Aspiration pneumonia. My mother died from a silent struggle with her own eating and drinking. Not uncommon for someone with neurological disorders. Food went down the wrong way and unfortunately, like most people of good health, her gag reflex didn't work. Which meant that bacteria attacked her lungs, she developed pneumonia and her immune system was too weak to give her a fair chance. She died at two in the morning on the fourteenth of January.

Warm arms wrap around my middle while I lie on my old bed, a firm chest against my back while I stare out of the window and watch a snow fall outside. Dylan presses a kiss against the back of my head. "Do you want me to give you a ride back to Allie's?"

"Not right now."

The funeral service had been held at a church here in New York. One that mom took us to once in a while. Sometimes if she'd been upset the night before, we'd go into church and she'd sit me in the pew while she went and talked to the pastor. I didn't think much of it when I was a child. But now I wonder if she'd been seeking support to continue her marriage. Advice. Council.

Or she might have been having an affair with the pastor. Nothing seemed surprising to me anymore. I wouldn't have blamed her for stepping out on Kevin. Such a bastard. He'd hosted mom's wake this afternoon. Had a caterer come, a planner, candles were lit and a slideshow was on. He paraded around like a grieving husband. Like he hadn't considered her dead from the moment that she was diagnosed.

I'd tolerated it for about ten minutes, and then I'd escaped to my old bedroom. No part of me remained in here. The walls were bare and the bedspread was folded and tucked into hotel standard cleanliness. Never mind. It gave me somewhere to surrender to led limbs and it wasn't long before Dylan crept in beside me.

We hadn't talked about the night that I serenaded him with a booze fuelled rendition of Pat Benatar. Her ballads had been our jam from the moment that I actually enjoyed one of his classic playlists. He loved Pat too and so she was our common ground. Along with Cindy Lauper. But it was something we kept private. Our little dance sessions.

And I sang to him in front of an entire kitchen full of people. It was a blur, but I remember enough to feel ashamed. But we hadn't talked about it at all. Mom died. I mean, she just died and there hadn't been room for anything else to exist right now. So neither of us brought up the subject. He just stepped up and took care of me. Just like he does. He hasn't left my side. He's been with me at Allie's or we're both at his moms house.

Charlie hasn't been around. There's been no mention of her or what she's doing. I haven't seen Dylan getting constant phone calls. But perhaps I'm just not noticing because my mom died. She died. She's dead and she's never coming back I mean—

"I didn't go and visit her one last time," I mumble, a tear rolling over my nose. "I kept on thinking about it. I kept on reminding myself and I just didn't go. I ca— can't believe tha—"

"You can't have known, Bea."

He's right of course. Mom didn't even know who I was. But that wasn't the point. I didn't get one last conversation. I didn't get one last hug. Or one last look at her face. I didn't visit her as often as I should have, because it hurt so much. But now I didn't even have that option. I'd never see her again. I would never hear my mom's voice or see her smile or hold her hand.

"Can I get you anything?" Dylan asks and it feels like he's shifting to get up. So I turn over and watch as he stands beside the bed in his now wrinkled black dress shirt and slacks. "I'll be right back, Bea."

"I'll come," I stand and feel lightheaded. No doubt the lack of appetite I've had for the last week is coming back to bite me. My arm slips through Dylan's and I hold him tight. I'm scared that if he disappears again, I might not get him back. Mom was taken from me before I could tell her how much I love her. Tomorrow isn't promised and I'm not making that mistake again.

We walk out of my old bedroom, down the corridor and into the living area. There's a large canvas photo of mom in the corner, candle flames lick the edges of their glass edges. There are so many faces that I don't find familiar. Corporate clowns that are having no issue getting through the dozens of bottles of liquor that Kevin supplied. Allie and Ho were here for a little while but they had a previous engagement planned months ago. A wedding I think. Judy and Allen are here with Brecken and Lizzie.

They had been unwavering in their support this week. Offering a bed for me. Meals. A shoulder if I wanted one. I'd received more love from them than I had from Kevin. He hadn't consoled me once. Not even a half hearted word of support.

He stood in the corner, hand in his expensive suit pocket as he laughed with another man. Laughed. It echoed and scratched like nails on a chalkboard. His world hadn't moved at all. In fact, he was probably pleased to save some pennies now that he didn't have to fund mom's healthcare. My stomach turned over and I slipped my arm out of Dylan's hold.

"I'll be back in a minute."

His gaze moved over me, concern pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Do you need me to come over there with you?"

"I'm fine," I tell him. Which might be a lie. I'm not fine and within a few seconds, grief had turned into rage and if ever I had the capability to kill, it would be now. I squeezed my fists, mangled nails digging into my palms as I stormed towards Kevin.

"Kevin," I interrupt his conversation because my mere presence wasn't enough to snap him out of his conversation. He looks at me with boredom and his friend excuses himself. "What are you planning to do with mom's ashes?"

He swirls his glass, the scotch moving around the edges as he watches it. He's such an arrogant ass. "I'm not sure, Bethany. Leave them on the mantle I suppose."

"Mom would have wanted to be scattered at the beach," I tell him, breathing in deep in attempt to remain calm. "She loved the beach. She'd want to have been scattered at the beach house in California."

"We sold the beach house."

"So? We can scatter them near there. Or on the water."

"It'd have to be on the water, Bethany. Three nautical miles from land to be exact. And it doesn't matter because I've signed a permit to have them kept here and I've agreed not to move them. So the ashes don't move. Understood?"

"No," I scoff and gesture at the urn that's sitting beside mom's canvas photo. "Not understood. You didn't even love mom. You don't care what happens to her ashes. You just want to piss me off. Grow up."

His jaw twitched as he looked around the room. It was quieter now. I didn't need to turn around to know that I'd made a scene and gathered attention. I didn't care either. "Go ahead," I taunted in a whisper. "Hit me again. In front of the whole room. Show them who you really are."

He stared at me, not in disgust though. More like I was a petulant child that was boring him with a shallow tantrum. It was how he'd looked at me when I'd thrown a fit over law school. Really, Bethany. For someone with so much intelligence, you sure know how to act like an erratic, impulsive brat.

He wasn't going to hit me right now. He'd never risk his reputation like that. Hence the wake that he was hosting as if he gave a single shit about mom. An arm comes around my shoulder and I feel the tension slip away when I realise who's holding me.

"Come on," Dylan tugs me while dad and I stare at each other. I wanted him to hit me again so bad.

"I hope she was cheating on you," I spit. "I hope someone loved her. Loved her for real. I hope that she died remembering that she was happier with another man."

There were a few audible gasps around the room. Instead of making him look like the monster, I looked like a cold hearted bitch. Still, I didn't care. It felt like there was nothing that would hurt him but I wasn't going to stop trying. Dylan led me out of the room and into the kitchen where Brecken was leaning on the countertop with his gorgeous little daughter on his hip.

"I swear," he shook his head and exhaled a harsh breath through his nose. "I swear that I'd beat the hell out of him if my wife and child weren't here."

Dylan kept me tucked into his side, his hand moving up and down my arm. "Bit much, Breck."

Breck looked at me and then to his brother. He hadn't told Dyl about Kevin smacking me across the face. It surprised me. I'd have thought he couldn't wait to give Dylan some motivation to find me.

"Why do I feel like I'm missing something?" Dyl questioned, slow and unsure.

"Kevin hit Bea," Breck shifted Lily to his other hip and handed her another cookie.

Dylan dropped his hold and stepped back, watching me with disbelief. He didn't just look mad. He looked hurt. Heartbroken. I'd know that expression anywhere. I knew all of him. His hand covered his mouth and he rubbed his jaw as he began pacing.

"It happened and it's over and I don't want to talk about it again," I explain to both of them, smoothing down my dark blue bouffant dress. My head is down, so I don't see it coming but Dylan cups my face and tips it up so that I can see him, his eyes bore into mine and his thumb strokes my cheek.

"I'm here."

Simple words with a powerful conviction behind them. There's so much strength in his voice, in his gaze. It's more proof that no matter what happens or where we are or what we're going through, he's the one person that will never let me down.

"Can you help me with something?" I mumble, his thumb still moving across my cheek and almost skimming my lip. "Please?"

"Of course. What is it?"

Brecken clears his throat and we both look at him, breaking apart. I'd forgotten that he was there to be honest. He gives us a small smile and points at the living area. "I better go and find Lizzie. She's not feeling well."

"Morning sickness?" Dylan questions and Breck nods.

"She's pregnant?!" I gasp.

"Yep."

"Breck," I crane my neck, searching for Lizzie. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. Congratulations."

He stares at me with an arched brow. "Yeah it's no big deal. We've done it once before. It's just another kid. But thanks."

I watch him wander off, talking soft and sweet to Lily who smiles at her daddy. It's then that I wish that my life wasn't a constant shit show. I wish that we could be focused on the fact that Breck will be a father for the second time. It's a miracle that he survived the first.

"Bea, what did you need help with?" Dylan folds his arms and I stare up at him. His expression focused and intent on doing whatever he can for me.

"Can you go home and pack a bag. Then can you please go to Allie's and pack one for me too. Get the car sorted. We're going to California."

His brows furrow for a moment. Just a moment and then understanding seeps in. "You're going to steal the ashes."

"Yes. You don't have to come with me. But I'm doing it."

"Of course I'm going," he reaches for my hand which is at my side and laces his fingers with mine. "But you want to drive? It's almost two days by car."

"I want one last adventure with my mom."

His apprehension softened into understanding and I felt breathless at how he didn't even think twice about being there for me. He didn't suggest getting on a flight instead. Heck he didn't even tell me what a horrible idea stealing the ashes was. He knew that I knew it was a terrible idea. He also knew that I didn't care. He heard what I needed and without fail, he was on board. His soft lips pressed against my forehead before he stepped around me and left.

When I was seven, we had a neighbour in the next apartment that had a step son. I'd never had a neighbour my own age before. It was always adults. So when I saw this boy with dark curls and a pac man T-shirt on, I was so excited. He was in the corridor, throwing a ball at the wall over and over again. He looked bored. Miserable even.

At that age, I wasn't in tune to understanding other people. But he was so sad that it was obvious. So I slipped over to him, intercepted the ball and smiled. He didn't smile back. He just held out his hand for the ball. I asked him if we could throw passes. He didn't answer me for a while. But then he nodded.

So we passed that ball back and forth in the corridor for. . . well I can't remember now. It felt like a while. And then his apartment door swung open and an enormous man with a lot of arm and shoulder hair came out and I remember feeling petrified. As if he was a creature. He started shouting at this kid. Screaming at him for making a racket with his ball.

"Quit fucking throwing that ball at the wall you stupid little shit."

The boy didn't flinch. He stared at the ground, passed the ball to me and then walked into his apartment where I could still hear the shouting. Mom appeared a moment later, worried. She kneeled beside me and I told her what happened.

"Oh honey," she said, kissing me on the cheek. "It's awful isn't it. No parent should shout at their child like that. Not even a step parent."

"Step parent?"

"That little boy lost his mommy," she explained, holding my hand as we wandered back into the apartment while I held onto that ball as tight as I could. "His daddy died a long time ago and that's the man that his mommy married before she died. Do you understand?"

I didn't but I nodded.

"I am so proud of you for going out to play with him. He might really need a friend, even if he doesn't talk much. You're a good girl."

"He could come and live with us, mommy."

She patted the bar stool so I climbed up and sat down while she fixed us an ice cream each. "I wish he could darling. Wouldn't that be nice."

"We wouldn't shout at him."

"You have a good heart, Bea. I love the way that you reach out and you're not afraid to make new friends or have ideas. If you want something, go for it. That's a good trait sweetie. Never let it go."

Dad had wandered in then. "It's an impulsive trait," he muttered. "Let it go."

The boy and the man moved out a week later and I never saw him again.

A few lone tears rolled down my cheek as I sat in the passenger seat of Dylan's Jeep, hugging mom's urn close to me. It's white with a subtle marble swirl. The edges and lid detail are white gold with a diamond encrusted handle. It's beautiful. She would have loved it. Mom loved the finer things in life. Expensive clothes, food and cars. But she was humble about it. She didn't favour it. Her nice things were a perk but importance started with me. My hobbies and health. She was kind.

"So he didn't notice?" Dylan asked, one hand on the wheel. The afternoon sun came through the windshield, reflecting from the water and illuminating Dylan's soft tan skin with an orange hue.

"Nope," I swallow and exhale a deep breath. "He didn't see me sneaking it out under a blanket. But he will notice and then he'll do something extra like call the police. Whatever. It'll be worth it."

He smiles, like he agrees. But I know that he's nervous. He'd never say it though.

"I'll tell the police I acted alone," I tell him, smiling when his shoulders shake with laughter. "Although, if we're going to prison, I wouldn't mind having someone there who can cook a decent feed."

"I like that plan," he nods, watching the road. "But I don't think we'd end up in a co-ed prison. I dunno that we can rock into the kitchen and cook our own food either."

"I don't know much about prison," I admit. "Although, I was arrested last week. The same night that I showed up at— well— The Hot Plate."

"You were arrested?"

"Yep. Threw hands at a cop."

He flicks his head towards me, his mouth hanging open.

"Well, I was on a date with the cop and it was just for a laugh. It was still fun though."

"Ah. Phoenix," he nods with understanding and I become nervous. "Yeah we met. Had a chat. He seems nice."

I don't answer. I don't even ask what the chat was about. There's too many off shoots for where this conversation could go. And in the end, it'll lead to a conversation about us and the kiss and our feelings. I just don't know if I'm ready for that. One thing at a time and that thing is scattering these ashes. If we talk about us, it could make this road trip tense and I appreciate where we are right now. We're best friends. How we've always been and that's what I need. Just for a little while.

He reaches across the centre console and peels one of my hands off the urn. It makes me realise that my palms are damp. But he doesn't seem to mind as he laces our fingers together. He's on the same page as I am. I know that he is. Because holding my hand while we drive is the most us thing that he could have done and I love him for that.

I love him so much.

___

My graphics aren't loading. Stupid technology. This is the end of the chapter.