He pulled into the driveway at the Davis house just as Boston walked through the side yard, holding a cigarette—or what Brant hoped was just a cigarette. They met on the sidewalk. Brant noted the younger man’s fatigue as he dropped the cigarette to the ground and squashed it under the foot of his flip-flop. Brant didn’t know why he did it, other than that Boston looked like he needed it, but he pulled him into a hug instead of a handshake. Boston returned the embrace before pulling back. “Hey, man, I wondered where you were.”

“Hey, Boston, I came as soon as I found out. How’s everyone holding up?” Unlike their previous meeting, Brant thought Boston looked painfully sober now. Losing his sister seemed to have matured him almost overnight.

“About like you’d expect. Mom is completely zoned out on something, Dad is trying to act normal, and Em is trying to pretend that she isn’t hiding out in the bathroom to cry. The neighbors and Mom’s crazy friends have brought enough food by to feed an army. Every time they come, they try to force-feed me. It’s quiet now, but the crowd will be here soon.”

Confused, Brant asked, “The crowd?”

“Oh yeah.” Boston grimaced. “From the moment we found out, there has been someone here. It was like a revolving door yesterday, and I don’t expect today to be any better. The service is tomorrow afternoon. It’s one of those all-in-one where the visitation is right before the funeral.”

“Is there anything I can do for you or your family?” Brant asked.

“No, thanks, man. Just um . . . take care of Em, okay?”

Brant nodded in response and followed the younger man into the house.

Kat and Ken Davis were sitting side by side on the sofa in the living room. Brant thought fleetingly that Boston wasn’t the only one who had aged overnight. Kat Davis looked pale and lifeless. The vivacious woman that he’d met a few weeks ago seemed to have disappeared and in her place was a woman ravaged by grief. Ken Davis also seemed to have lost his happy, relaxed air. The love was still obvious in his face as he looked at his wife, but now that emotion was also tinged with devastation and concern.

They were in the midst of every parent’s nightmare: outliving a child. Since Emma was nowhere in sight, Brant stood there uncertainly, not wanting to intrude on a private moment. Then Boston spoke up behind him. “Hey, look who I found outside.”

Kat stood up, walking over to him slowly. She put her hand on his arm before pulling him into a hug. He returned the embrace gently. “I’m so glad you’re here; Em needs you.” Kat stepped back, wiping her eyes. Ken stood next to his wife, extending his hand.

“I’m glad you could make it, Brant. I believe Emmie’s upstairs in her room if you want to go see her.” The doorbell sounded in the foyer, and Boston turned to answer it as Brant made his way slowly up the stairs. He stood outside Emma’s door uncertainly. Maybe he had been wrong to come. He didn’t want to be the cause of more stress in her life, but God, he needed to be here for her. If she asked him to leave, he would, he vowed, regardless of what he wanted.

He knocked on the door and when he heard her voice, he opened it. It took him a moment to locate her in the darkened room. The bed was empty as well as the chair. He finally saw her sitting against the wall of the window seat. She was facing away from him and he stood waiting for her cue. Finally, she asked, “Why are you here, Brant?”

He lowered himself to the seat beside her so he could study her face. Much like her parents, hers was also pale and somber. Her hair was mussed as if she had drawn a hand through it many times, and her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, giving truth to Boston’s statement of her crying in the bathroom. “I’m sorry, Em . . . I came as soon as I found out.”

In a voice completely devoid of humor, she asked, “Aren’t you afraid I’m going to maul you again?”

“Em,” he breathed, “I’m so sorry. There has been a lot going on that I should have told you about. It’s no excuse, but I’m so damn sorry.” When she looked at him in shock, clearly believing the worst, he hastened to add, “Shit, not what you’re thinking. I don’t want to throw all of this on you now, but I promise you, you’re it for me.”

She looked away again and Brant had no idea whether she believed a word out of his mouth. He knew they needed to talk, but it was hardly the appropriate time. For now all he wanted was to be there for Emma and her family, if she would let him.

There would be time later to find out where they stood. Right now, he would do the only thing he could . . . he would love her.

Chapter Twenty-four

Emma sat between her brother and Brant during her sister’s funeral. The visitation hour had been brutal. Standing next to her sister’s casket while everyone repeated over and over again how wonderful she looked was almost more than Emma could bear. Only Brant’s hand holding hers had kept her grounded in place. Without him, she would have bolted from the room. Her mother had stood beside her, chatting through her drug-induced fog, anchored firmly by Emma’s father while Boston had shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably on Brant’s other side. As soon as it ended, Emma had escaped to the restroom for a few moments to compose herself before walking back out to find Brant waiting for her. He took her hand, not saying a word, and led her toward the chapel.

She had been surprised to see her friends and coworkers from Danvers sitting a few rows behind the family pews. Suzy, Ella, Beth and Claire had all stood to hug her while Jason, Gray, Nick and Declan conveyed their sympathies with a brief embrace. Claire had apologized that they hadn’t arrived early enough to attend the visitation. Emma was further surprised when Mark DeSanto and Ava Stone walked up behind them. They both hugged her as well, and Emma felt her eyes starting to burn with tears at the show of support from her friends. She had never expected to see familiar faces this far from Myrtle Beach, and she was touched that so many had made the trip. She was also glad to see Suzy looking so well after everything she had been through recently. That she would be here now meant so much to her.

As the rest of the family started to take their places, Brant had put his arm around her, steering her toward their pew. “Come on, honey, the service is starting.” Her legs had locked in place for a moment—she didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to say this final good-bye. Her friends looked on in sympathy, seeming to read her thoughts. Brant had leaned down to whisper in her ear, “It’s okay, just lean on me.” Her brain seemed to obey those words and her feet started slowly moving forward. They slid into the pew beside Boston and Emma allowed Brant to draw her firmly into his side. He had promised her yesterday to give her anything she needed and he was doing it so far. She would have never made it without him today. She wondered idly if he knew that.