but the bare shoulders and upper arms of my black dress give Vinny easy access to lightly kiss my skin that's on display. His touch is calming, and I’m glad for a moment that my husband can’t see my tears.

We paid for the funeral so he got more than a cheap cremation. We wanted him to have a proper burial.

Unfortunately, the cemetery told me they wouldn’t shut down the place to keep fans like the Slayers out, and at one point the woman in charge even told me I was being a little irrational and I needed to calm down or they wouldn’t permit the service.

I hate it here. I hate Florida, I hate Citrus Grove, and I hate the fact that Alastair’s plot doesn’t even have a proper marker yet. It might be days or even weeks but I hate that we can’t even lay him to rest with his name above him.

I hate how unfair it is. I hate that we’re burying him in Florida, instead of back home where I could selfishly visit him every day.

But he never got to come to Colorado with us, and introducing him to my home via a gravesite feels too cruel.

This plot at least has a nice view of the area, and the grass should always be green.

Even the rain hitting my bare skin can’t match the cold I feel inside.

Glaring at the Slayers, still making noise down the way, I can’t help but at least be grateful for whoever Xeno brought.

Large, dark SUVs line one side of the road, and although the men standing around them obscuring the path aren’t part of the funeral, they have acted as a barrier anytime someone tries to come over here from the disruptive group.

Emeric turns and glances at me, and I shut my eyes instead of meeting his gaze. There’s pain in his green eyes, his dark hair sticking to his head. We could use an umbrella, but I didn’t really care to shut out the rain when we sat down. I can pretend Alastair is crying with us this way.

Vinny kisses my shoulder again, then squeezes my hand a few times quickly. “Jo.”

I turn back, opening my eyes when I’m facing him. I can see Sterling standing beneath an umbrella with his team up ahead, Gabe is still sitting with one hand against his side.

Blinking past the rain, I look towards the coffin again. The priest is moving away, the guards stationed near the burial spot watching as the few attendees leave. They plan to lower him into the ground as soon as the rain lets up -

My breath catches as I think about it, and a shiver rolls through my cold body. Bury. They are going to bury him.

“Jo,” Vinny says more firmly, eyeing me. I know I’m supposed to be letting him help me, leaning on loved ones for support and all that, but it feels like I’m floating all by myself in the rain. There’s a sense of loss everywhere I look.

When Alastair was in prison, waiting for Death Row to call his name, I knew where he was. I knew that as abysmal as it was, he was alive and safe. Now the only thing I’ll have to hang onto is where he’s buried.

My gaze goes watery again, and when I blink there’s more tears. I don’t know how I’m still crying when it feels like it’s all I’ve done for weeks.

Something covers me, blocking the rain, and when I look up there’s a black umbrella over my head. It’s Vinny’s. He didn’t open it when we were listening to the ceremony, an official statement that lacked emotion and love, and now that the authorities and the priest are gone it’s time to get up.

Vinny is standing when I peer at him, holding out a hand.

In a dark black pinstripe suit with the dark orange accents I told him would look nice, he looks more like a mafia heir than he ever has before.

It’s an expensive suit, something he got while we were down here, and the luxurious fabric matches my dress.

We dressed up because… well, why wouldn’t I? I never had a chance to show Alastair what I looked like in a big, gorgeous dress.

Standing, my heels sink into the mud. I don’t care that the long skirt will be dirty when we leave, or that it’s hard to walk across the damp grass as Vinny takes my hand.

The soaked orange tiger lily that I’ve been holding throughout the funeral droops in my hand as we move away from the chairs.

Vinny's hand is warm on my back as he guides me forward, and I think he’s saying something to Emeric.

I should say something too. It’s his brother we’re about to bury.

But my eyes can’t move from the coffin, housing my favorite person. I love Vinny, I always will, but the reason the three of us worked when we were younger is because Vinny and Alastair are so very different.

I almost choke on the thought. Were so very different.

My steps quicken, and I all but drag Vinny over to the coffin. No one bothers us as I stop in front of the big wood box, the expensive design looking so… useless as I look at the deep hole beside it.

Once he goes in the dirt, it won’t matter what the box looked like.

“Jo-”

I tug myself away from Vinny, closing the distance between myself and the coffin with two more short steps. Then I sink down beside the box, dropping my head to the wood as the tears spill over again.

I just want to stay right here and hug the box, thinking about the person that should still be here. It’s not fair.

“You have to help him!” I scream, Vinny barely able to hold me back as they undo the restraints keeping Alastair connected to the wheelchair.

There’s blood, his and Wallsburg’s, all over the floor.

Armed guards are covering the ER, there’s a code something being said by every nurse or doctor who passes, and they want to pull us away.

It doesn’t matter. The shooter went down. Sterling shot him. It’s the last thing I registered before Alastair became all I could see.

He’s not moving. The two holes in his chest keep bleeding, and they shoved Sterling out of the way so the doctors could get in close. One of the guards with Alastair is on the ground too, but he’s still talking. He’s not dead.

But Alastair…

“Help him,” I say again, and I don’t think anyone is listening to me. Everyone keeps trying to push us out of the way. If I can’t see him, how am I supposed to know he’s still with us?

Alastair doesn’t look up. Even when the doctors start ripping at his prison jumpsuit, tearing it open. Not when they heft him onto a bed, nurses swarming to help. His gaze stays to the side, and I can’t see his eyes.

I need him to see me. I need him to know he’s not alone here.

“You two,” Sterling says, stepping in the way. I slash my hand at him, trying to catch him with my nails, anything to get him to move. “We have to get out of the ER.”

“And you?” Vinny asks behind me.

“Me too,” he agrees, helping Vinny turn me, dragging me towards the exit. I don’t know what should be happening next, if they should be ushering people out of the ER or in now that the gunman is on the ground. “All of us.”

They roll Alastair’s bed in the opposite direction of us. He’s surrounded by people holding needles, defibrillator paddles, and doctors in white coats. I can’t see his face.

“Help him,” I say once more, and Vinny grips me tighter before guiding me from the ER. No one’s listening to me.

Lights catch my attention, and I turn briefly the opposite direction from the Slayers, to see the lone news truck. Someone thought it would be fun to disturb the ceremony, and I suppose the only thing that didn’t happen that I expected was the victims' families coming out to cause a scene.

That might be the only good thing about Porscha still being alive; there’s still someone else to blame.

Turning away, I don’t even bother to think about what the reports will say. Recording someone’s sadness shouldn’t be part of the news, and if they want to write a pity story about me being heartbroken over Alastair I won’t stop them. It doesn’t matter anyway.

The rain continues to splatter across the top of the coffin, and I brush away the thick drops until there’s a spot that’s semi-clear to rest my forehead.

All I’ve done today is cry, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t still have more tears.

They freefall again when I close my eyes, desperate for this day to not be real.

I’m not ready for goodbye.

“You were my favorite story,” I say in a soft voice, and I’m not sure if Vinny can even hear me standing a few steps back. I say it again, just to hear myself speak. Maybe Alastair can hear me too, wherever he is now. I hope he knows how much I loved him.

It plays over and over in my head, even when Vinny helps me stand.

He kisses two fingers, pressing them to the lid of the coffin, and I lean into his embrace beneath the umbrella when he straightens again.

He repeats the same line I’ve heard for years, the one that Alastair said to us when our separation was supposed to be temporary.

“Per sempre, fino all’ultimo respiro.”

Always, until my last breath.