“You’re going to break my heart.”

“You better fucking believe that. I’m going to tear it to pieces before it’s over.”

Neither of them had expected it but when it came it seemed natural and easy to touch each other. Ben was too carnal to have any qualms. He was too conscious, too, that time was running out.

Ronny kept his promise when some teammates arrived at the funeral home and later at the service. Nina helped to keep Ben in the family circle and Ronny’s persistence did the rest. He was as close to Ben as anyone could have been, and he could feel the difference it made. At times Ben put a hand on Ronny’s shoulder, or leaned into his side.

He would in later years think that all funerals merged into one, the bleak shock of dying, the loss, all in the same bland chapel, the same spectators sitting in a daze, the music and words and prayers to pass time. Conscious of Ben next to him. The funeral director speaking discreetly into Nina’s ear. Mr. Nickelsen shocked into pallor, almost curled in a ball on the pew, holding a handkerchief to his eyes.

Outside they walked to the car. One of the coaches came up, scratched his head, and told Ben he had their good thoughts and prayers. Ben was drained, breathing with effort, gazing blankly at the seat. Someone from the funeral home drove them to the house.

Visitation at home, faces blurring, coming in and out of the field of vision, saying words, repeating words, trying to think of something appropriate, relieved when it was done, withdrawing. Tate sat with Ben awhile. The other guys hung back. Ronny stayed within sight, caught Ben’s gaze now and then, and waited through the whole ordeal. The last person left after dark. Mr. Nickelsen sat in his chair, blind to everybody else. In the light of one lamp they sat with him.

Ben was shaking more now, started to sob again. Nina asked him if he wanted to go upstairs. He nodded, and Ronny took him by the arm. They climbed the stairs, step after step. Ben sprawled on the bed and Ronny slid close; Ben closed around him. Ronny lay his head close to Ben’s, holding him, saying nothing. After a while the shaking eased some.

“Do you want to get into bed? I can get you warm then. We can stay dressed.”

He nodded and Ronny moved him and covered him with blankets and lay next to him. He turned out the lights and locked the door. The air-conditioning upstairs hardly worked to begin with but Ben was shivering as if he were on ice. Ronny held him until the shivering stopped.

A long while later the house grew quiet. Ben took off his clothes for bed and Ronny undressed, sliding beside him. The feeling of stillness and separation had settled into Ben more deeply. He was aware of Ronny and lay against him, touched him, but there was something absent, gone from only a moment ago. Ronny felt the first touch of his own loss, the first ache of his own grief. It caught in his throat and he pressed against Ben, who pulled him closer, once he understood. “I’ll take you back early in the morning, I guess.”