Between The Lines

Chapter 122: Rage

Lane's POV (1st Person):

The church was empty now, but I couldn't leave. My feet were cemented to the cold stone floor, and the silence was deafening. I was alone, though people had been here not even ten minutes ago. The echo of their voices, their footsteps, should still have lingered, but the emptiness swallowed everything whole.

Matt's words circled in my mind like a relentless storm. "You need her, Lane. You can't do this alone."

But I could. I had to. I couldn't bring her into this.

I took a breath, and it felt like swallowing glass. My mother's face haunted me from the edges of my mind. The look she gave me the last time I'd seen her—how had I not known it would be the last time? The frailty in her smile, the way she held my hand a beat longer than usual. Did she know?

I should have been there more. Should have seen the signs. But I didn't. Too wrapped up in my own life, in Rebecca, in the tangled mess of emotions I couldn't even begin to sort out. Now she was gone, and all that was left was this yawning black hole, swallowing me whole.

I reached into my pocket, pulling out the folded letter I hadn't had the courage to read yet. My mother's handwriting stared back at me, neat and precise, her signature floral scent lingering faintly on the paper. I couldn't bring myself to open it. Not now. Not yet.

I shoved the letter back into my pocket, my hands trembling. I couldn't break down. Not here. Not now.

And then there was Rebecca.

God, I could feel her presence even now, lingering like a shadow just out of reach. She had come—of course she had. I should have known. Matt had invited her, the bastard. He knew me too well. Knew I needed her, even when I was too damn stubborn to admit it.

But I couldn't see her. I couldn't let her see me like this.

She didn't know. About my mother. About the funeral. About anything. She was dealing with so much already, and I couldn't—no, I wouldn't—dump my grief on her. She deserved better than that. She deserved better than me.

I'd watched her leave. Watched the door swing shut behind her. I could have called out. Could have followed her. But I didn't.

I let her go. Just like I always do.

Why was it always like this? Why was it that every time I wanted to pull her close, I ended up pushing her away? She was the one person who made me feel alive, who made me feel anything at all these days. But instead of letting her in, I built walls. And now, with my mother gone... I wasn't sure I had the strength to break them down.

Matt had tried to help. He always had. But he couldn't fix me. Hell, no one could fix me. Least of all Rebecca.

The thought of her smile—bright, sarcastic, always so full of life—brought a fresh wave of pain crashing over me. She was my light in this darkness, but I didn't deserve her. I couldn't pull her into the black hole of my grief. I couldn't let her see how broken I was.

But I wanted her. God, I wanted her here. Her voice, her touch, the way she always seemed to know what I needed before I did. I wanted her arms around me, wanted to bury my face in her hair and pretend, just for a moment, that everything wasn't falling apart.

But that wasn't fair. Not to her. And not to me.

She was still in school, still figuring out her own life, still dealing with her own shit. Her family. Her future. She didn't need my problems stacked on top of her own. She deserved to focus on herself for once, not on me. Not on this. Not on my grief.

I could already imagine the look on her face if she found out. That worry she tried so hard to hide, the way her brow would furrow just slightly, how she'd bite her lip and ask—"Why didn't you tell me?"