Free Loving War by C.M. Owens Page A

exits.
    “Do you need a ride to the cemetery?” I ask lamely.
    “I’m not going. It’s the close family and friends only, and I wasn’t really that close with Thomas. I feel like it’d be better to let the ones who loved him the most grieve him with each other.”
    I almost feel relieved to know she wasn’t as close to him as I thought. She’s close with Paul and Margaret, so I only assumed she had been close to Thomas, too.
    “You were so quiet on the way home. I was worried.”
    Her sweet smile does something that makes me feel stupid—stupid enough to not see the door until I slam into it. She tightens her lips, refraining from laughing at a time like this, while I grip my aching forehead and mutter a few curses. Motherfucker that hurt.
    “Damn door came out of nowhere,” I grumble as she heads outside. I follow, eyeing the door one last time, and she walks down the barren sidewalk.
    “I was quiet because I didn’t really know what to say. I never do at times like these. I’m always worried about saying or doing the wrong thing, and it was a shock. I knew he was sick, but I guess you never see mortality for what it is until someone dies.”
    And I don’t have a clue what to say to that. She’s not the only one who lacks the right words for the right moment.
    “Where are you parked?” I ask instead.
    “I rode with Mom and Rain. Mom is going to the cemetery, and Rain is leaving with Dane. So it looks like you’re taking me home, or I’m getting a cab.”
    I grin down at her as she leans into me, and my arm goes around her shoulders.
    “I tried calling my dad to let him know, but he ignored my call. It did a two-ring thing before going straight to voicemail.”
    “Think he’ll come to check on the family he’s been a part of for so long?” I ask mildly, trying to find a way to say the right things.
    “No. I don’t think he will. He only gets more selfish every day.”
    Again, I have no idea what to say. I hate to sound spoiled, but my parents never had any severe marital problems that stressed me out. So it’s impossible to relate to what Tria is going through.
    My car is a block away, but she apparently knows which direction I parked in. Right now, I don’t care if anyone sees me holding her to me, but no one is within view of the church from this angle. They’re all standing around the front, and we’re on the side.
    “How’d you know where I parked?”
    “Lucky guess,” she says deadpan.
    We make it to the car without her ever moving out from under my arm, and I kiss her head before opening the door for her. As she climbs in, my mind goes to the obvious. What I’m feeling for Tria is a little more than casual, and I’m not yet sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
    As soon as I get in, she smiles over at me. “Thanks for the ride. I really didn’t want to get a cab.”
    Reaching over, I grab her hand in mine to squeeze it reassuringly, unsure about what else to do. She probably needs rest, so I make a mental note to let her recharge for a few days without me.
    When she’s ready to see me, then she can always call.
     

Chapter 8
     
    TRIA
     
    Frustrated, and admittedly a little pissed, I wait on Brin Waters—one of my only friends—to show up for lunch. I met her a few months ago, and I swear she was just what I needed.
    She walks in, her eyes scanning the room for me. Her dress is much too big for her small body. Her hair is pinned neatly in a bun on her head, and her tiny, black, rectangular frames are perched on her nose. She always seems so collected and put together, even though her wardrobe needs to shrink in size.
    She spots me and takes hurried steps to the table to join me, sitting down across from me at the bistro table in the small restaurant. When she takes her glasses off and puts them away, she speaks.
    “Sorry I’m late. My jackass neighbor from across the street parked his car right behind mine again, even though he has his own side of the curb. Took me