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“She collapsed because you couldn’t leave well enough alone!”

The anger surged hotter. Not because he was blaming me—I could handle being the brunt of his rage—but because Jude was standing between us, practically begging him to stop, and Dad couldn’t even see what he was doing to his other son.

“That’s not true! You were fighting with her too!”

“I was trying to calm your mother down—”

“No, you weren’t,” Jude interrupted.

“Stay out of this, Jude,” Dad warned, his voice offering no room for argument. His tone made my stomach roll. So did the way an older woman near the door quickly looked away when I caught her staring. Fuck.

Mom would’ve hated this. She would’ve been mortified that her funeral had become another battleground.

That realization was the only thing keeping my anger in check.

“Please.” Jude stepped closer to our father, dropping his volume. “Please, just let him stay for the service. He doesn’t have to sit with us. He doesn’t have to talk to you. He can just sit in the back.”

His attempt to bargain for me made my chest ache.

“No.”

“Dad—”

“I said no.”

“He needs to say goodbye too,” Jude said.

“He had his chance,” Dad retorted, looking directly at me. “He said goodbye when he walked out of that house and left her there.”

My chest tightened so hard I couldn’t breathe. Jude turned toward me, his hand reaching for my shoulder.

“Rhodes, don’t listen to him,” he told me.

It was too late for that. It was too late for a lot of things—most of which were all my fault.

“You want someone to blame for why your mother isn’t here?” Dad demanded. “Look in the mirror, you goddamn faggot.”

What little control I had over my anger nearly snapped with the insult. My fists clenched hard enough to turn my knuckles white as I took one step forward. And that was the moment I knew I had to leave. If I stayed—if he said one more fucking thing—I wasn’t going to stop at yelling. I would put my hands on him, and no matter how badly part of me wanted to, I couldn’t let the last memory attached to my mother’s funeral be me beating the shit out of my father.

“That’s enough,” Sariah snapped quickly. She moved to put herself in front of me—to defend me like I knew she would—but I grabbed her arm before she could. When she glanced at me, I shook my head.

“I’ll go,” I said, my voice surprisingly calm compared to the swirl of emotions inside me.

“Rhodes…” Jude whispered. I offered him a small smile.

“It’ll be okay.” I made the promise I couldn’t keep. There was no way in hell this would be okay.

“Rhodes, please,” he nearly begged. That almost broke me. It wasn’t Dad or the people staring at us. It was because I could hear just how badly he needed me here.

And fuck, I wanted to stay here. I wanted to sit beside my brother and listen to people talk about Mom. I wanted to see the pictures they’d chosen and hear the stories I didn’t know. Mostly, I just wanted to say goodbye.

My anger climbed higher at the sheer unfairness of having this taken from me. Dad didn’t get to decide whether I was her son. He didn’t get to erase thirty-four years because he hated one truth about me. He didn’t get to make my grief another thing I had to earn.

But as I looked past Jude at our father and the rest of the people around us—the ones awkwardly trying to pretend they weren’t watching—I knew I couldn’t keep going, not like this. This wasn’t how Mom deserved to be remembered. I couldn’t turn her funeral into another screaming match.

“I’ll be all right,” I lied and pulled him in for a hug. He wrapped his arms around me immediately, gripping the back of my jacket so hard the fabric pulled tight across my shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Jude mumbled. His voice broke, and I shut my eyes.