Part 4 (1/2)

Standing up, I set the rose onto the center of his casket just as the skies open up, and fresh cool rain falls on me.

Lifting my head, I close my eyes and welcome the rain drops as they fall on my face, mixing with my tears. The feeling of strong arms wrapping around me sends a wave of comfort through me. When I open my eyes, I see my father embracing me with his own tears in his eyes.

The rain is falling down hard, causing water droplets to drip off of his hair; he's getting soaked to the bone standing here beside me, but he doesn't seem to care. He's my rock right now, and if there were ever a moment in my life where I needed my daddy, now would be it.

He doesn't say a word; his eyes speak for him. I hold my arms against my chest as s.h.i.+vers from the cold rain overtake me. Holding me tightly against his body, trying to s.h.i.+eld me from the cold, my father helps walk me back to the car that Matt drove us all in.

I'm glad I was the last one to place my rose on the casket, allowing me to have my last moment with Cane in private. Everyone else left after saying their goodbyes and headed to Cane's parents' house for the wake.

My legs threaten to give out with each step I take.

My body is weak and defeated.

”When that rain started falling, I swear, Brittan, that was Cane crying right there alongside you.” Roxie whispers in my ear as she takes my hand into hers. I can hear her choking on her words as she tries to fight back the tears.

We've all cried too much.

I don't understand. Why Cane? Why now? We had a beautiful future ahead of us, and G.o.d took him away from me before our happily ever after could even begin.

It's not fair. G.o.d can be merciless. We pray when we need to feel love, wisdom and hope, but then G.o.d can also rip your world out from under you when you least expect it. Leaving you feeling lost, defeated and unloved.

My mother keeps telling me we all have a time to go. We may not understand it, but G.o.d always has a plan. We just need to wait, and the reasons why will come to us at some point. We just need to be patient.

I don't want to hear that.

I want to be angry. Past f.u.c.king angry...Livid! I don't want to hear about bigger plans, and when it's your time, it's your time.

f.u.c.k G.o.d's bigger plan.

What about my plans.

My future.

My happiness.

Without Cane, I have none of those things.

January 22nd 2006.

Walking through the door to my condo with Cane's belongings in my hand, I head straight to the couch and plop down onto it. I just came from his parents' house where we had the reading of his will.

I didn't know he had made one, but I guess his father advised him to do so when he decided to enlist in the military. He must have helped him write one and get his life insurance policy set up. Cane's father, Terry, is a divorce attorney here in Miami, but also helps the rich and wealthy keep their a.s.sets in order.

I swear my jaw hit the floor as I heard the words come out of Terry's mouth that Cane had a very substantial life insurance policy that would be split between me and his parents. He wanted to make sure that if anything happened to him I was taken care of. All funeral expenses were covered by the military and handled by his parents, whom I am grateful for, because I don't think I could've gotten through picking out a casket to bury my fiance in.

The Army gave Cane's parents all the belongings he had with him in Iraq, and while I was there today, his mother gave them to me. She said she knew Cane would want me to have them.

So here I sit on my couch, staring at a big green bag full of everything he had with him overseas. With shaky fingers, I open his bag and one by one begin removing all the items packed away inside.

I can't help but hug his t-s.h.i.+rt tightly against my chest and breathe in his scent, it's mixed with the smell of the outdoors but I don't care.

A small smile spreads across my lips, tears sliding over them as I pull out a box and open it to find pictures of us at my graduation, on the beach the night we got engaged and lying in bed here in our apartment. Right beside them is a bunch of Grizzly wintergreen dip canisters. In his last care package, I sent him a roll of them because he couldn't go a day without one. He had said, especially over there; it was the only thing he could do to pa.s.s the time.

As I take each item out, a small envelope catches my attention because it has my name written on it. My stomach is twisting into so many knots; I swear my intestines must look like a fricking pretzel right now.

Lying back against the arm of the couch I hold the envelope between my fingers as I stare at it, debating if I want to read it. The day Cane died I found a new email in my inbox. He had sent it a few hours before he died just telling me he loved me, and hoped I had a great first week back to school, he had also asked about Beyond Redemption. He was so excited for me to finally be doing what I love and with a band I'm a huge fan of.

I read that email over and over so many times I swear the words are now burned into my brain.

I don't know if I can physically handle whatever the h.e.l.l is in this letter. I try to take a breath, but my lungs feel like they're full of cement, and I can't get a single breath of air into them. Sliding my knees up to my chest, I dip my head and rest my forehead against my legs as I try to stop the panic attack that is consuming me.

My sobs are the only sound echoing throughout my apartment. I've cried too many tears in this place; it feels like the walls are closing in on me every moment I am in here. This place used to be a safe haven for me, where I'd spend countless hours making love to Cane, or just curling up on this very couch watching movies together. Now it feels empty and a constant reminder of what my life used to be.

Finally, I feel the pressure on my chest slowly lifting as my panic attack begins to pa.s.s. Every time I have one it terrifies the c.r.a.p out of. Because of them, my family doctor gave me a note to be out of cla.s.s and work for the time being; until the attacks go away or at least become manageable.

I haven't been back to school since the day I was told Cane was dead. Just the thought of facing all those people and their sympathetic looks and words of condolence is too much to handle right now.

The pain and loss is still too raw.

Holden let me know the band still wants me as their lead singer, but understands right now I need s.p.a.ce and time to grieve. They temporarily have another girl filling in for their local gigs, and I'm grateful they think I'm talented enough to wait for me.

Finally feeling a little better, but still shaky, I grab my cell and text Roxie.

Me: I just found a letter from Cane in his things sent back from Iraq...IDK if I can read it :/ Within seconds, my phone beeps alerting me that Roxie text me back. I haven't moved a single inch. I'm surprised I haven't burned a hole through the letter with how intently I've been staring at it. I am fighting an internal battle: should I read it now...or wait, and read it when I'm more mentally prepared to see what Cane wrote to me?

Roxie: READ IT! Cane would want u 2 if he took the time 2 write u one last letter. <3 i'm=”” here=”” 4=”” u=”” if=”” u=”” need=””>

I wipe away my tears and dry my cheeks with the sleeve of my sweater before fingering the tiny envelope again. Roxie is right; Cane would want me to read this now.

I feel a lump form in my throat as I picture Cane lying on his bunk, writing me this letter in the event he wouldn't make it back. I miss him so much. To know the last words he wanted me to ever read from him are in this envelope is extremely overwhelming.

Tearing it open, I close my eyes and slowly inhale a deep breath before slowly releasing it as I try to prepare myself for what I'm about to read.

The paper is a cream colored stationary. I remember it from the writing paper I'd sent Cane in his first care package when he arrived in Iraq; hoping he would use it to write me letters. I slide my gaze over the letter, looking at Cane's handwriting. Slowly, I glide my fingers over each word as I picture him flas.h.i.+ng his mega-watt smile down at me the last day we saw each other in the airport.

When I watched him walk away that day, I thought it was the hardest thing I'd ever have to suffer through. Little did I know that would be the last time he would hold me in his strong arms and kiss my lips.

I'd give anything for one more day with him, because if I could go back, I would cherish every moment together even more.

I even miss all of our stupid fights. He could push my b.u.t.tons better than anyone. What I wouldn't give to have him standing in our bathroom right now b.i.t.c.hing at me for leaving my hair on the shower floor, or complaining that all of my lotions, make-up and body sprays were now overtaking his side of the sink.

I can't contain the cries that escape me as I reflect back on every moment we had together, and my tears that had begun to taper off have now started to fall once more.

I begin to read Cane's letter through blurry eyes as my tears cloud my vision, Brittan- It's hard for me to write this letter because I know that the only way you'll be reading this is if I'm no longer on this Earth with you. The thought of not growing old by your side is terrifying. My friend, Trace, suggested I write a letter just in case the worst happened while we were based in Afghanistan. After I returned from my tour there, I tore it up. I never expected to be returning to the front line so soon after returning home to you. Now that I'm lying here staring at the bunk above me, I decided now was the best time to write you a new letter.

First off I want to tell you I'm sorry. You've been so supportive and understanding with all of this, even though I know you would've much rather have had me back in Miami still at college with you. But the way I look at it we all have a time to go no matter where we are or how it happens. I could be killed in a car accident or a mugging ten feet down the road from our condo, or shot fatally over here.