Page 16

Knox looks past me toward the grave, then back to my face. Something shifts behind his eyes, almost imperceptible. I know that look. I’ve seen him wear it at church, at the table, in the middle of fights when a brother was making a choice he didn’t like, and Knox had to decide whether to stop him or let him bleed.

"Not today," he says.

The words are quiet. That almost makes them worse.

I look at him. "What?"

"Whatever you mean by that." He gestures once, toward nothing and everything. "Leaving. Running. Burning your whole life down before she's even..." His voice catches, and he cuts himself off so fast his mouth closes around the rest of the sentence.

Before she's even buried.

He doesn’t say it.

He doesn’t have to.

Behind him, two men from the funeral home wait at a respectful distance. One of them holds his hat in both hands. The other keeps glancing toward the open grave like he’s trying not to rush us while also needing to finish the practical work of ending my wife.

There’s paperwork somewhere.

There are schedules.

There are men with shovels and a machine parked out of sight and people whose job it is to know what happens after everyone else walks away.

I hate all of them. Not because they’ve done anything wrong. Because they know what to do next.

Knox steps closer, lowering his voice. "You don't have to decide anything right now."

"I already did."

"No, you didn't. You're standing at her grave after the worst morning of your life. That's not deciding. That's drowning."

Anger moves through me before I have the sense to hold it back. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't make this into something you can fix."

His face changes.

Not anger. Not yet.

Pain.

Good.

Some cruel part of me is glad I found something that hurt him even half as much as I’m hurting. Then I hate myself for that too.

Knox looks away first, his eyes cutting toward the trees beyond the cemetery. The same winter-bare trees that line every road out of Ashbourne, every path to the creek, every place I’ve ever taken Raven when we needed the world to shut up for a while.

"Come to the clubhouse," he says after a minute. "Just for today."

"No."

"Wolf."

My name in his mouth sounds like an order and a plea wearing the same skin.

I shake my head.