Wyatt

From triumph to tragedy. Ain't that always the way.

The past twenty-four hours have been an unimaginable whirlwind, with the loftiest of highs and the rock-bottom of lows. The divergence between the two extremes is preposterous to me, having just come off of one of the best weekends of our lives. We savored our achievement for such a short time that it feels like it never happened at all, reality hitting like a freight train with yet another death.

The desperation I feel to remove this burden from B's shoulders is infinite. She's one of the strongest, most stubborn women I know, but I see the cracks forming already. I can't watch her break again.

This time around, I won't let her. She will never be alone in this.

While I miss my father and still feel his absence daily, I've grown as a result. And while I'd do just about anything under the sun to have five more minutes with my old man, I also recognize that he's here, having given the best pieces of himself to me throughout the years we did have together. That's something I'll never lose, and neither will B.

I see her mother in her—and I don't mean only her looks. She's present in B's character, her integrity, her loyalty. She has her mother's humor and even her laugh. Colby will be a reminder of Tanzie to all of us for years to come.

Dealing with a loss doesn't have to mean forgetting.

And, while it admittedly takes effort to remember the little things I loved about my father in these three years post-loss, it's there. Reminding myself hurts, but in a good way, simply because we had something worthy of that sorrow.

"What's next?" Luke asks stoically, arms folded across his chest. I haven't seen him shed a single tear.

We remain in the expansive living area in various states of distress. Alex is on the couch, head in his hands. My mother and Colby are quietly chatting on the loveseat across from Alex, and Luke is leaning against the wall behind them, his features fixed in a pinched scowl.

I'm worried about the kid. He immediately bottled his feelings up, which is, unfortunately, all too familiar...

"I'm gonna make a phone call," I say quietly.

"I can do it," Colby sniffles, as my intent registers.

"I've got this, baby," I affirm, determined to make this transition as smooth as possible for the three of them.

I excuse myself, moving off toward the kitchen to call the hospice folks.

I'm just wrapping up my call when a crashing sound brings me sprinting back to the living room. I arrive to find the shattered remnants of a lamp that appears to have been launched into the wall by Alex, the shards of which are littering the floor around Cliff's feet.

Hell.

"Nice of you to finally show up," Alex spits, his face red with anger. "Did your bimbo have to get home to her husband or something?"

"That is completely out of line," Cliff erupts, pointing an accusatory finger in Alex's face. "You will not speak to me that way."

Alex takes a predatory step toward Cliff, and I can see that he's itching for a fight...or a distraction. I glance at Colby, only to find my mother and her looking back at me with pleading eyes. Behind them, Luke is emotionless, taking it all in without any trace of feeling, seemingly content enough to let them settle things in their own way.

"Alright," I say, wandering nearer to the conflict. "Let's just calm down and—"

"We needed you!" Alex interrupts, completely ignoring me. "But of course, you couldn't be bothered to be here. Some father you are."

Cliff grabs his son by the collar, his eyes filled with rage. It's then that I notice his eyes are dilated, and I know immediately that he's been drinking.

As if this situation could get any worse.

He shoves Alex away in one swift motion, causing Alex to stagger backward, only to launch himself toward Cliff once more, his fist aiming for Cliff's face.

I must be a real dumbass because my next move involves throwing myself in front of an irrational Alex, who outweighs me by double digits and is barreling in my direction, poised to hit something. I brace myself for impact, only to have him pull up short.

"Get outta my way, Wyatt," he growls.

"You don't wanna hit your father, Alex," I reason.

Alex clenches and unclenches his fists at his side, his chest heaving beneath my outstretched hands. I know how he feels in this moment. Hell, I wanna slug the bastard too, but taking that action would leave nothing but stark disquiet in its wake.

"Don't cede the high ground here," I add under my breath. Alex nods, retreating to the other side of the room while Cliff remains behind me, bristling with pent-up anxiety from his almost encounter with his son.

"Not that I'm not thrilled to see you," Cliff sneers, eyeing me disdainfully. "But what makes you think you're welcome in my house at two AM?"

That's gratitude for you.

"Excuse me, sir," my mom begins, coming to my rescue.

Cliff seems taken aback, like he's only now noticing my mom is present. His eyes scan the room then, taking in the turbulent scene before him.

"What's going on?" he asks, finally surmising that something's out of the ordinary in his liquor-addled mind.

"Tanzie's passed, sir, about an hour ago," my mom continues tenderly, and I find myself awed by her composure.

Cliff swallows hard, nodding in acknowledgment, though no part of him betrays any level of sentiment.

"The way I see it, is that you have one of two choices," Alex contends coolly. "You can go upstairs and say goodbye to your wife, or you can leave, as we don't want or need you here."

Cliff scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. "I said my goodbyes a long time ago," he says darkly, grabbing his jacket and exiting the house.

The tension evaporates along with his absence, bringing relief to all who remain.

Colby runs into my arms, shuddering as fresh tears flow. "Thank you, Dodge," she cries into my shoulder.

"It's gonna be okay, darlin'," I whisper against her hair, my words calm, though I'm filled with antipathy.

My body trembles with residual adrenaline. I'm determined to protect B's heart, to help keep her whole in this time of upheaval. I see now how challenging it'll be, the world hell-bent on peppering us with trials every step of the way.

But I won't fail her.

...

"B," I say, poking my head into her bedroom. "You up?"

I see her roll onto her side, running a hand over her face. "Didn't sleep."

"Come with me," I implore. "I wanna take you somewhere."

She rises to her feet, clad in one of my old jerseys and a pair of leggings. She stumbles her way toward her mirror, combing her hair with her fingers and fussing over the creases pressed into her cheek from her pillow.

"I'm gonna need a few minutes," she grumbles.

"Nah," I say, moving to meet her where she stands. "I'm diggin' the bird's nest thing you've got goin' on. Let's go."

I drive a contemplative Colby to a familiar place, where I've arranged a much-needed escape from reality, in the hopes of taking her mind off of the upcoming events of the day.

It's been a week since we lost Tanzie, and today is the day of the funeral. This week has been a rollercoaster of chaos. The planning has been relatively pain-free, but emotionally taxing. To make matters even more trying, I haven't gotten to see nearly as much of B as I've wanted as she's been working through the details of today with her father.

Shocking, I know.

In an effort to keep the peace, I've only been present when Cliff has not been. No need to add to the strain of an already stressful situation.

Cliff's involvement has been...a blessing? A curse? I suppose I can't say for certain. I'm pleased that he's stepped up to the plate for his family, not leaving the brunt of the work to his children as he did during Tanzie's last few weeks.

That aside, his sudden interest in planning and family is suspicious. Lucky for that asshole, I'm a benefit of the doubt kind of guy.

"Wyatt," Colby breathes as we arrive riverside. I've planned a sunrise picnic, complete with some of B's favorite foods and plenty of blankets for the chilly November morning. "Why?"

"Why not?" I ask, feeling relieved when I see a smile tugging at her lips. It's the first I've seen in a while.

"Thank you," she says, falling to the blanket and covering up with a throw. "What'd you bring me?"

"Oh, you'll love it," I declare. "I brought lasagna."

She smacks my chest, pursing her lips. "You didn't. Swear you didn't."

I laugh. "Hell, no, B," I groan. "I don't think I'll touch that shit again for the rest of my life."

"The dessert lasagna is the only one I'd ever touch again, and not for a while at that," she says, sending me yet another cherished smile.

It's become a joke amongst the Byers family, my mom and me. When people found out about Tanzie, the food started pouring in, which was generous, and above all, appreciated. It's just that most of it was lasagna. We've eaten Italian lasagnas, Mexican lasagnas, breakfast lasagnas and dessert lasagnas all week, a blessing to be sure, but a bit repetitive.

"For you, my love," I say with idiotic gusto, offering her a thermos filled with hot chocolate. "I left powder lumps in it just like you always do."

"I do no such thing!" she chirps, sounding so much closer to her pre-loss self. That's unlikely to last, considering what today holds, but I'll take it.

"It's okay baby, don't be embarrassed," I continue. "I don't ever mind chewing my hot chocolate." I sweep her hair over her shoulder, kissing her cheek.

"I know what you're doing," she says quietly.

"Is it working?" I ask, handing her an egg and cheese burrito.

"Yes," she admits. "Although, I'm really nervous. I don't know what I was thinking when I volunteered to deliver the eulogy."

"I do," I say, my eyes meeting hers. "You've got this. You'd make your mama proud."

She tucks herself closer to me, resting her head on my shoulder and digging into the food my mom helped prepare. We sit together for a long while, watching the sunrise on the horizon, painting the sky a brilliant orange.

We can do this.