Page 78 of The Pact
Quiet questions.
“What does blunt force trauma look like?”
“Would they have known?”
“You think it happened fast?”
I don’t sugarcoat anything. I answer him honestly but gently. And every time I do, I watch something in him tighten.
The kids. God, the kids.
Remy is trying so hard to be brave. He didn’t cry right away the night Saint told them. But Rhyan cried hard and loud. She didn’t understand anything other than her mom wasn’t coming home.
She was angry in a way only a four-year-old could be when she didn’t understand where her mommy was. And she asked a lot.
At first, Saint couldn’t answer her. He would just freeze completely, like the words couldn’t come out.
So, I step in when I can. Never to replace him. Just to give him some guidance on how to handle it.
One day when he couldn’t answer, she climbed into my lap, her small body shaking. I held her and let her cry. Her face wasburied in my shoulder until she fell asleep, just like that, in my arms.
Saint stood in the doorway, watching us, completely wrecked. But I saw a shift in him that day. The kind where grief and responsibility collide. And the next time she asked about her mom, he answered.
Then there are Chris’s parents. They’ve been kind but also grieving. Trying to spend as much time with the kids as they can because they know they’re leaving with Saint.
And he wants to give them time—because it matters to them, as well as the kids. They love their grandparents.
So, we’ve stayed longer in North Carolina than we originally planned. And in that time, support showed up in ways I hadn’t expected.
My sister was relentless. She and Liam flew in a few days before the funeral, without Sera, and took over anything that needed to be organized. She took care of planning the food, scheduling transportation, and out-of-town guests. She didn’t ask. She just did it.
And Liam stayed steady for Saint. Which is exactly what he needed.
Aston and Brody came the day of the funeral, as well as my parents, who brought Seraphina, and some of the other players, coaches, and staff. Not for optics, but because they wanted to be there for Saint.
When they started coming in, I could see it hit him. Not exactly relief, but something else. Because as much as I was here for him, he needed them too.
The day of the funeral was heartbreaking, and at the same time, it was a beautiful celebration of life. Saint wanted it to be that way not only for the kids, but I think he needed it for himself too.
He didn’t speak much, but his presence said everything he couldn’t. The way he held Remy’s hand. The way Rhyan clung to his leg like she understood something had changed forever.
And that was enough.
Alie, Liam, and Sera stayed behind after the funeral. She wanted to help with the kids so that Saint had the space to take care of everything else before going back to New Jersey.
And honestly, having Sera there was a distraction that I think both kids needed.
We’re at the attorney’s office today. He insisted I come with him.
The office is quiet, and I can tell it’s making Saint feel anxious.
“Mr. St. Clair, Ms. Grant.” The attorney, Rebecca Post, opens her door, gesturing us inside her office. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”
Saint stands and automatically takes my hand in his. “It’s not a problem.”
I walk in before him through the door, but I don’t let go of his hand. We take the seats in front of the desk.
“Okay, so I know we’ve discussed some of this already and you went through this process with your sister when she was a teen, but let’s review one more time before we get the ball rolling,” she says, taking a seat behind her desk.
