Page 186 of A Little Complicated

HIJACKED EPILOGUE

REEVES

Let’s back up a bit, shall we?

Funerals are a bitch. I’ve been to more than I can count. Okay, I could technically count if I wanted to pull up a spreadsheet, but who has time for that shit? You’d be surprised by how many single women are willing to pay for an escort to be their plus-one instead of showing up to a funeral alone. With fake tears and a fake boyfriend half their age on their arm, the combination has only amplified my apathy for the whole thing. When I die, they can donate my body to science and throw a kick-ass party with alcohol and ladies and food.

Goodfood.

And no one’s allowed to wear black, either. I hate black. Black is like a virus. It spreads. It devours. It swallows every other color and transforms it into more of the same. Black. Black. Black. I hate black.

The service was nice, I guess. Maverick and his family spoke. They shared some pretty funny stories and had the guests laughing, which is no easy feat considering the circumstances. At least they weren’t fake. To be fair, I’ve known the Buchanans for a while now. None of them are fake. Ever. I appreciate it about them. The food’s decent too. Not my style. I’d take a big juicy burger or a slice of chocolate cake over a chicken salad sandwich and fruit any day of the week, but I’m not complaining.

We just gotta make it through today.

Don’t get me wrong. Accepting Archer’s absence is gonna be a bitch for all of us, but they’re gonna be okay. They’re gonna get through this. I should know. I’m a pro. Been getting over family deaths since before I could walk. Fuck, I had family dying before my first breath. My mom passed while giving birth to me, and my dad? Well, let’s just say he won’t let me forget it.

Yeah. Everyone moves on. Everyone has to. Disney had it right. It’s the circle of life, even when we don’t want to accept it.

I snatch a grape from the banquet table and pop it into my mouth, scanning the large room for entertainment. I like watching people. Seeing how they interact. How they handle their grief when no one’s looking. And even if they catch me watching them, it’s not like they care. I’m Reeves. The shallow asshole with his head up his ass. It’s not like I’m paying attention anyway, right?

I watch Mav and Lia talk to their parents with their hands interlocked. He just got out of the hospital after a two-week stay. Apparently, recovering from a heart transplant isn’t for the faint of heart.

Ha! No pun intended.

Maverick’s parents are forcing him to move in with them while he continues recovering for the next few months, and he’ll be taking online classes this semester, so he doesn’t fall behind. As for Ophelia? Well, she can’t exactly take the semester off, thanks to her commitment with the Lady Hawks, but I overheard her requesting to move the majority of her classes online, so she can spend as much time with Mav as possible when she isn’t on the ice. I doubt I’ll be seeing her much until Mav moves back in with us. It’s a shame. I kind of like her. I wonder if it’ll make her roommates just as scarce. I doubt it. Finley’s a social butterfly and isn’t afraid to force Dylan into being her wingwoman.

Good.

Dylan needs someone who’s pushing her.

I tear my attention from Mav and Ophelia, browsing the room like I would Netflix.

Griffin, Everett, and Jaxon are throwing back a few beers with some of Archer’s internship buddies. I bet a hundred bucks they’re replaying some of Archer’s finest moments on the ice since they all huddle around Everett’s phone. I might be wrong, but I doubt it. And Rory’s in the corner, her eyes swollen and puffy, as she stares at Jaxon from across the room. Fuck, the longing in those baby blues is gonna land her in trouble one day.

It’s a good thing Jax is oblivious, or I’d break his hand for touching someone underage. To be fair, he wouldn’t cross the line even if he did know the girl’s in love with him. Jax doesn’t have an unhonorable bone in his body. It’s one of the main reasons I respect the bastard. But as soon as Rory turns eighteen, I have a hunch all bets will be off, and she’ll get sick of waiting for him to see her as anyone other than a little kid.

And when the day comes, I'll pop some popcorn because that shit will be entertaining as fuck.

With a smirk, I steal another grape and continue perusing today’s crowd.

Aaaand, there it is.

Finley, Finley, Finley,I tsk.

She curses at someone on her phone. I bet it’s her boyfriend. I heard they’ve been having problems in spite of Finley’s insistence it’s all rainbows and butterflies between her and Drew. Two hundred bucks says he’s already sleeping with some sorority girl in one of his classes. Finley’s smart, though. She’ll figure it out. She might have to take off her rose-colored glasses and overcompensating optimism to get there, but I have faith in her.

And then there’s Dylan.

My gaze falls on the little wallflower despite myself. Black glasses are perched on her button nose, and I tilt my head in surprise. I’ve never seen her wear glasses.

I wasn’t kidding when I said she reminded me of Daenerys Targaryen. Not the seventh-season badass, but the baby deer from season one with wide eyes and a hint of naivety that’s hot as fuck.

Pretty sure her brothers would kill me if I started messing with her. Pretty sure Everett would too. I can’t figure out if his fascination with her is due to her being a family friend or if his feelings run any deeper.

I’m not sure if I want to find out, either.

Or maybe I do.

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