-1Ok, so I debated a lot about posting this, 'cause it could've just ended happily with the last chapter. But the title is 'Car Crashes', plural, and I wanted to see if I could write something so difficult, so, yes, there is a character death here. Feel free to stop reading and just consider Chapter 8 the end, but if you do continue, there's this and then one final chapter coming, so let me know what you think of those!

Black Dresses

In muddy grass, we stand side by side

Our knuckles interlocked

Tyra wakes up with a smile on her face for the first time in as long as she can remember.

It doesn't matter that she was woken up about an hour too early by Mindy's kids hollering and chasing each other around the house. Or that there's a steady downpour of rain falling against her window; the sky gray and dreary outside. She can just feel, deep down in her bones, that it's going to be a good day.

And then the doorbell rings.

"Matt, Matt!" she hears her nieces cry out, their feet pattering across the floor as they both rush to answer the door. "Auntie Tyra, Matt's here!"

"How many times have I told you two, you can't answer the door without me or your mama around," she chides gently, strolling into the kitchen. She's biting the inside of her cheek, trying not to grin too big at the idea of Matt showing up so early when they don't even have plans. "Hey, Saracen. Miss me?"

He chuckles, but he looks uncomfortable, which is weird because he's been in her house so much since the accident that he usually makes himself right at home. "Mornin', Tyra. How - how are you?"

"Good, I'm good." Her smile falters as she watches him fidget. "What brings you by, Matt?"

"I just, uh -" He glances around like a deer caught in headlights. "You mind if we talk somewhere privately?"

"Oh," Tyra is taken aback by his serious tone. "Sure. Girls, why don't you go play in the other room, okay?" She waits until they've done as they're told - for once - then looks expectantly at him. "So?"

"Tyra, I don't -" He's shuffling his feet and avoiding her gaze. "I don't know how to say this, but -"

"Just stop right there," she cuts in, throwing her hand up to ward off his words. "If you're gonna give me some speech about how kissing me last night was a mistake, I really don't wanna hear it."

"What?" His head snaps up at that. "No, I - it's nothing like that. I just - I've got some bad news. I wanted you to hear it from me."

She's still regarding him suspiciously. "Okay. What is it?"

"Tyra, last night, after you talked to Tim, he ... he was on his way home and he was hit by a drunk driver." Matt swallows, licks his lips. "He was - he was killed instantly."

Tyra blinks, then tosses out a laugh. "You're kidding, right? That's a - that's a joke. A really sick joke." He shakes his head and she falters. "How would you ... how would you even know?"

"Landry's dad responded to the call last night." Matt looks utterly miserable. "Tyra, I'm so sorry. I wish ... I just didn't want you to hear it on the news or anything."

He takes a step towards her, one hand outstretched, but he's not entirely surprised when she rears back out of reach. "Don't. Just ... don't. I have to see Billy. I can't - I can't be here right now."

Before he say anything else, she turns and flees.

XXX

Matt doesn't see Tyra again until three days later, when he arrives at Tim's funeral in his father's suit with Landry at his side.

"There she is, right there," Landry points out, but Matt's already found her. She's standing at the church doors with Billy, looking pale and small in her black dress. Her hair still shines blonde and bright, but he can tell even from a distance that her eyes are dull. "She looks okay. You know, considering."

Matt doesn't respond and Landry falls silent as they approach the somber pair. "Billy," Matt clasps the older man's hand. "I'm so sorry, man."

Billy nods. He's always held himself upright, as if the whole world rests on his shoulders, but now he is slumped, defeated. Matt moves on. "Tyra." He lowers his voice, touches her elbow. "How're you doing?"

Her eyes flicker over his face, but it's almost like he doesn't register. "I'm fine," she says woodenly, and then he is being pushed along by Landry as the line moves forward.

"Saracen." Coach Taylor is already inside, his wife and daughter beside him. "How you holdin' up?"

"Oh, I'm okay," Matt nods. "You know, I can't believe it, really."

"My wife tells me you and Tyra Collette are good friends." His eyes are knowing. "How's she doing?"

"She's ... she won't talk to me, actually," he admits. "Sir."

"Give it time," Coach Taylor advises. "She's a smart girl. She's hurting, but she'll come around."

"Sir, I -" He doesn't want to question the man's authority, but ... "How can you be sure?"

"I know a thing or two 'bout losing, Saracen." He claps his shoulder. "If you love the game, it doesn't matter how many times you lose. You take those losses inside you and you play harder. But you always end up back on the field."

XXX

The Coach makes a good speech about Tim, about how he was one of the best running backs he'd ever seen, about how, when it counted, Tim could give more than even he thought he was capable of.

"He was a good boy," he concludes. His eyes are dry, but his voice is rough, like it's hurting him to say goodbye. "And I think he would've been a good man."

Billy tries to say something, too, but he only gets as far as croaking out, "He was my family," and then his shoulders are shaking and he makes this terrible noise, a cross between a sob and a moan, and Coach Taylor jumps back up to lead him away from the alter.

Jason gets up there next, his spine ramrod straight against his wheelchair. "When I got hurt, it took Tim a long time to come see me. But when he did, he knew exactly what to do to make me feel better - which, of course, was sneaking me out of rehab so we could take a road trip."

The crowd chuckles and Jason pauses, nods. "That's the kind of guy Tim was. It might take him a while, but he would do the right thing."

Just as he thinks the service is about to end, Matt's surprised to see Tyra making her way to the front, mouth set in a grim line.

"Tim was ..." She trails off, starts again. "I loved Tim for a long time. I really did, and I'd like to think he loved me, too, in his own way. We weren't right for each other, God, no, but ... but we did care."

She pauses again, thinks for a minute. "And Street's right, you know? Despite himself, Tim was a good person. I really do believe that. He had his faults, he had a temper, but he also had a kind of quiet to him. Sometimes he'd get this look on his face like he was a thousand miles away and I would hate it 'cause he looked so damn peaceful. And I just - I hope that he's there now."

The organ music starts up then and Matt moves forward with the rest of the first-string players to act as pallbearer. The coffin isn't as heavy as he expected and he has the wild thought that maybe Riggins isn't in there, that it's all some kind of joke and he's off drinking a beer somewhere and snickering. But by the time they've carried it all the way to the cemetery, his shoulder is sore and he's accepted that it's very, very real.

Matt step back and folds his hands behind his back, listening to the priest read from the Bible. Suddenly, he feels someone right beside him, pressing closer than a teammate would, and tiny fingers slide into his. Chancing a glance, he finds Tyra staring straight ahead, her hair moving in the wind, her chin held high.

He doesn't smile, though his lips twitch slightly. He just readjusts his grip and holds her hand as they put the first boy she ever loved to rest.