Page 88 of Promise Me Forever

Drake holds me steady as the pastor reads from Ecclesiastes, telling us that to everything, there is a season. A time to be born and a time to die.

I turn into his chest, burying my face in his rain-soaked shirt. I hate this season. I hate this day. I hate the mom-shaped hole that now dominates my life.

The service draws to a close, and people head back to their cars. There will be a small gathering back at Mom’s house, and I’m already dreading it.

“You okay?” Drake whispers.

I cling to him tighter. “I don’t know.”

“Just a few more hours to get through, mi rosa.” He kisses the top of my head. “I know this is hard, but you’re doing great.”

Am I though? I feel as if I’m sleepwalking through this. Like I’m sedated. It’s as though my mind has numbed my senses to help me survive.

Chad is one of the last to leave, and he strides toward us. My feelings about him are complicated, but I’m grateful to him for coming and for the huge funeral bouquet he had delivered.

“Thank you, Chad, for the flowers. They were beautiful.”

His gaze flickers to Drake, and tension shoots through me as the two men look each other up and down. Drake looks away first, and I love him for it. I know how much it cost him and that he did it for me.

“You’re welcome, Mimi. Sunflowers, right? They were always her favorite. I remember you filling the whole house with them for her fiftieth birthday. She looked so happy when she walked through the door—like a little girl. Then the year after, when it was your turn, she filled the place with your favorite, yellow roses.”

I smile at the memory and am pleased that I still can. Sometimes I feel like I’ll never smile easily again. But surely there will be a day when her memory won’t hurt this much. There has to be.

I think of Drake and his brothers and their father and how they all found a way to move past their loss. Drake. I look up into his handsome face. This is simply one season for us, a season that will pass. One day soon, we’ll have sunflowers and roses again.

Chapter

Forty-Four

DRAKE

Fuck, I needed a drink tonight. It’s been a tough few days, and I’m relieved to be sitting alone at the stylish bar of the Grand Regent, enjoying a good Scotch. The bartender was kind enough to take a huge tip and leave the bottle.

Amelia has been whisked upstate for a night at a spa hotel by Emily. She’s been sending me photos throughout the day, including one of her newly pedicured toes and another of her and Emily in white robes, waiting for their massage.

The thought of my girl getting oiled up and rubbed all over is hot, but then I start getting jealous of someone else laying hands on her.

Please tell me the masseuse is a 92 yr old grandma.

He’s 24 and looks like a young Brad Pitt.

I start to fume and actually consider calling Constantine and telling him to get ready for a road trip, but my phone dings with a new message.

Just kidding. Put your coat back on, big guy.

She knows me so well, I think, smiling. It’s nice to see her go for a little lighthearted banter.

Two weeks have passed since Edith’s funeral, and I still feel like something is slightly off between us. It’s nothing I can quite put my finger on, and our sex life shows no signs of suffering because of it. In fact, pretty much the only time I feel like I’m doing my job properly is when we’re fucking. When my mouth is on her pussy and she’s calling my name, when I suck her nipples until her back bows. When she’s tied up and begging for mercy, desperate for me to finally let her come. Then, we are truly together.

But the rest of the time? I’m not sure what to do for her, and she’s not sure how to behave. It’s a transition, and it sucks. I hate not being able to control things, and I hate not being able to relax. Mainly, I hate the feeling that I’m letting her down. When my mom died and Tiff wasn’t there for me, it hurt worse than if I’d been alone.

The fact that I feel even an ounce of relief to have a night to myself makes me feel like an asshole, but logically, it makes sense. Everything has been so intense as we’re settling into this thing between us.

I’m pondering all this and idly googling the place where she’s staying, just in case that Brad Pitt comment was true, when a shadow falls over me. I look up and my lip curls at the sight of Chad fucking Poindexter standing beside me.

I wanted to beat the shit out of him at the funeral, with his fake concern and cloyingly sweet memories of his time with Edith and Amelia. It was all an act. If he loved them so much, he wouldn’t have cheated. Wouldn’t have thrown Amelia away like trash. I was also secretly and childishly annoyed by the factthat he not only knew what Edith’s favorite flowers were, but Amelia’s too. Why the fuck didn’t I know that? I swear to god, the man smirked at how uncomfortable I looked right then.

I kept myself calm, at least on the surface, for her sake. But now? Now he has delivered himself to my doorstep, when she isn’t here to restrain me. Looks like I can add poor judgment to his lengthy list of flaws.

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