Haustin hated funerals, a reaction probably stemming from the days after 9/11 when he attended thirty-four in eleven days. A hole churned in his gut, a fiery combination of bad memories, and the realization he did not belong here. He tried, he really did, but keeping his gaze from the spectacle around him was impossible. The church had filled to the brim with a who's who of the city's hotshots, dressed in their finest and toting expensive handbags. To them, this was just another excuse to be seen.

A deep-throated giggle came from somewhere behind him, and Haustin tensed. Bastards needed to show Yael more respect. He stretched his neck in an attempt to loosen the noose resting there thanks to a brand new button-up shirt. Hell, he'd even bought a blazer and a tie. Not that Yael noticed, she'd been so distracted. At least he convinced himself it was distracted and not distant. Great, now he was at a funeral, wondering if his girlfriend even noticed him.

He snuck a glance at her from the corner of his eye, taking in her stiff back and the stubborn set of her jaw. Three days since Miriam had passed, and other than a short hour, this was the first time he'd seen her. He wished to hell he knew what was going on in that beautiful head of hers, but regardless of his night shifts and her preparing for the funeral, he hadn't been able to be there for her in a way he would have liked.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Yael's voice cut through his musings.

Shifting his attention to the church, Haustin nodded. He'd only been inside St. Patrick's Cathedral once or twice before—a long time ago. Didn't stop him from staring at the high stone arches now, mouth agape. Bright summer sun burst through the stained glass windows, sending jeweled light across the floor. The soaring buttresses in the ceiling were a work of art, humbling him and causing him to shift under the watchful eyes of the Jesus statue in the corner.

"It is," he confirmed. "And much better to gawk at than what's going on around us."

"Kind of a circus, huh?"

"Little bit."

Linking his fingers with hers, Yael said, "I've missed you."

Booming organ music cut off his reply, signaling the beginning of the service, and its resonating vibrations triggered a sharp ache behind Haustin's eyes. Cotton filled his mouth, and hunger consumed him. Stifling a groan and praying his stomach behaved, Haustin cursed his withdrawal. Wrong time to act up, and yet this was exactly the sort of event he used to need pills to survive. Instead, he tried to draw strength from Yael's touch and not selfishly remember how the high would cover him slowly from head to toe like a warm blanket, teasing away his anxiety and ineptitude with a lover's touch.

Members of Malkah Enterprises's board carried Miriam's ivory and gold casket down the aisle, and as it passed their row, Yael's grip on his hand tightened. Once they placed Miriam on the ornate altar, surrounded by dozens of red roses, Casey took his place on the other side of Yael, and the bishop opened with prayers and a hymn. Soon after, Casey returned to the podium, looking as put together as ever, except for the dark circles under his eyes.

"I met Miriam Malkah six years ago after languishing in Finance for what felt like an eternity. All she was to me up until that point was a legend. I heard the stories. How she and her husband took Malkah Enterprises to the next level, increasing our global presence and profits exponentially. How she dominated a role mostly occupied by men in the early stages of her career. The way she kept her company a viable contender in the face of great personal tragedy."

Casey flashed a confident smile. "I'd just landed a huge account, a mammoth deal that put me directly in the crosshairs of our CEO. I remember sitting there in my tiny, tiny cubicle, feeling pretty smug, when she sauntered up to me, every bit as intimidating as I'd been told. She took one look around my measly space and said, 'What on earth are you doing down here? Get your stuff and follow me.' I was terrified, but the next day I found myself tucked into an actual office, with a window, and given a shot at a job I only dreamed about."

As Casey grew sober, Haustin checked on Yael, frowning at the soft expression on her face. He smothered the grimace a moment later, choosing to ignore the attraction he saw there.

"Miriam saw something in me, beyond the punk I was, and probably still am. She was my mentor, my inspiration, and a friend. I hope I can live up to a tenth of her strength and success."

Haustin swallowed a snort. Captain America even did eulogies right, not that he faulted him for it. Casey, despite being a golden boy, was hard not to like or envy. Casey made his way back to his seat, and Yael rose to greet him, wrapping him in an embrace and whispering something into his ear that earned a grin. She stepped back and laid her hand on Haustin's shoulder before making her way to the front of the church. Yael took a deep breath, and he hated how exhausted she looked, her black dress emphasizing the dark shadows in her expression.

"Growing up, I idolized my grandmother. She was larger than life and classy in a way that made me envious as a young, awkward girl. When I ran away after September 11th, I thought I'd severed all ties with the only family I had left, but Miriam never gave up on me. She monitored me from afar, confident I'd return home one day, and even made sure I'd be provided for. In a way, I view her cancer as a blessing. It brought us together, allowing us to forgive and forget, to get to know each other as the women we are now. I'll treasure our time together forever."

The rest of the service passed in a blur as Haustin shifted from keeping his nausea under control and lending his silent support to Yael. More attendees spoke, businessmen joking about things Haustin knew nothing about, women with pearls commenting on Miriam's philanthropic side. He'd have never guessed one woman could do all the things Yael's grandmother had. It was damn impressive.

Later, at the graveside ceremony, Haustin lingered to the side with Alex and Wendy, watching Yael deal with the endless line of people offering their condolences. He wondered if he should go over, either to rescue or support her, but she didn't need questions about him today. At least that was the excuse he gave himself. In truth, those well-dressed mourners intimidated him. What could he even have say to them?

"Can't believe I saw you in a tie," Alex quipped.

"Shut it." Haustin had already tucked the offending thing in his jacket pocket.

"Don't worry. I snapped a couple pics for blackmail."

Casey joined Yael and she flashed him a grateful smile, causing Haustin to growl softly. He should have gone over and braved the scrutiny. Unbuttoning the top button of his shirt, Haustin's stomach filled with ice. Damn, they looked good together. Both were well-dressed, full of polite manners, and able to maintain a string of idle chit chat with each new person they encountered. A woman with a stretched face and fancy, monogrammed handbag clasped Yael's hand, her own paw weighed down with gold rings and glinting jewels. The man with her had orange skin, hinting at either a fake tan or some new beauty fad Haustin hadn't heard of, and Yael handled them all, treating them as if they were life-long friends.

How in the hell was he going to fit into her world? He didn't know anything about stocks or the Bahamas or the newest model of yacht. He wasn't like Casey, joking and exchanging manly handshakes. Standing not twenty feet from Yael, Haustin had never felt farther away from her.

A dark cloud settled over his head, and he desperately wished for a bottle of whiskey. Good, Irish whiskey, warm and delicious as it slid down his throat. He licked his lips, swaying. Christ, he could literally taste it.

"Uh oh."

The dire tone of Alex's words cut through the blurriness surrounding Haustin. He blinked rapidly and wiped at his mouth, certain it was because he'd been caught drooling.

"Why can't they leave her alone?" Wendy asked. "Today of all days."

Following their line of sight and trying like hell to snap out of his thirst, Haustin saw a trio of reporters and camera operators crowding Yael. Their barking tone reached him, even if their words didn't, and they fired their questions one right after the other.

"The damn Post again," Wendy muttered.

Panic had wiped the color from Yael's features, and she ducked away from a pushy older woman with a small recording device, only to come face to face with a giant camera. She put her hand up to shield her face, and everyone around her just stood there and watched. Damn them.

Just as Haustin was about to rush over and do something with his tightly balled fists, Casey stepped in, calmly directing the attention away from Yael and onto him. Within seconds, his rolling laughter drifted over, allowing Yael to slink off in the other direction.

Haustin watched her go. He should follow her, offer support and comfort, guide her to the car and drive her home, but he couldn't. His feet were rooted in place, his throat lined with sandpaper and failure. He was no good for her and, in a lot of ways, her world was no good for him. The sooner they both admitted it, the better.

That sounds ominous.