Afterglow

euphoria

"No. I'm not going. I'm sorry mom, but I can't go inside."

I scrubbed a hand down my face without bothering to worry about my makeup being ruined by the action. I'd been arguing with Lachlan for days about this topic, and now that the day was finally here, he was still being as stubborn as a mule.

"Katrina honey, would you please talk some sense into my son? Excuse me, I have to go and say goodbye to my firstborn. And you had better be there in the front row with me. I can't do this alone."

Mrs. Brooks left the room, her red lined eyes accented by the thick streaks of concealer stuck in globs to the purple bags that made her eyes seem even puffier than they were.

We were stood in the parlor of the funeral home, awaiting the organ music that would accompany the procession of the event to start. The scene was so eerily reminiscent of Ian's funeral that I had to take a few deep breaths to center myself, but it was all about Lachlan in that moment. He needed me, and I was going to help him through this, and whatever else came his way.

"There are a million paparazzi waiting outside. If you leave before the funeral even starts, what are they going to think?"

Lachlan had seen better days. Stubble lined his jaw, the dark, coarse hair matching his unruly mop of hair on top of his head that seemed like it hadn't been brushed in days. In the week following his father's arrest and his brother's death, Lachlan had stayed in his cabin and I had snuck out of my house enough times to stay with him every single night.

He had hardly eaten, though not for lack of my trying. He was conversational but distant. He still hadn't told me the entire extent as to what had happened in the house after I had called 911. I had only figured out bits and pieces based off the police report that I had access to because I was one of Gerard's 'victims'. No one bothered to tell the police my wounds had been a bluff to make the cops realize how dangerous the man really was, but that wasn't needed.

The fact that he had shot and killed his own son in cold blood was proof enough.

"I don't give a flying fuck what they think, Kat. I just want to get out of here. Are you coming?"

This was the defining moment. I knew I should've just went along with him, he was grieving after all, but as someone who was a strict proponent of 'tough love', I knew its was time for Lachlan to hear what I had to say.

"No. I'm not."

His head whipped around in shock and confusion at my words. The suit jacket that had once been tight on his muscled body now hanging limply at his sides, the extreme black color washing out his once dark features giving him a sickly gray pallor.

"Why the hell not?"

His voice was gruff, and I could tell that I had hurt him by not wanting to leave with him, but this was where he needed to hear the truth.

"Because I don't think you really want to skip your brother's funeral, Lachlan."

"I do, Kat. I really fucking do. I hated him, and just because he took that bullet for me with him doesn't make him any different in my eyes. One final act doesn't make up for years of being such an asshole!"

I grabbed Lachlan's hand and guided him down to a seat.

"Baby, imagine how you would have turned out if Brandon hadn't taken all those beatings for you for so long. I'm not defending how he treated the both of us, but I am saying that he was a victim, too. What if he was just an asshole to protect himself, to push you and everyone else away so that he could tell himself that if your father hurt you, too, then he wouldn't have to care? What if, this entire time, everything he was doing was to protect you and your family from him, and that in his last moments, that's exactly what he was doing- protecting you."