From the doorway of the funeral home Juice watched her with slumped shoulders. How she and Kozik hugged, how she nodded hesitantly while he talked softly to her. His heart pounded dull and painfully in his chest. What did he do wrong? Why could Kozik comfort her, and did he fail to do so? Why did she talk to his brother and not to him?
He felt worthless. He'd tried to get her to talk, but she made very clear that wasn't what she wanted from him. And sure, he'd enjoyed their intimacy, he'd been glad he could forget about Opie's death for just a few minutes. But now he saw how she opened up to Kozik while she pushed him away, he believed he'd done something wrong and that he was failing as a boyfriend.
And it hurt.
He wanted to be more than just a physical outlet. He wanted to help her get through this, he wanted to know what was going on in her head and he wanted to know the right words to calm her down.
But she'd pushed him away, and now it felt like their whole relationship only consisted of physical contact. As if sex was the only reason she needed him. It felt like the universe was giving him a cynical sneer. For wasn't that the way he'd looked at women for years?
He heaved a deep sigh and slid his hands into his pockets. His eyes were itching. Saying his goodbyes had been too much for him. Now he'd seen Opie's pale and stiffened body, the awareness that his friend was gone hit him really hard. Memories flushed through his head, shreds, as if he was looking at a severely damaged tape that only showed glimpses. Images of Opie working on his bike, images of both of them emptying a clip on a provisionally shooting range, images of them riding the highway... It all went by, from the happy moments when Opie married until his bleak face as he heard his wife was shot.
It felt like the volume of the sounds around him was turned down, all Juice could hear was a static. A dull, pounding headache set in. He took a few deep breaths, tried to clear his sight, tried to catch some sounds again.
Warm hands stroked his cheeks. When the mist finally went away, he saw Dana's worried face. Her lips were moving, but her voice wasn't coming through. She took his hand in hers and guided him gently away from the doorway. He wiped his cheek with his shoulder as he felt tears gliding down.
Dana sat down on a bench at the edge of a flower bed separating the funeral house from the adjacent cemetery.
"I'm sorry about before." She leaned with her head against his shoulder. "I just feel so guilty."
Juice kept silent. Even though his ears were working again, his tongue felt paralyzed. Her fingers laced between his, and he stared down at their hands defeated. He was such a wuss. He wanted to be just as tough as Kozik. But now, his memories were hitting him as if they were armed with a whip and he didn't know how to defend himself.
Even though he clearly was incapable of comforting and reassuring Dana, she still had that effect on him. Shouldn't it be the other way around?
"Are you... feeling a bit better?" she asked quietly.
Juice shrugged his shoulders, still staring at their hands. Dana's thumb brushed his. He wanted to tell her what was bothering him, but he couldn't get the words out. Right now he didn't want to talk anyway. With no one.
"Let's go back to the club house." She squeezed his hand and stood up.