She doesn’t see beyond the outside of anyone in the gaggle of people sitting in the circle.She may be sexy as hell—rockin’ the whole naughty librarian look—but her insolence grates on my nerves. Her holier-than-thou attitude leaves a sour taste in my mouth and a desire to defend every single one of my friends to her.

When her sapphire eyes meet mine, relief washes over her features and I sit up to face the woman head on. She ignores the diarrhea-promised cookies Glenda offers and stalks over to me. With each step, I admire the way her full tits bounce with the fabric. She may be a bitch, but she’s a hot one.

Instead of introducing herself, she sits on the chair beside me and clasps her hands in her lap, lifting her chin high in the air. I watch with interest as she then glances at the time on her expensive watch and huffs.

“Jesus, I swear. People have no respect for other’s time. Time is money,” she gripes. “When a meeting begins at three, I expect it to begin at three. Not three-o-five.”

I raise a dark brow at her and steal a glance at the clock on the wall which reads one minute till three.

“Bastards,” I agree, with a chuckle. “Some of us have shit to do.”

She nods with one clipped movement. Her back is rigid and within thirty seconds, she’s checking the time again.

“My God,” she murmurs under her breath, “I don’t fucking belong here.”

I lean toward her and the moment I get a whiff of her expensive perfume—sweet and floral—I’m almost dizzied out of my words. Quickly recovering, I whisper, “Did you lose someone? Because if you did, then you do belong here.”

She jerks away from me and pins me with a murderous glare. The ice in her stare threatens to harden me to stone but when I catch a flicker of sadness in her blazing blue eyes, I understand she’s hiding behind her frosty exterior. She’ll be a tough nut to crack.

“I think it’s ridiculous to be in a grief group where people laugh and cut up. Losing someone is not fucking funny,” she sneers with a flick of her French manicured fingers toward a still laughing Nate. “For some of us, the loss changes who you are down to the very fabric of your being.”

Her words allow me a brief glimpse into her hardened heart. Don’t let her bark scare you away. I remember Larry’s words and vow to chip away at her until she stops acting like a raving lunatic bitch.

“Everyone copes in different ways,” I tell her in a soft tone.

She bristles at my comment and jerks her wrist back up to check the time. “What do you know anyway? Losing your pet fish doesn’t count.”

I roll my eyes at her vicious dig, refusing to be belittled by her, and sling my arm around the back of her chair so I can lean further into her space. “I don’t have a pet fish. But, I do struggle every day, just like you do—and everyone else in here for that matter. Wishing for God to give me yesterday. To find a way to change the past and to breathe life back into those that were lost. Just because we all grieve differently doesn’t mean we all don’t suffer from the same black, endless, aching holes of despair deep within our hearts.”

She glances over at me and I cheer inwardly the moment I see her chin quiver, even if only for an instant before she bites down onto her bottom lip to hide her harbored emotions. “I’m sorry. I’m Victoria Larkin. It’s been a long couple of days,” she sighs in resignation but makes no move to shake my hand in greeting.

I flash her a grin and wink at her. “Chase Monroe. Good to meet you, Tori.”

Horror washes over her features and her nostrils flare again. “Victoria. Never Tori,” she hisses and checks her watch for the hundredth time. “If this meeting doesn’t start in the next goddamned minute, I’m leaving.”

Something in her cool, poker face tells me it’s a lie. Her ass remains firmly glued to her chair. The clock has since reached five after and I wait another forty-five seconds before I stand.

“Hmmm, you seem like a Tori to me. Guess I better get it started then, huh?” I smirk and revel in the way her cheeks blaze crimson with fury.

Sauntering away from her, I approach the podium and click on the microphone. Everyone takes their seats and I’m met with fifteen smiles and one angry scowl. I beam at everyone, even the pissed off angel.

“Good afternoon, friends. So glad everyone could make it. If you haven’t already,” I say, waving over to the refreshments, “help yourself to some coffee and Glenda’s famous chocolate chip cookies.”

Glenda smiles bashfully while several people grimace at me—past victims of her cooking. Bill, I swear the man has a steel lined stomach, rises to indulge himself in some more of her toxic treats.

“Today is a special day. We have a new member. Everyone, meet Tori Larkin.” I gesture toward her. “Tori, meet your new family.”

The moment the last word rolls off my lips, she snaps at me. “I don’t have a family. And call me Victoria.”

Everyone’s eyes widen, but they remain quiet. We’re normally a friendly group, and each person in here is struggling with how to take this frigid new arrival.

I ignore her and continue. “Today, I want to briefly run through the stages of grief. We all enter each stage at some point and spend more time in one stage than others. Oftentimes we enter multiple stages at once or revert back and forth between certain stages. Every person is different. I want you to think about what stage you are at and how you can take steps to move on.”

Glancing at Tori, I see her attempts to ignore my words. She picks at her nail and keeps her eyes downcast, almost as if she’s discovered a way to retreat from life.

“Tori,” I call out to her, dragging her into our present moment. “The first stage is denial and isolation. This usually occurs immediately after the death of a loved one. We can’t believe what’s happened and hide from reality. In this stage, we’re pretty much still in shock.”

Her eyes find mine and she frowns. “Dead is dead. I’m not denying that.”

I smile at her and nod. “Next stage is anger. The pain of reality slices through our hearts and minds. We're pissed off at the world—pissed at those who left us—pissed at those who took them away from us. It’s an emotion we feel more comfortable and in control with.”

She purses her lips together. Tori walks the anger stage like she’s the motherfucking queen of it.

“Bargaining and then depression are the next stages. We beg and plead with God, praying for another moment. A second chance. Another minute to touch the ones we love,” I say, emotion causing my throat to grow hoarse. “When our prayers to God fall on deaf ears, depression sets in. These two stages, I’m all too familiar with.”

Her eyes flit around the room as her nose turns a slight shade of pink. The sad, caring emotion she tries to hide rises to the surface and tears threaten.

“Does anyone know the final stage of grief?” I question.

Belinda, a quiet woman who doesn’t speak much, lifts her chin. “Acceptance.”

The moment the word is uttered, Tori’s angry mask slips back into place. “Excuse me?” she seethes.

Belinda stands and approaches the podium. I nod and take my seat back beside Tori who ripples with fury.

“Acceptance is the final stage,” Belinda reiterates, pinning Tori with a knowing stare.

“You people are wrong,” she spits out in response. “I will never accept the losses I’ve endured. Never.”

Bill pipes up in defense. “I lost Annie three years ago and I’ve finally come to accept her death. I’ll miss her every day, but I know she wants me to find happiness again.”

Tori folds her arms over her chest and glares at him.

“It’s been two years since I received the call about Cindy,” Nate offers, “but most recently, I’ve finally found peace and know that she’s in a better place. Watching over me and our angels.”

Tori explodes and throws her arms in the air. “The loss of your spouse is awful, no denying that. But you people have no idea what it feels like to lose both your husband and your child. I will never accept that their lives were stolen from me.”