The Bad Things (Book 5)

Chapter 1. Funeral

Abigail's POV

            They lowered the casket into the ground. There weren't any other people around. Everyone had gone home after the preacher stopped talking. Roses and dirt covered his casket. The sun shined through the leaves of the trees.

"Ma'am, are you okay? I can take you somewhere if you need it," a deep voice offered.

I sighed and looked up at the man that I assumed to be one of the cemetery caretakers. "No, thank you."

The man gave me a sad smile and walked around me. All day long, I dealt with sad smiles. The last few days had been hell. Part of me wondered how I made it through. After everything the son of a bitch put me through, and he went and died on me. He took the easy way out, and I had to deal with his destruction.

The drive from Pierson back to Jacksonville took an hour and a half. After everything that happened the last few months, I had sworn off men altogether, not that I had been with many men. In fact, I was only with one, and that was enough for me.

By the time I reached my mother's house, the sun had gone down. I turned off my car and stared at the garage door for a long moment. It wasn't one of those moments where you sat and let everything sink in—I felt numb. Nothing made sense to me anymore.

"I fucking hate you," I said through clenched teeth. My fingers tightened around the steering wheel. I couldn't let what happened to him sink in because I would lose my mind if I did. It felt like a cold wind blew through my chest and froze my heart. I had to place my hand over my chest to be sure my heart still had a beat.

I climbed out of my car and grabbed my purse. I gritted my teeth to fight back the tears. Only one light shined in the house, and it came from the living room. I wasn't surprised that my mother stayed awake to wait for me, but I wished she had gone to bed.

Mom came into the small foyer that divided the living room and kitchen. "Hey, baby. How did it go?"

"Well, it was a funeral. How do you think it went?" I asked sarcastically.

Mom pursed her lips. "Do you want something to eat?"

"I think I'll just have a glass of water. Is Stormy in bed?" I turned and started for the kitchen. I didn't need to hear my mother's footsteps to know she would follow me into the kitchen.

Mom sat down at the kitchen island as I ran the faucet and grabbed a cup out of the cupboard. Mom sighed but didn't answer my question.

I sipped the water and turned to face her slowly. "You didn't answer my question?"

"Look, baby, about Stormy—" Mom started.

"Oh my god. You didn't tell her, did you?" I snapped. I sat the glass down on the counter harder than necessary and narrowed my eyes at my mom. "Damn it, Mom—"

"Don't use that word with me, Abigail Lindsey," Mom warned and pointed a finger in my direction.

"I asked you not to say anything. That is my job. I'm her mother," I spat. My blood pumped so hard and fast from the anger that it caused a rapid thumping noise in my ear.

"I didn't tell Stormy anything, but you need to. She hounded me all day, wondering where you were and why you were gone so long. She asked me if you went to see her dad. She's not stupid, Abigail. She knows something is wrong," Mom said.

I sighed, feeling a little relieved, and leaned back against the counter. The flow of my blood slowed and steadied. "I'll tell her when I feel the time is right. I can't just spit out that her dad is dead, okay? Mom, I've barely had time to wrap my own head around it. Please, give me some time."