There was a short pause before Vinh spoke. “Cody. Please tell me where you are.”
It was impossible to read his tone, so I didn’t even try. “In Gulf Shores. Liem is here with me.”
“Where?” he repeated.
I glanced at the man beside me, his face paling before my eyes. I reached for his hand and squeezed it tightly, which seemed to bring him back to himself.
“Is it Dad?” he asked.
Or maybe not. It wasn’t a logical assumption, and that worried me.
“Sorry, never mind,” he muttered, and when he met my gaze, his eyes were almost imploring. As if I could make whatever happen not be so.
“We’re parked near your old condo,” I told Vinh hesitantly, “but there are some first responders blocking the entrance. Not sure what’s going on.”
Another beat of silence. “Cody.” Then Vinh sighed brokenly. “Listen to me.”
And I did, even though I didn’t fucking want to.
I listened to Vinh, and I fucking withered the longer he spoke.
Not for myself, but for Liem. For Vinh. For all of them.
I said nothing as he spoke, offered no words, and when he was done, I dropped my phone on the seat, not even sure I’d ended the call.
My hand still gripped Liem’s, and I squeezed it tightly as I turned to him, the world having already shifted without our knowing.
“Baby,” I started hesitantly, not sure how I was meant to say what needed to be said, but I did.
I sat in my truck and broke the love of my life’s heart, just as the coroner’s truck drove past us.
39
Liem
Uncle Gil’sfuneral was a quiet, reserved affair, like the man himself.
As he had been.
Had.
I stared out at the sanctuary, but I didn’t really see. I barely recalled the packed church or the people who’d been here just minutes ago.
“You ready?” Vinh asked quietly from beside me on the hard wooden pew.
“No,” I answered honestly, my voice hoarse.
I faintly registered his nod and the press of his leg against my own.
So faintly. Just as I’d moved through life since that sunrise.
The one Uncle Gil missed.
“Who’s with Aunt Ari?” I whispered.
“The wonder twins.”
Frowning, I glanced up at my brother.
