All of us piled into the large room where the ser­vice was being held, and I sat between my dad and Reece, staring straight ahead. The casket was closed, and Charlie’s parents were sitting up front, their backs straight through the whole shebang. Part of me knew that I should make an attempt to go talk to them, but so much festered inside me. I was never close to them, never comfortable in their sterile and rigid home. I remembered how they treated Charlie, like he was something to be ashamed of.

That wasn’t fair either, because Charlie knew how they felt.

When the ser­vice finally drew to a close, tears streaked my mother’s face and my father’s eyes were glassy. I couldn’t cry. My eyes were broken. That frustrated me as I rose from the uncomfortable pew. The burning was there, in my chest and throat, and had been there since the phone call, but it was like something had broken off deep inside me.

Reece’s hand landed on the small of my back and moved in a slow, comforting circle as we waited our turn to step into the center aisle. The urge to turn and wrap my arms around him was hard to ignore.

On our way out, I thought I caught a glimpse of Henry slipping out one of the side doors. That pressure thickened in me as I stared at where I thought he’d been. I wasn’t sure how to feel about Henry coming to Charlie’s funeral. A few weeks ago I would’ve been spitting mad, like puking green vomit and head-­spinning level of rage, but now? I almost wanted to laugh—­the hysterical never-­ending kind of laugh. I wanted to sit down in the middle of the funeral home and laugh.

“Babe, you okay?” Reece asked.

I nodded slowly, realizing I was probably rocking one hell of a crazy face.

He took my hand in his and squeezed gently. “We can take a ­couple of minutes if you want.”

God, he was . . . so good to me.

“I’m okay,” I said, and I think everyone within a ten-­mile radius knew that wasn’t the case at all, but Reece held my hand tight as we started out of the funeral home.

The walk out to the gravesite was as quiet as one would expect such a thing to be. Our group stood near the back, and when I saw the hearse arrive, I looked away hastily. My gaze landed on the grave.

I sucked in a sharp breath, and all I got was the suffocating scent of rich soil. This was really happening. This was it. No more trips on Friday. No more hope that one day Charlie would get better, that he’d look at me and say my name.

That he’d tell me that all of this wasn’t my fault.