Page 78 of Mischief Mayhem
“I love her,” I said. “I want to marry her.”
“Goddamn, how long has this been going on?” KC’s eyes darted from me to Bear and back again.
“Three weeks,” I grumbled. “Since the auction.” Fuck, that reminded me I hadn’t even had the chance to take her on a proper date yet. Some boyfriend I was.
“Must be the pain meds talking.” Bear snorted. “Let’s talk marriage once you’re sober, huh?”
I shook my head. Even though they’d been pumping the good stuff through my IV, I knew it in my bones. V was it for me, and no matter what they said, that would never change.
27
VERONA
Over the next several weeks, we licked our wounds and cleaned up. They released Hollywood from the hospital and he moved in with me so I could take care of him while he healed. He’d been shot three times before, so he figured it was like riding a bike.
We buried our fallen Roses in the same cemetery where we’d buried Trojan and Alba’s mother, Penny. I sat in the seat next to my brothers, rubbing the scar on my chest while Saint led us through a few prayers, reminding us those we lost would always be with us in spirit, if not in person. Rather than having separate funerals for each member, we did one memorial service for everyone we lost that day, preferring to rip the bandage off all at once so we could start to heal.
I looked down the row at Slip’s old lady, Scribe, who sat stone-faced through the whole thing like she’d shut down her feelings when she heard the news and hadn’t allowed herself to turn them back on yet. Next to her sat Shonda, Picasso’s wife. Their daughter, Jinx, was only fourteen, and she hadn’t stopped crying since the service started.
I remembered being younger than her when I sat in this very same cemetery to bury my mother. She’d died in the same car bombing that killed KC and Selene’s parents, my aunt and uncle. Clenching my eyes shut, I tried to remember what my mother looked like or what her voice sounded like. When I couldn’t, I wondered if the same thing would happen to Jinx. Would she wake up one day, unable to recall the sound of her father’s voice or the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed? She was too young to go through something so horrific.
“Hollywood, you wanted to say a few words.” Saint nodded to my boyfriend, who stood and walked up to the podium. He still struggled to take a deep breath when his emotions overwhelmed him, but compared to the dying man we’d taken into the hospital that day, he had almost made a complete recovery.
He glanced down at his index cards before looking back up at the gathered crowd. Everyone from the MC had made it in for the funeral, everyone who could anyway. What a fucking tragedy my father couldn’t be here. What fucking monster would keep someone away from their family at a time like this? But the Feds hadn’t authorized an excursion for him while he was still pending trial, and so he’d have to mourn his fallen blood brothers from the hellhole of a prison cell.
“There’s a lot of people here.” Hollywood forced a tight smile. “I hope I don’t fuck this up.” A few snickers came from the crowd, typical Hollywood making everyone smile before he started. Then, he cleared his throat and glanced down at his index cards. “I once knew a man who told me that family wasn’t about the blood that ran through your veins. It wasn’t about a name given to you, and it wasn’t about the people on your birth certificate.” Hollywood met my gaze when he said the next part. “It’s about the people who love you when you don’t love yourself.”
Tears burned my eyes, dripping over my cheeks in thick drops I didn’t bother trying to hide. A heavy weight swelled in my gut, permeating up to my lungs and making it hard to breathe.
“Scribe and Shonda, I never knew two greater men than Slip and Picasso. When I first met Slip, he taught me how to drive a manual transmission. He was the first person to teach me about engines and how to tear one apart. Picasso showed me how to appreciate art in life, how to find beauty in even the smallest of things. Coins treated everyone he met like his own child, like he was making up for the fact he didn’t have any of his own by surrounding himself with adopted ones. It was a kindness so few people ever showed me.”
He glanced at a few members in the back, clearing his throat before continuing. “I wasn’t close with Skulls, but we were sworn to the same family, made the same oaths, protected the same people.” Hollywood shook his head and brushed a finger under his eyes. “In many ways, they were more my family than my own parents ever were, and for that, I can never repay them for their sacrifice.”
He paused to glance at Scribe, Shonda, and Jinx. “When I lost my brother a year ago, Slip told me the people we love, the people we call family, they’re never really gone. Having almost died a few times myself, I can tell you with absolute certainty they are waiting for us on the other side of whatever this life is.”
I tried to stop the stream of emotion pouring over my cheeks, but wiping the tears did nothing to stop it. I had to let it come, I had to let it be free.
“And one day,” he went on, “when the time is right . . . really right . . . we’ll see them again. Until then, I believe that our fallen brothers are looking out for us. Whatever this life brings, I know we can face it together, as a family, with our loved ones guiding us however they can.”
He turned to the urns behind him, each carrying one of our deceased family with their names etched on the side. “Brothers, I salute you. Until we meet again, may you rest in peace and may your soul ride free.”
“May your soul ride free,” the rest of the crowd echoed.
Hollywood stepped down and everyone clapped while he took his spot behind me, reaching over the chair to grab my shoulder in solidarity. Saint brought the proceedings to a close before the cemetery attendants came to gather the urns and place them inside the headstones. The rest of the MC headed back to Bear’s house for the wake, but I had another stop to make before I left.
Meandering through the cemetery, I walked along the path that led me to a spot I hadn’t visited since I was a girl.
Edith Scott Montgomery
Adored wife, loving mother, doting friend
I bit back a sardonic snort at how her entire forty years of life had been boiled down to six words. She was so much more than that, so much more than I remembered. I kneeled so I could clear away the dead pine needles and mud gathering at the base of her grave marker.
“Hey, Mom,” I said, choking down a sob as it threatened to barrel out of my mouth. “I’m sorry I haven’t been to visit. I’ve been trying to take care of our boys the way I promised I would.”
A chill blew around me, April’s last fight against the impending spring, and I hugged my coat tighter against my body, praying for the strength to say what I needed to get out.
“I hope Hollywood is right. I hope you’re waiting for us to greet you when the time is right. I hope you found our family and you’re holding them close on the other side.” I shook my head and dug my palms into my eyes as my heart shattered in my chest. My scar throbbed, aching painfully the more I berated myself for the horrible things that had happened to me, the horrible things I’d done to myself.