Be free, Daddy.
We’ll be fine.
I love you.
“Harold.” My mother’s brittle whisper is heartbreaking. She pulls away from Nate and dashes to the bed. When she grabs my dad’s hand, she smiles at him, a smile filled with a lifetime of happy memories. “Thank you for being my best friend. Thank you for our children. Thank you for every day we spent together, the good and the bad. I wouldn’t change a moment. I will love you for all of my life.”
She drops her forehead to his arm, her silent tears and ragged breathing lingering long after my father’s final breath.
25
KERRI
Iexpected rain.
Thereshouldbe rain.
Fat drops to pelt the earth like tears to match my mood.
This day shouldn’t be easy. This day should be a misery. A blight. Yet, the sun is blinding on this unseasonably warm day. My mother, so regal this afternoon, finally put the pieces of herself back together after weeks spent broken. She’s sitting beside Nate, with Discord looming over them, a protective force standing behind their metal folding chairs. I should probably send Havoc over to tell him to relax. That the only threat against us in the cemetery is from the shocked glares of our Brighton friends that Havoc and Discord are here. But who am I to begrudge him this small comfort?
Discord seems to have found his second calling.
Being an assassin is his first, obviously.
Protecting my family has become his other passion.
The sickeningly strong floral aroma from the scores of arrangements at the head of my father’s pewter casket drifts past me. I want to gag. This smell will forever remind me of this day. Of this moment, standing with my hand in Havoc’s because I have too much nervous energy to sit while watching the last guests arrive.
I want this over.
I want Father Anthony to lay my father to rest.
Then I want to leave Brighton and go back to Mayhem…
…where I can breathe.
Marcus is buried in the neighboring section. Havoc and I visited his grave on our way here, and it was a sweet release. It was the first time I said goodbye to a man I thought of as an uncle, and it’s where I left my anger for Patricia. To finally have that rage off my shoulders is a relief.
I considered asking Havoc about the details of what the Order did with her during and…after…but decided that, ultimately, she’s taken up enough space in my mind and heart that I don’t want the gory particulars of her death to burden my soul. It’s enough to know she’s gone. That she’s paid a fair price for the damage she’s done—
“You look cold.” Havoc’s statement draws me out of my thoughts. He starts to peel off his coat. “Take my jacket.”
“I’m not cold.” I draw the black Dolce & Gabbana trench tighter around myself with a shake of my head. “Really.” The black knit dress beneath it is thick enough to keep me comfortable on this sixty-degree November afternoon. I opted for heavy, opaque tights and knee-high boots, expecting a typical winter day. I grab his lapels and adjust the coat. “Besides, you look better in this than I would.”
Under the coat, he’s wearing a sleek, black Armani suit. He and Discord grudgingly allowed me to take them shopping amid the chaos of arranging my father’s burial.
He kisses my forehead. “You good?”
I give him an exaggerated smile. “Marvelous, my love. Never been better.”
Havoc gives me some serious side-eye at my sarcasm. He moves to my right and takes my hand, but I barely feel him because every part of me is numb. Like this is a terrible dream that I’m viewing through a prism.
I glance across the plot at my mom and understand why she forwent a wake and chose this simple burial. I wouldn’t want to draw this out if, God forbid, it was Havoc. And given his…occupation…there is a real possibility I’ll be a young widow. Or whatever I’ll be because I don’t know if marriage is even in our future. It’s enough that we’re together. Sure, it would be nice to have the ceremony, rings, and the razzle-dazzle. But with Havoc, it’s about the baby steps. For now, I’m happy with what we have.
But I have considered this… Losing him too soon to his violent life. It’s an unspoken fear Jamie and Faith share, one neither of them mentions. A fear I have now as well. One I’ll lock in my heart, that will sit there like a drop of poison.
When my mother stands and glides over to her husband’s casket, she does it with the tragic elegance of a newly made widow who refuses to break in front of this small crowd. I’ve spent my life believing Grace Ward was delicate. Like a rose petal, easily damaged if handled too roughly. I’ve never been more wrong about someone. She has proven to be one of the strongest, bravest women I have the pleasure of knowing. It’s an honor to be her daughter.
