The funeral went off without a hitch, just like we knew it would with Ink’s planning. People in town were familiar with us being a part of the place and although they stopped to watch as we drove by, no one batted an eye, despite the noise we made. The police were around too, as an added deterrent to anyone stupid enough to try anything. Not that we needed them.
As planned, our watchers were all armed and knew how to use their rifles. There were over fifty bikes in the procession behind Itchy’s family in the funeral car. It didn’t matter that he was a Prospect, he was part of the club and he died protecting it.
There had been no bother back at the clubhouse either while we were out at the service and then the burial in the cemetery just outside of town. The Old Ladies had done an excellent job of preparing for everyone. Even the club girls had pitched in and there was a massive spread of food and extra alcohol to accommodate everyone.
King relented and allowed Waverley off club property. She had travelled in a car with blacked-out windows and had three men with her. She'd come to the service to pay her respects but returned home instead of attending the burial. She had not kicked up a fuss about that which was promising.
The party was in full swing, luckily the club girls were more than occupied with all the new men, so I didn’t need to worry about Tanya, though I saw her looking over her shoulder at me as she walked off with one of the guys I didn’t know very well. She’d be back, but I was finished with all of that.
Not just because of Waverley. Club pussy had been a means to an end, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized I didn’t want to partake of that anymore.
Connor and War moved around chatting, laughing, and drinking, circling each other like they were just the friends everyone thought they were. They always had one eye on each other and for some reason, that just made me feel worse than I already did. Waverley and her thoughts about her brother and Connor were turning me into a wuss. I didn’t do feelings.
Waverley stuck with the Old Ladies. They were at the bar, a group of about six of them, laughing with Casper as he served drinks. It didn’t slip my notice how a few of the other club guys were eyeing her up.
I’d seen Casper discretely and not so discretely steer people away, letting them know she was a club princess. It hadn’t taken more than a few words for them to back off the Prez’s daughter. Whether Waverley realized he was protecting her wasn’t clear, but her focus was on the women she was with. She was avoiding looking at me.
I played my part too, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Itchy. He was only eighteen years old and had been excited about becoming a fully-fledged member of the club. Truth of the matter was, the Kingsmen would have attacked us no matter if I were the diversion or not, but that didn’t stop the guilt hitting as I looked at his mom and sisters.
They had come back with us, and I’d seen his mom laughing and enjoying her time with the brothers, but there was no mistaking the sorrow in her face now and then, when it hit her again why we were here, and that her son was gone.
I’d paid my respects earlier, seen nothing in her face that blamed me for what happened that day, she didn’t know the full story, but it hurt all the same seeing her watery eyes as she thanked me for being a friend to her son.
After King made a brief speech about Itchy and how we would always stick together and protect each other, it got too rowdy for the way I wasfeeling. Tanya made sure I knew she was back, her hair disheveled and her skirt shorter than it was before she left. The thought of her disgusted me now.
How she thought I’d be willing to take her to my room next was beyond me. I didn’t share, and she’d been off limits with the other guys for a while, but now she was free game. It was the life she had chosen, and I wouldn’t feel bad about casting her aside.
I’d always been brutally honest with any woman I’d been with. Relationships were not for me. Not since Waverley.
I drew my eyes away from her again, told the others I was going for a cigarette, and got up, heading to the roof. It was decked out with mismatched chairs around an old table. There were a couple of couches and rugs to give it a relaxed, homey feel the guys weren’t appreciative of.
Mostly the women came up here, but tonight it was empty, and I was glad of that. I took a seat on the more comfortable couch, spread out and took out the pack of cigarettes. I didn’t smoke too much, but tonight felt like one of those nights.
After a while, when the solitude got to be enough, I got up to head back down, but spotted a guitar propped up by the door. I didn’t know who it belonged to. It had been a long time since I’d played. I taught myself when I was around thirteen and in music class when the teacher learned I could play.
It was one of the few things I’d enjoyed about high school, and the teacher was bearable. I picked it up and strummed the strings. Taking it back to the couch, I perched on the edge, resting the guitar on my knee, getting it tuned up.
It was like second nature when I started to play. ‘Ain’t No Sunshine’by Bill Withers came to me easily, one of the first songs I’d learned, and I played it through twice to get my fingers used to the strings.
I transitioned into ‘She Talks to Angels’by the Black Crowes. When I started in on ‘Otherside’by the Chili’s, I sang along. I could still hear the party going on beneath me, but I got lost in my music, regretting letting this pastime slip me by for so long. My fingers weren’t calloused enough to keep playing much longer without a pick. I cut the Chili's off and played an old Stereophonics song Waverley loved when we were younger.
She’d listened to the acoustic version of ‘You’re My Star’on repeat. She’d preferred the stripped down, rawer version of the song and the gravelly yet perfectly melodic tone of Kelly Jones’ voice, with just a guitar and the strings towards the end of the song. I hummed the first verse softly before letting the words slip out.
My voice cracked a little as my vocal cords loosened up and I tried not to hold the notes too long, like Kelly was so capable of doing, clearing my throat a couple of times. But I let it all go when it hit the bridge of the song.
Just as I hit the chorus again, a noise behind me made me look up. Waverley was leaning against the open doorframe from the staircase that led up to the roof. Her eyes were misty as she watched me. I stopped playing and her brows creased.
“Don’t stop,” she breathed. It wasn’t a request.
So I kept going, despite feeling self-conscious about playing a song I’d sang to her so many times. Finishing with my eyes on her, singing about the woman who made you feel alive, made waking up worth it and yearning for the one who meant the most. I kept my eyes on her as she moved closer, sitting down opposite me, her eyes on my hands as they moved over the strings.
After the last note faded, she raised her eyes to mine, and we stared across at each other in silence. I couldn’t read what was going through her mind, but there was clear emotion in her eyes.
“I haven’t heard that song in five years,” she said after a while.
I nodded, lowering the guitar so that it was propped against the side of the couch. If ever there was something you could classify as our song, this would be it. Not that we had ever done anything as sappy as name it ours, it just was.
“Haven’t sung it either,” I said with a wry laugh. “Haven’t played…” I trailed off, looking over at the door, which had closed after she walked across the roof.
