concerns. Studying Lucas, I realize that doesn’t matter at the moment. He’s still in shock. I want his pain because I’m not sure he knows how to sort through it. But I’m not sure what I feel either. This is my first funeral, I’ve never lost anyone close to me before Blake. I loved him for a lot of reasons. For who he was, and because he was the closest person to Lucas. I loved him for being for my husband what I couldn’t be at certain times, for knowing when I was in over my head and getting Lucas out of his own. I’m pissed at Blake for sticking him in that place now, without his guidance, without his help. The limousine door is open and waiting, and I slide inside. Lucas shrugs off his suit jacket before climbing in next to me.
“Home, please,” I instruct our driver, Paul, before I put the partition up. There’s a party, a celebration of life we’re all expected to attend, but I’m far too aware we’re both teetering on the brink. Of what? I’m unsure. No one will suffer Blake’s absence the way my husband will. Lucas just lost a soulmate. It’s a tough pill to swallow, but it’s the truth. And I’m a believer in having more than one kind of soulmate. I’m the lucky woman who gets to devour my husband’s beauty, his brilliance, his depth. He chose me and even after five years of marriage his choice is still a bit surreal. Our courtship is a poor man’s fairy tale and a little cliché but it’s still my favorite. I was the nobody one of Hollywood’s most eligible bachelors chose. The scrutiny cost me a little sanity, but he was worth it. At times, I’m still an ant beneath a magnifying glass. Except now, I know how to deflect.
But with this, today, I’m in unchartered territory.
For the last three days, I’ve been by his side, shoulders back and ready for whatever Lucas needs, but so far, he’s been ominously quiet, a thousand miles away while remaining close. The morning after we got the call, I woke to an empty bed and found Lucas dressed on our porch, sitting eerily silent. He was searching himself for answers, answers only Blake could provide, answers he may never get, and I don’t assume anything I have to say will heal him. He needs to hurt, he needs to experience the loss. I haven’t always been confident in us, especially in the beginning. That took time. We reached a healthy stride years ago, and ever since, I haven’t thought much about our ability to weather any shitstorm. For the first time since we got together, I’m at a loss, unsure if he can see me at all. Even when he’s the most involved with his career, his roles, the silence has never lasted this long. The palpable ache emitting from him at first stifles some of my courage before I summon my nerve, pulling up the confines of my skirt around my thighs to straddle him.
He allows it as he stares out the window and I lean in and let him feel the weight of my body. His fingers absently stroke the bare skin on the top of my thighs as I work the silky material of his tie from around his neck and undo a few buttons of his shirt.
I need our connection. I am his life and he is mine, and that’s the only way we’ve ever worked.
“I love you,” I whisper, before pressing a soft kiss to the hollow of his throat. He’s a wall of muscle, hurt, and frustration as I will my way back into his space, praying for any sign of life on his part.
“Baby,” I croak out, frustrated for being unable to keep it together. Flailing, I clear my throat and press my lips to his chest once, twice, and then slide my fingers through his thick hair, my thumb running along his jaw back and forth as I admire him. His eyes, the color of a new leaf, are trained on the morbid sanctuary of Forest Lawn Cemetery. I can handle his silence, but his pain is like a gnawing heartbeat too loud to ignore. Each minute that passes in that white noise terrifies me. Briefly, I want relief for him, for us both. I slink down in front of him, spreading his legs and kneeling while I unfasten his slacks. Pulling out his ready