Crazy Love (mxm)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

James' POV

The funeral was beautiful.

My bitch mother was practically showered in flowers of all colors. Her sister gave a speech, sobbing, about how she was a beautiful person. The preacher said some bullshit about how she helped hold together the community. The room was full of sorrow, and so full of love.

My eyes were the only dry ones in the place.

Fuck this.

If I got a chance to be alone with the body, I'd spit right on the tacky blue eyeshadow that some mortician with a shitty sense of humor had put on her. I didn't give a single fuck.

Before the funeral, it had been different. A deep, shameful part of my soul had felt guilty. I wasn't sure why. Maybe I felt, somehow, that I should've reached out. Maybe I should've tried to mend ties. I mean, she died prematurely of cancer. Part of me had been sad.

Any uncertainly died in the pit of my gut the moment I walked into the funeral. It infuriated me to see people praise her. Especially her nieces and nephews, who called her nurturing and kind. They knew about our family. They knew, and they blamed us.

Dillon had broke a few minutes into the service. He wasn't bawling, but there were tears streaming down his cheeks. I could think of a million reasons for his tears, but I hoped that they weren't because he loved her.

His perspective wasn't the same as mine. In his mind, he was the problem. He was the reason his family fell apart, and the reason why I had to leave too. He'd always felt guilty.

I knew the truth. I knew that there were only two people to blame, and one of them was about to be six feet under.

When the service ended and the casket was going to be buried, Dillon and I mutually agreed that we'd had enough. Thankfully, Dillon had gone to the bathroom when our father walked up to me.

The exchange was relatively short. Greg came over, nearly hobbling from the weight he'd gained over the years, and glared at me. It was hard to take him seriously with that stupid fucking mustache.

"You didn't cry," were his words to me. "You looked at your own mother's body, lying in a casket, and you didn't shed a single tear. Your mother's funeral and you didn't even cry."

I stared at him. Its as weird how, as kids, parents seemed so powerful. Now he just kind of looked close to death. Fingers crossed.

"At yours I'll laugh," I told him.

I left before he could answer. Those were good words for him to remember me by.

I met Dillon by the bathroom and tugged him down a back hallway. "C'mon, we're leaving out a fire exit or something," I said, tugging him along. "Dad's out there."

"I wanted to talk to him," Dillon said in a small voice. I stopped tugging, but only for a second.

"That's stupid."

"James," Dillon said, tugging back. "I want you to go on ahead. I'll meet you at the car, okay? ...If I don't talk to him, I'll spend my whole life being curious."

Curiosity didn't seem worth it, but Dillon was no longer a kid who needed protecting. I nodded and let him go.

Dillon joined me in the car five minutes later, looking like he'd cried all over again. "He said I...that I looked all grown up. And that he was surprised at how tall I got."

That's what happens when you abandon your kids for a decade, I guess.

The only thing keeping me silent was the fragile hope in Dillon's eyes. "He didn't sound like he totally hated me, James."