Losing You (Stars On Fire Book 4) (34 page)

“He’s gone, Marc.”

“Yeah . . . he is, Elizabeth.”

Her arms wrapped even tighter around him and he couldn’t hold back his tears any longer. His best friend was dead and the woman he loved was falling apart in his arms. He didn’t want this for her . . . he wanted to take the pain away. He just didn’t know how.

He could start by getting her up off the floor and out of this room. Get her around other people. When he tried to stand up, she fought him, clinging to him, her fingers gripping his suit jacket. “I’m not leaving you, Elizabeth,” he said, pressing his lips to her hair. “Shh . . . I just want to get you up off the floor. Will you let me help you? Please.”

With new tears pooling in her eyes, she nodded.

“Thank you,” he said once she was on her feet. “Come on,” he urged. “I’ve got you, Lizzie. I just want to take you to Gwen and Ollie. That’s all.

“Okay . . .” she replied with a stuttered breath.

Marc meant it—he had her . . . he’d do whatever he could to see her through this. He owed it to her . . . and Tom.

Stepping out of the bathroom, Marc looked around not sure where to go. He’d just brought Lizzie out of the casket room to Ollie and Gwen, and when she broke down in their arms, he had to turn away. It had been too much. What he was feeling was too fucking much. The memories too much. The tears snuck up on him like a sucker punch to the face. He needed to regroup. He’d excused himself and hurried to the privacy of the bathroom.

He’d braced himself against the counter, shutting his eyes to the memory of his father’s funeral: the poster-sized pictures of his dad flanking the shiny closed casket, the way his mother sobbed hidden away in a back room, and the numbness that he’d been feeling blown away as the pain of that loss bowled him over.

And only when he got a better handle on his emotions did he exit the restroom. So here he was . . . stuck in the hall until he could figure it out.

“Marc?”

Marc looked back and saw his brother about ten feet back.

“You okay?” Clark asked, continuing his way to his side. When he reached him, his brother put his arm around his shoulder and guided him from the hall and off to a space by themselves. Smiling gratefully at Clark, Marc leaned back against the wall, his head tipped up. He studied the ceiling as he kept the tears at bay. He had to be strong.

And he would be . . . he just needed more reserves than he had anticipated.

“Is Mia coming?” he asked Clark.

“Yeah. She arrived this morning. Marty’s picking her up. They should be here soon,” Clark said, checking his phone. “A few minutes out.”

Reserves incoming.

Clark was right. About five minutes later, Marc spotted Marty and Mia, her hand clutching Marty’s, her lips trembling when their eyes met. Marc’s gaze didn’t leave his two friends as they wove their way through the crowd and when they got to him, Mia threw her arms around his neck.

A thankful sigh passed his lips as he returned her embrace, resting his weary head on her shoulder. He squeezed her hard before stepping back, taking her hand. “Thanks for being here.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” she returned, leaving the embrace, yet still grasping his hand. They both needed the other’s strength.

Clark took that moment to give her a quick hug and a kiss on her forehead. Mia stayed with her back towards the crowd. Marc knew why—she didn’t want to draw attention to herself.

Marc caught up with Marty who from the look of it was remembering the last time he’d been in a funeral home—the death of his sister. Marc had been his support that day—though their way of handling things was much different back then. After her funeral, Marc, Marty, Todd, and Clark had gotten wasted as fuck.

Today wouldn’t be like that. Marc couldn’t and wouldn’t let it go down that road. He wouldn’t let Mia do it either.

“How’s Lizzie holding up?” Marty asked.

“She’s barely holding it together. I don’t know what to do,” Marc said, gesturing towards the room that contained the casket. Lizzie looked so helpless standing outside of the room, looking in.

Mia put her hand to his cheek and guided his face to hers. “Yes, you do,” she said. “You be there for her. Like we’ve been there for you. Like you’ve been there for me. She needs her friends. She needs support. You’ve both lost your best friend. You know what to do, Marc.”

He looked down at Mia’s hand that hadn’t left his . . . her silent support. Marc realized he didn’t need to give her advice or sympathetic words. He could just
be
her silent support.

“Have you met Lizzie?” he asked Mia.

Lizzie

Lizzie glanced up from the person expressing her condolences and looked around for Marc. She couldn’t see over this sea of people. She hoped he was okay. His tears hurt her heart, only adding to her own.

She wanted him by her side—not that she had expected it. But in this moment, she wanted to be in his supportive arms again, like she’d been when she so epically broke down in the casket room.

The anger that had raged out of her body surprised her. Lizzie hadn’t expected to be so angry at Tom. Sadness and tears, yes . . . but not anger.

Then, of course, the anger changed to guilt.

She was a damn mess of emotions.

The person who had been talking to her squeezed her arm and left. Lizzie couldn’t look at these people anymore—all grieving Tom. Turning around, she looked out the window. The day may be cold as early winter set in, but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. She looked up at it and all she could see was the brilliant blue of Tom’s eyes.

The clearing of a throat made her look over and her eyes landed on Marc’s reflection in the glass. He was back.

Slowly she turned to face him, giving him a watery smile. “Hi,” she said, but it sounded more like a squeak because she had wanted to sob. His pain was there on his handsome face.

“Lizzie . . .”

Her eyes flicked to the men by Marc’s side—Clark and Marty. She went to each and hugged them. Pulling away from Clark, Lizzie’s eyes fell upon a dark-haired woman in a stunning black dress. Her gazed locked on her face and Lizzie swallowed when she saw her pain reflected in the dark as night eyes.

Lizzie knew who this woman was. The woman who’d had Tom’s heart for so long but never knew it. Or maybe she did, judging from the pain on her face.

From behind her, Marc spoke. “Lizzie, this is—”

“So, you’re his Mia,” Lizzie said. Her words shocked the woman. Mia stepped back and would have fallen if not for Clark’s arms reaching out to stop her.

Mia took a step away from Clark and towards her but that was it. She didn’t speak, just stared at her.

Mia . . . this was his baby girl. The one he’d spoken to on the phone that night she and Tom had been looking for Marc. The one that Tom had said “I love you” to. Lizzie knew she was right. He had been with Mia. This woman knew what it felt like to lose Tom. And that thought propelled Lizzie forward and wrapped Mia in her arms. The woman stiffened in her embrace. Lizzie had shocked her yet again.

“He loved you,” Lizzie said quietly before stepping away. Mia looked questioningly at her. That look was all the answer Lizzie needed. She was right. “He loved you,” Lizzie repeated, her eyes locking on the chocolate eyes in front of her.

Mia’s lower lip trembled as she fought what she was feeling, her eyes turning glassy from the tears building up.

The woman was about to break down and before she did, Lizzie would do for her what Marc had done for her—support her.

When Lizzie hugged her again, Mia broke, a wrenching sob escaping from her.

“I know,” Lizzie said, comforting her with those words over and over.

“You shouldn’t comfort me,” Mia said quietly.

“You are the only one who knows exactly what I’m going through,” Lizzie spoke her truth. “Maybe you are comforting me. Did you think of that?”

After a short moment, Mia wrapped her arms around Lizzie’s shoulders and held on to her.

“I did love Tom,” Mia admitted, her voice just loud enough for only Lizzie to hear.

“I did too, but . . . I never told him—” Lizzie gasped. That knowledge rushed at her again. He would never hear those words from her lips. Nor would she hear them from him. Tom was gone. Oh, dear God. “I never told Tom that I loved him. Oh, God,” Lizzie sobbed in Mia’s arms.

Lizzie

November 23, 2009

Ten grueling days after Tom’s death, Lizzie stepped inside her home after her first day back in the office. Foxy slowly wagged her tail at her as she shut the door. “Hey girl. Need to go out?”

Foxy answered by turning around and going back to her spot on the living room sofa . . . right next to Tom’s favorite spot.

Lizzie frowned after the dog. “Okay, but you really should go out soon,” she said, then headed upstairs. After she changed out of her work clothes, she’d try to coax Foxy outside. The poor girl missed her man.

Throwing on a pair of sweatpants and an old Cubs sweatshirt of Tom’s, she headed back downstairs. She got Foxy to do her business and the two of them shared Tom’s spot on the sofa and watched a movie.

Lizzie had mixed feelings about being alone right now. One positive was that she didn’t have to hear repeatedly, “It’ll get better with time.” She got that—but it wasn’t now . . . Tom was gone and her life would never be the same. She wanted her life with Tom. She didn’t want what she had now.

Right now she missed him and needed him to hold her. Needed
him
to tell her she’d be all right, that she’d make it through this, that this was not where their story ended.

And then, on the other hand, when she wasn’t alone, she didn’t turn into this blubbery mess spilling her tears onto her poor dog.

Eventually, the tears dried up and Lizzie snuggled against the dog and napped.

The doorbell ringing pulled her from the short-lived slumber. She wasn’t in the mood to have any sort of company and chose to ignore it. A few moments later, the bell rang again. “Dammit!” Lizzie said and clambered off the couch. “It looks like whoever it is doesn’t plan on going away,” she muttered to the dog.

She slowly made her way to the door and glanced out the side window. Mrs. Myers? Tom’s mom?

Hurrying to open the door and let her in, Lizzie simply said, “Hi.” She didn’t have the energy to be a good host. It didn’t help that she had no clue what to say, how to act around Tom’s mom. So, she just stood there feeling awkward, waiting for Mrs. Myers to speak.

“Let’s go to the kitchen, hmm?” the older woman said, making her way through the house towards the kitchen, taking charge as she always did.

“Sure,” Lizzie said, following her.

After placing her bag on a chair, Mrs. Myers started going through the cabinets. “Take a seat, sweetheart.” Lizzie did as she was told and watched Tom’s mom busy herself in the kitchen, brewing tea.
This is very strange. I wonder what she’s actually doing here . . .

A few minutes later, she came back to the table with the tea. “Elizabeth, how are you doing? I’ve been worried about you. You haven’t been answering your phone or returning your messages.”

Leading with guilt. Typical mom move . . . but it worked and Lizzie found herself telling Mrs. Myers so much.