Keeper of the Lost Cities: Rebuild [COMPLETED]

Chapter Fifty-One - KEEFE

Dex already had a Wanderling, so Keefe secretly hoped there wouldn't be a planting. Technically, there wasn't going to be—it was a "celebration of life," as Biana called it.

But that didn't change the fact that one of his best friends was dead.

"Have you talked to Sophie?" Biana asked as she straightened his tie. She'd asked him to meet her at Everglen, and almost immediately her eagle-eyes had spotted all the blemishes in his green outfit.

"I feel like a leprechaun," he grumbled, picking at the golden buttons on his vest.

"I said you didn't have to wear green. But you're not getting out of my question that easily—spill it, Sencen." He winced, and her eyes widened. "Oops, sorry—I meant 'Foster.' Except... that's just weird to say because I think of Sophie..."

Keefe avoided her gaze, deciding to study the jewel-studded bathroom mirror instead. But there he saw himself, the Gisela jawline (as he called it), his father's eyebrows. More than ever, he was aware playing at being a Foster was just that—playing.

And as for the real Foster... "I'm not sure about Sophie," he said.

"I take it that means you haven't talked to her."

"I don't know why it matters, Biana. Today isn't about me or her—it's about Dex." He regretted the tone of his words as soon as they came out of his mouth, but Biana didn't pull away or smack him or do any of the things he probably deserved.

"Today is about Dex—his life, the joys and the mistakes. One of those mistakes we made together was taking the time we had for granted. I don't want the same to happen with you and Sophie, and I know he would feel the same if he was still here."

"Gah," Keefe said, looking away so she wouldn't see the tears. "How can you be so collected about this? I'm going to be a wreck."

"I'm not collected. I... I feel lost, Keefe. It's like I don't know where to go without him, and a part of me wants to give up, but I know he wouldn't want that..." She started to cry, and he wrapped his arms around her.

"I'm so sorry—I'm being selfish," he said.

"No, you're not. You have every right to grieve as I do."

"He loved you, Biana. More than you can know. I felt it every time I was around him. And I know he wouldn't want you to give up—so if you ever get the urge, don't deal with it by yourself. Call someone—it doesn't have to be me. Just don't do things alone; that was my mistake with Sophie. This doesn't have to be your burden only."

She nodded against his chest, and they stood like that for a while, until she had gathered herself. "Ugh, I'm going to have to reapply makeup."

"I can leave," he suggested as she pulled a plethora of bottles and containers from the cabinets.

"Wait—I need to ask you something. That's why I called you here—I wanted to know if you'd be willing to speak at the funeral."

Keefe suppressed a tactless comment. "Uh... why not you?"

She met his eyes in the mirror. "You knew him just as well as I did."

"That's not—"

"No, it is true. And I can't, because... because it would only feel right if you did."

His mouth went dry. It wasn't that speeches weren't his thing, but he'd never imagined having to give one over Dex's life. Even now, it felt unnatural to say that like it was a thing of the past. Dex had been twenty—young enough that Keefe could count the years he'd breathed. He'd been too young to die. It wasn't fair.