Page 169 of The Finish Line

“Why?”

“Dom,” I grit out and snatch the car from his hand.

His lip quivers with anger as he looks up at me. “We are people. We can make rules, so the bad guys don’t win.”

He looks up to me with such conviction that, for those few seconds, I believe him. I’ll believe anything he tells me.

“Then maybe one day we’ll change them.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

The hairs on my neck rise as storm clouds cover the sun on the horizon. The sea rages below as the rogue waves roll over the silky sand in front of me, a strong and fitting parallel to the way things happened. For a majority of that night, I stood out in my clearing as Dominic’s words circled my head, the simplicity and brilliance of them—a heavy implication to the solution of every problem.

Change the rules.

His words triggered a butterfly effect and supplied me with some of my first notes, the first images for the composition of my blueprint, the ignition that sparked the cogs into motion.

I haven’t spoken a word to him since the day he passed—even when I visited his grave, because words always failed me—because I felt I failed him.

But it’s different words that have kept me mute over the years. Words Dominic spoke the night he died that haunt me most. Indicative to the way he thought, of what I know he believed about himself, about his fate. Even those who didn’t understand him personally—which was only a select few—could recognize there was something more to him.

I still don’t know what I believe about the afterlife. I hope, and mostly for those I love, that there is a place where nothing is ever left unsaid. That all we suffer to say to those we lose, there’s a place to confess—because I have so much to say.

I run my hands through my hair as I work around the burn in my chest. “Sorry to report school is still five days long.” I shake my head and grin, clearing my throat. “You forced me to take all the credit for being the man behind the curtain, but that’s not how it started, is it, Dom? And I don’t think anyone would believe that it was the suggestion of a five-year-old boy who saw the world for what it is, that set it all into motion.”

Choking on the never-ending snapshots of him flitting through my mind, I close my eyes and cradle the car in my palm. “I made you a promise, Dom, but I lost you to keep it. And looking back, I don’t feel it was worth it. As selfish as it is, I would trade everything we’ve done, just to get you back.”

Always brothers.

I hear him speak the words so clearly that my knees hit the sand. It’s as if he’s whispered them in my ear. Closing my eyes, I pray it keeps him with me just a little longer as every hair on my body stands on end.

“You were so fucking intuitive, but did you... did you really know?” Swallowing, I let hot grief stream down my face. “I fucking miss you. Every single day. Every goddamn day. And if I’m destined to live a long life without you, I guess the least I can do is thank you. Thank you, Dominic. Thank you. Fuck—” opening my eyes, I gaze out to the rapidly darkening sky. “I g-guess... I guess if you can hear me, save me a place in the passenger seat.” I think of my parents and how it seems like a lifetime ago that they existed—a different life. “I hope you’re with them. I hope you’re...” I let the grief take over as the wind kicks up. I open my hand to see the car roll back and forth on the flesh of my palm as the white foamed waves crest in and snatch away the shoreline. A stronger breeze follows as if urging me to my feet, and I dust my pants off and walk over to the sea wall and set his dove atop it.

“I’m tired, Dom, so help me watch over us, okay?”

Starting my walk up the cliffside, rain begins to pelt my face just as thunder sounds at my back. Another gust of wind has me hastening my steps toward my future, but I can still feel him, and so I speak once more.

“We did it, brother.”

Two years later

Sean

My phone buzzes again on the nightstand, and I silence it and lift to sit stretching my neck.

“Jesus,” Tessa groans, burrowing deeper into her pillow. “Is that French son of a bitch not aware there’s a time difference?”

“He doesn’t care.”

“I’ll be calling his wife to air my issues.”

“Might not want to if you still want to vacation there again this summer.”

I run my hands along the fading wings on her back and turn her over, and she groans as I push her champagne-blonde hair away from her face. Her blue eyes narrow with a clear grudge.

“They’ll be back soon. And things will calm down.”