I put my hand to his back. “I know.”

“Krys was right, Laurie.” He was still whispering. “Coulda been anyone. Coulda been her and that would be on me.”

“Bubba,” I said gently.

His head twisted so he could look at me. “See her man?”

“Sorry?”

His eyes went over my back and he looked into the yard. My eyes followed his and I saw he was looking at Blake, standing apart from the crowd, a mostly empty bottle of bourbon in his hand, his face desolate, his manner removed, his eyes on the people in the backyard like he didn’t know who they were, even what they were, as if he’d been beamed to another planet to study aliens.

“Blake, her man,” Bubba replied, shook his head, looked away and muttered, “Fuck.”

“Honey –”

“He feels it, that f**ker, written all over him, and he should,” Bubba told me.

“Bubba –”

“Actually thought, long time ago, he’d be good for her. She wasn’t any good for Tate, too much shit between them, too much shit, but Blake, he was a good guy and he loved her. No shit there, he was solid, had a good job, had a strong hand with her. Don’t know what went wrong, don’t care. He fell down and she got raped with a –”

I leaned into him and said quickly, “Bubba, don’t.”

He looked to me and stated, “Coulda been Krys.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Still could be,” he went on like I didn’t speak. “Fucker’s still out there. And here I am,” he threw a hand out, “I’m f**kin’ Blake. Whatever went wrong along the way, he ain’t even a man anymore, proved it true when his woman got murdered and that’s me.” He shook his head, looking away again. “That’s me.”

“Honey –”

“Miss my cloud,” he whispered and his head dropped.

“She’s not dead, Bubba, and neither are you,” I told him, he didn’t reply and I kept going. “Nothing’s happened you can’t change.”

“Got the check and paperwork two weeks ago, gorgeous,” he told his lap. “Signed it. It’s done. I’m out. The bar is called Bubba’s but I’m out.”

“Then get back in,” I urged and his head twisted to look at me again.

“What?”

“You aren’t Blake,” I told him.

“Laurie –”

I jerked my head at his Coke. “Get yourself sorted out and get back in.”

“She don’t want me,” he replied.

“She wanted you once,” I reminded him.

“She don’t want me now.”

“Then remind her of why she wanted you then.” I got close to his face. “I don’t know him but I know this, I knew it the minute you walked up to the graveside today. You aren’t Blake.”

“Laurie –”

“You’re a good man, Bubba.”

“Gorgeous –”

“You’re a good friend, Tate said so.”

“He did?”

“Yes,” I smiled at him, “shit business partner, he said, but a great friend.”

Bubba shook his head and looked away.

“He named his son after you,” I whispered and felt Bubba’s body stiffen at my side.

He didn’t speak and I let the silence go for awhile.

Then I kept whispering. “You don’t have to sleep by her side to be certain she’s safe.” My arm slid around his bulk and I gave him a squeeze. “Think about that, Bubba. She might not care, she might be done, but it wouldn’t be about what you could get out of it. It would be about keeping her safe. Find a way to do that until they find this guy. Then whatever happens happens. But in the meantime, keep her safe. Yes?”

Bubba didn’t answer, just stared at the grass then tipped his head back and took another slug of Coke. I leaned into him for a second then moved away and hopped off the table.

“Getting late,” I told him.

“Yeah,” he replied.

“See you later?” I asked.

“Sure, Laurie,” he answered halfheartedly.

“Bye honey,” I whispered.

“Later,” he returned, not looking at me.

I moved away from Bubba, wending my way back through the crowd and feeling eyes on me when I did. My head turned left and I saw Blake staring at me, not studying me like I was a Martian, but staring at me with his face tight, his eyes sharp. There was something about it that sent a chill through me but I didn’t get to process why when I ran into something solid, something that put two hands to my hips.

“Babe,” Tate said when I looked up at him.

“Hey,” I replied.

“We gotta go, get Jonas home,” he told me and I nodded. “Can’t find his jacket,” Tate went on.

“I know where it is. I’ll run and get it.”

He nodded back but his head turned to the right and my eyes followed his.

“Tate,” I said gently when I saw he was looking at Blake.

They seemed to be locked in optical combat until I pressed up to his front and my hands curled on his biceps.

“Baby,” I whispered and he looked down at me, “we have to go. Jonas.”

“Right,” he muttered, his hands left my h*ps and he guided me in front of him toward the door.

To keep it out of the way, I’d taken Jonas’s jacket to an upstairs bedroom and I headed straight there, Tate at my heels. We walked up the stairs, down the hall and I opened the door. I walked right in then stopped dead, Tate coming to a halt behind me, his hand coming to my waist as I stared at Wood who had Maggie pressed against the wall, his hands at her bottom, his tongue obviously in her mouth, one of her arms was tight around his waist, the other hand cupping the back of his head.

Tate made a grunting noise that sounded like a swallowed bark of laughter and my body jerked at the sound at the same time Maggie and Wood separated, their heads swinging toward us.

“Sorry, sorry… um, sorry!” I muttered, rushing to the bed and blathering. “Jonas’s jacket. I put it up here to get it out of the way. He was getting hot and you know kids, he just threw it anywhere and I was worried someone would get beer on it or something.”

“Ace,” Tate cut off my chatter as I pushed aside some purses and other jackets and grabbed Jonas’s.

I straightened and looked at them. “I don’t know how to clean a jacket like this, so it’d have to go to the dry cleaner,” I informed them stupidly. “Not that it would, really, since he doesn’t wear suits on a regular basis and he’s growing so fast, he’ll be out of it in, like, a week, but, you know, it would.”