The Ex (The Boss 4)

“I’m sorry we had to have this conversation.” Michael stuck his hand out, and when Neil took the bait, tall, lanky Michael went in for an inescapable hug. He clapped Neil on the back and said, “I have nothing but respect for you, Mr. Elwood.”

Neil cleared his throat. “Best you should go check on Emma.”

“Right.” Michael turned to me. “Sophie, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I said breezily, and instantly felt like a weirdo. “It’s fine,” like my steak was slightly overcooked or something. When he’d gone, I looked up at Neil and sing-songed, “Awkward.”

Neil checked his watch and winced. “Now I’ve done it. I’m supposed to be at the funeral director’s in forty minutes. Can you call for the car while I wash up?”

“Yeah, no problem.” I paused. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“If you wouldn’t mind?” He asked as though he were asking whether or not I minded going to a particular restaurant. “I think it would be…easier if you were there.”

“Of course I’ll go. I just didn’t want to crowd you during all of this. I can stick to you like glue, if you want, and then, if you need to, you can tell me to take a hike.” I reached for the phone on the nightstand.

“Thank you, Sophie. I’d like that.” He smiled, despite the dark circles under his eyes. He held my gaze for a long time. “Stuck to me like glue. As if I could ever doubt that.”

There are times when I see another facet of Neil I hadn’t known before, and it overwhelms me. My chest feels like it’ll collapse under the weight of the sweet ache there. And, in those moments, I can’t say what I want to say because I feel too much.

So, this time, I said, “Go get cleaned up, dummy,” and smiled at him, and he smiled back, and we both knew how we felt.

* * * *

The purpose of the funeral home visit was two-fold. Neil and his siblings were all meeting the funeral director together to go over the plans their mother had left behind regarding her burial wishes, and Neil, Fiona, Runólf, and Geir would be able to see their mother one last time.

We stood beneath the awning over the funeral home doors. Neil adjusted his scarf around the collar of his black wool coat. He’d been fidgety since we’d left the house. I wondered if that had to do with the Valium and THC still muddling his head. More likely, it was a reaction to facing the unknown. Neil hated doing that.

“Are you ready?” I prompted him, not out of impatience, but cold. It was freezing, even though I’d opted for slacks instead of a skirt.

He nodded, his breath showing in the winter air. “I think so. Best to get this over with, I suppose.”

Inside, Neil’s brothers, Runólf and Geir, stood talking near a fireplace. Their wives sat with Fiona, consoling her.

“Neil,” Geir said with his characteristic gruffness somewhat subdued. Neil didn’t bother to take his coat off before enveloping his brother in a long hug.

“Have you seen her?” Neil asked them both when he stepped back.

Runólf nodded and gestured toward a set of double doors. “Shall I go with you?”

“No, no.” Neil waved his brother off, as though it were far too much to ask of him. Then, he turned to me. “Sophie, would you mind?”

I am not a fan of dead bod

ies. The thought that we were in a building with one, probably more than one, utterly creeped me out. But he was my fiancé, and I loved him, and he needed me.

The undertaker opened the doors for us, and we stepped into a neat, softly lit chapel. The casket was a shock; it was an honest to god coffin, nothing like the refrigerator shaped ones in the states. Neil’s mother lay in gentle repose, but she didn’t have the waxy pallor of an embalmed body. She looked…dead. Rose was dead. It was hard to believe it, even seeing her there.

A shuddering sound escaped Neil, and I took his hand. I laced our fingers together and squeezed, but I waited for him to speak.

He gave me a very brave, very grim, closed-lipped smile and squeezed back before he let go. He stepped up closer to the casket and reached out to lay his hand over his mother’s folded ones. He pulled back in surprise. With a soft, embarrassed laugh, he looked up at me and said, “She’s so cold.”

I struggled not to cry for him. I couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to lose a parent. Granted, I only had the one, but Neil had been through the loss of his father years earlier. It seemed unfair that people had to do this more than once.

Tears shone in Neil’s eyes, and a muscle in his jaw ticked. “After Emma’s wedding, I promised Mum that we would come visit soon. I wish we would have.”

“I’m so sorry, baby.” I put my arm around his waist, and he turned to me for a hug. There were times when I leaned on him— most of the time, actually—but every now and again, he needed me. I was grateful for each of those moments, because he didn’t display emotional vulnerability to many people.

“I would give anything to hear her call me little bird, just once more.” He wept into my hair.