Page 199 of The Dixon Rule

I wipe my eyes and walk to the door, but his voice stops me before I can leave.

“I love you, kid,” he says from the bed.

“I love you too, Dad.”

Three days later, my father is dead.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

SHANE

I don’t want to be here

“ARE YOU OKAY?” DIANA FRETS.

It’s Sunday. Five days after my dad passed in the hospital with me, my mom, and my sister at his bedside.

I don’t know if he planned it that way. If he knew it was going to happen that moment. It was morning, and we were in his hospital room watching TV, me in the chair, Maryanne snuggled up against his chest. Mom was downstairs at the café doing some work on her laptop, when Dad suddenly said to Maryanne, “Why don’t you go find your mom and bring her up here? Let’s spend a little time together, the four of us.”

Maryanne darted off, returned with Mom, and fifteen minutes later, he was gone.

I think he probably knew.

Now we’re at the house in Heartsong. It’s filled with well-wishers, grief hanging in the air like a thick canopy of stifling smoke. The occasional sniffle breaks the soft murmur of conversation. In the corner of the living room is a table draped in flowers and wreaths, with a large black-and-white photo of my father. I can’t look at it without crying, so I’ve been staying far away from that part of the room.

The burial itself was only for immediate family. Dad’s buried in Burlington next to his parents. They both died young too; I realized this when I was at the cemetery, staring at their headstones. Grandpa died in his early sixties, Grandma in her midfifties. Both got taken out by cardiac arrests. Dad, meanwhile, gets fuckin’ cancer, which doesn’t even run on his side of the family. The universe has a sick sense of humor.

Diana was waiting at the house for us when we got back from Burlington. She came early to help Mom’s parents set up the house for the memorial. Now, she’s beside me, wearing a black knee-length dress, searching my face with concern.

“What? Oh, I’m fine.”

I look around, wondering how long we need to be here, how long these people are going to be in my house, coming up to me with their sad faces and rote condolences. There are faces everywhere, some familiar and others not, all blending together in a mosaic of sorrow.

I try to stay calm and collected, but sweat is forming on my neck. I lose focus of the room. I just want to escape before I’m drawn into another conversation with some distant relative I haven’t seen in years, telling me how sorry they are that I don’t have a father anymore. Everything fades slowly until a voice pulls me back to reality.

“Shane. You don’t seem fine.”

“I don’t want to be here,” I whisper to Diana.

“I know.” She slips her hand in mine and squeezes.

Mom stands near the refreshment table with her twin sister, my aunt Ashley. Her eyes are red from the tears she shed at the burial. She clutches a tissue in her hand, absent-mindedly dabbing at her face as people walk up paying their final respects.

Across the room, Gigi and Ryder are talking to my sister.

God, my sister. She lost her dad. We both did. But she’s still so young. At least I had him for almost twenty-two years. She’s only ten years old.

Maryanne meets my eyes, the corners of her mouth lifting in a sad smile. My heart splinters. I squeeze Diana’s hand harder.

Beckett is here, and some of the guys from the team. Even Coach Jensen made the drive. He’s here with his wife, Iris; I saw them speaking to my mom for a long time. Lots of high school friends showed up too, a familiar one making her way over now.

Lynsey’s dark eyes fill with sympathy as she approaches us. “Lindy,” she says.

Diana releases my hand, and I step forward to hug my ex-girlfriend.

She presses her cheek against mine and whispers, “I’m so sorry. I loved your dad so much.”

“I know. Thank you for being here.” After I release her, she nods at Diana. “Diana. Hey.”

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