**Completed** Colby Byers and Wyatt Matheson shared an enviable love-at least, until that fateful day. Torn apart by tragedy, the stubborn ex-lovers struggle to come to terms with their desire for one another, while reconciling their feelings with t...
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Wyatt
From triumph to tragedy. Ain't that always the way.
The past twenty-four hours have been an unimaginable whirlwind, with the loftiest of highs and the rock-bottom of lows. The divergence between the two extremes is preposterous to me, having just come off of one of the best weekends of our lives. We savored our achievement for such a short time that it feels like it never happened at all, reality hitting like a freight train with yet another death.
The desperation I feel to remove this burden from B's shoulders is infinite. She's one of the strongest, most stubborn women I know, but I see the cracks forming already. I can't watch her break again.
This time around, I won't let her. She will never be alone in this.
While I miss my father and still feel his absence daily, I've grown as a result. And while I'd do just about anything under the sun to have five more minutes with my old man, I also recognize that he's here, having given the best pieces of himself to me throughout the years we did have together. That's something I'll never lose, and neither will B.
I see her mother in her—and I don't mean only her looks. She's present in B's character, her integrity, her loyalty. She has her mother's humor and even her laugh. Colby will be a reminder of Tanzie to all of us for years to come.
Dealing with a loss doesn't have to mean forgetting.
And, while it admittedly takes effort to remember the little things I loved about my father in these three years post-loss, it's there. Reminding myself hurts, but in a good way, simply because we had something worthy of that sorrow.
"What's next?" Luke asks stoically, arms folded across his chest. I haven't seen him shed a single tear.
We remain in the expansive living area in various states of distress. Alex is on the couch, head in his hands. My mother and Colby are quietly chatting on the loveseat across from Alex, and Luke is leaning against the wall behind them, his features fixed in a pinched scowl.
I'm worried about the kid. He immediately bottled his feelings up, which is, unfortunately, all too familiar...
"I'm gonna make a phone call," I say quietly.
"I can do it," Colby sniffles, as my intent registers.
"I've got this, baby," I affirm, determined to make this transition as smooth as possible for the three of them.
I excuse myself, moving off toward the kitchen to call the hospice folks.
I'm just wrapping up my call when a crashing sound brings me sprinting back to the living room. I arrive to find the shattered remnants of a lamp that appears to have been launched into the wall by Alex, the shards of which are littering the floor around Cliff's feet.
