Hurricane’s funeral, even though there is no body to lay to rest. Just an empty casket and too many flowers and words that willneverbe enough to capture what he meant to all of us.
A gentle knock at the bedroom door saves me from having to answer. “Kaia? It’s Lani. Can I come in?”
“Yeah,” I manage, my voice hoarse from too much crying.
The door opens, and my sister slips inside. Even in the dim morning light, I can see the exhaustion etched on her face. She’s been my rock these past months, always here to help with Immy and helping us prepare for the twins.
Us? There is no us now!
But I know this is killing her.
She loved Hurricane like the brother she never had.
“Hey,” she says softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. She’s already dressed in the black dress we picked out together, her hair pulled back in a simple bun. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I want to crawl back into that perfect dream and never wake up,” I admit, struggling to sit up as my belly makes everything awkward. “I was here, at the clubhouse with him. Everything was perfect. Normal.”
Lani’s eyes fill with tears, but she blinks them away. She’s been so strong for me, for all of us. “I know, sis. I know it hurts.”
Immy crawls over to her aunt, and Lani scoops her up, pressing a kiss to her wild curls. “Good morning, princess. You ready to help take care of Mama today?”
Immy nods seriously. At three, she doesn’t fully understand what’s happening, but she knows that Daddy isn’t coming home, and that makes Mama cry a lot.
“Kaia…” Lani says gently. “You have to get ready. People are gonna be here soon, and…” She takes a shaky breath. “And Hurricane would want you to be there. He’d want you to say goodbye properly.”
I want to scream that there’s nothing proper about any of this.
Nothing proper about being a widow in my thirties.
Nothing proper about raising three children alone.
Nothing proper about having a funeral without a body to mourn over.
But Lani is right.
Hurricane would want me there.
He’d want me to stand tall, surrounded by his brothers and his family, and show the world what he meant to us.
What he willalwaysmean to us.
“Okay,” I whisper, my hand moving to my belly where the twins are active, as if they can sense my distress. “Okay,” I repeat as if the second time it will give me the strength I need.
The next hour passes in a blur of mechanical motions. Shower. Dress. Hair. Makeup to cover the worst of the exhaustion and grief. And as I stand at Hurricane’s desk in our room, I need to take a moment to rest. I get exhausted far too easily these days, so I pull out his chair and sit.
I just need a moment.
Letting out a long breath, my eyes wander over the chaos of his desk. I haven’t had the willpower or energy to look over his things in these past two weeks, but while I am sitting, taking abreath, I may as well see if there is anything on his desk that needs tending to.
As his wife, I know I am going to have to start taking care of his business sooner or later.
Rifling through his paperwork, there are bills, notes from brothers about club business, and pictures that Immy has drawn for him. They make me smile. But then something catches my eye. An envelope, with his handwriting on it, and my nickname scrawled across the front.
Sha.
My heart begins to race rapidly, and I bite my bottom lip, tears threatening to fall before I even pick up the envelope. Emotions race through me.
Do I have the strength to read this right now?
