Reality

Chapter 22

I slip on my black flats and glance at myself one last time in the full length mirror in Alex's walk in closet. My simple black quarter length sleeve dress just reaches my knees and my hair is swooped back in a bun, some tendrils of hair pulled out to frame my face.

Just as I'm about to grab my purse and jacket, three soft knocks come from the other side of the door. "Come in," I call.

Alex slowly peeks his head around the door before fully walking in, a sheepish look on his face. A thin black tie dangles from his fingers and he looks at me helplessly. "Do you still remember how to do this?" he asks, holding up the tie.

I muster up a small smile, remembering the handful of times I had to help him with his tie years ago because neither he nor Shay knew how to tie one. Granted, I didn't know how to at either first, but I learned for him. "Yeah, I think so."

I cross the large closet to stand in front of him, buttoning the top button of his white dress shirt and lifting up the collar. Grabbing the fabric from his hand, I string it around the back of his neck and let the ends drape over his chest. With great effort and precision, I finally manage to loop the tie into a perfect knot, sliding it up to Alex's neck where it rest perfectly—not too tight or too loose.

"There, all set," I say, flattening out his tie over his chest and folding his shirt collar back down.

Just as I'm about to pull my hands away, his hands lift to capture mine, placing them flat on his chest. I tip my chin up to look into his eyes, and while he doesn't say anything verbally, somehow he says everything with the look he's giving me.

"Thank you," he murmurs sincerely after a few moments of silence. He closes his eyes and steps a few inches closer, leaning down to rest his forehead against mine. "For everything," he finishes, opening up those beautiful blue eyes that are inches in front of mine, seemingly staring into my soul.

I swallow, subtly nodding my head and feeling the all too familiar sense of intimacy in this moment. His eyes scan my face before they drift closed again, letting the moment linger for a bit, pressing his forehead firmer to mine. He stands tall and wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around his middle, and he presses his cheek to the top of my head.

"We should probably get going," I mummer after a while, ruining the moment, but I'd rather do it myself than have Chris or his mother ruin it.

His body tenses before he reluctantly loosens his grip, disengaging from our embrace. "Yeah," he breathes out, worrying his lip as he stares at the door with reluctance and uncertainty.

I wish there was something—anything—I could say to make him feel better. To tell him it's going to be ok, but that doesn't really seem appropriate when he's about to face the fact that his father is dead. I can only imagine the dread he must be feeling, and this isn't one of those moments you can just say the sooner you get it over with the better. This is something that's not going to go away. It's permanent.