She just cries. “I d-don’t know w-what to do.”
I swipe my cheeks with the back of my hand. “Call Aunt Becky and Uncle Randy. I’m on my way.”
“Okay,” she croaks out.
I hang up and stare numbly at my coach. “They’re dead.”
He pulls me to him for a hug. I’ve never embraced this man in my life, but I cling to him as my world crumbles beneath my feet. As though he has the power to fix it.
Truth is, nobody can fix it.
When the pained sobs stop rattling from me, I find the strength to pull away and stare at my coach. His face is bright red and his cheeks are stained with tears. I imagine heartache is written just as plainly on my face as well.
“I need to go,” I rasp out, swiping at my tears with the heel of my palm.
His lips press into a firm line. “Take as long as you need, son.”
They’re dead.
They’re fucking dead.
I pull into the driveway at nearly one in the morning. Dad’s truck is in the driveway, but Mom’s is missing. Aunt Becky’s Lexus is parked behind Dad. I climb out on shaky legs and start toward the house.
I’m numb.
I don’t even really believe it.
A part of me hopes it’s one of Rylie’s stupid games. That I’ll walk inside and Dad will be asleep on the couch, snoring loudly. But when I walk through the front door into the house that smells like Mom’s snickerdoodle scented wax warmer, I don’t see Dad. I find Rylie’s head on Aunt Becky’s lap. Aunt Becky’s face is bright red from crying and her hair is disheveled.
It’s real.
Rylie’s eyes open and when she sees me, she bursts from the couch. I’m nearly knocked over by my little sister as she hugs me fiercely. I squeeze her tight against me, the emotion locked in my chest escaping with a ragged sob of my own. Together we cry at the loss of our parents.
Since Rylie was a toddler, she’s always been my annoying little sister. As she got older and started having issues, we drifted further apart. It seemed as though she was always trying to make life hard for Mom and Dad. While I was working my ass off to make things easier for them, she was upsetting them at every turn.
But none of that matters at the moment.
Right now, all we have left is each other.
Aunt Becky rises from the sofa and walks over to us. She hugs us, whispering assurances like, “Everything’s going to be okay, kids.”
Will it?
My heart sure doesn’t fucking feel like it.
“Is this a bad dream?” Rylie asks, tilting her head up. Her pale brown eyes are the exact replica of Dad’s. It makes my heart hurt to see them.
“No, Ry. I’m sorry.”
More tears roll down her cheeks and she buries her face against my chest. All I can do is hold my sister and hope Aunt Becky is right.
Rylie
Four days later…
Istare at their bodies. First Mom and then Dad. They look like wax people. Not real. Dad has rosy cheeks, for crying out loud. If he knew the funeral home put makeup on him, he’d lose his damn mind. The thought of him sitting up and swiping the blush off his cheeks has me giggling.
Inappropriately so.
