Today is about Hurricane. About saying goodbye properly. So I can handle whatever my body is throwing at me.
Mom helps Immy out of her car seat while Lani assists me from the back seat. My belly making everything awkwardly slow. I know Hurricane would be fussing over me, and yelling at everyone to get the fuck out of the way.
The thought brings fresh tears, but also something else. A kind of bittersweet warmth, because even in death, Hurricane is still making me smile.
Ingrid and Novah are out of their vehicle, and Ingrid rushes to me the moment she sees me struggle out of the car, her arms wrapping around me in a fierce embrace. “How are you holding up?” she asks, the strain evident in her voice. She’s been crying for days, mourning not just Hurricane but the life she and South left behind in Los Angeles.
“I’m managing,” I lie.
Because what else can I say?
That I feel like I’m drowning?
That every day without him feels like trying to breathe underwater?
That I wake up every morning forgetting for just a split second that he’s gone, and remembering hits me like a physical blow every single time?
Instead, I focus on the overwhelming display of love surrounding us. Brothers and old ladies from across the country, all here to honor the man who somehow managed to touch every one of their lives. The man who loved fiercely, lived boldly, and died protecting people he’d never even met.
Another pain ripples through my stomach, and I have to lean against Lani for support. It’s probably just Braxton Hicks, but they’re getting stronger. She glares at me, and I huff at her.
“I’m okay,” I whisper to Lani before she can ask. “Just emotional.”
Bayou approaches, and the sight of Hurricane’s twin nearly breaks me all over again. They were so different, Hurricane and Bayou, but seeing that familiar face, those same ice-blue eyes, the same stubborn jawline, it’s like looking at a ghost.
“Hey, Kaia,” he says softly, and his voice cracks just a little. “You ready for this?”
I nod because I have to be ready.
Because Hurricane deserves this sendoff.
Because these people deserve to grieve properly.
And I need to be strong enough to get through the next few hours.
But as we walk toward the ceremony site, another pain strikes, this one so intense that I have to stop walking entirely. I press both hands to my belly, breathing through it until it passes.
Lani’s concerned eyes meet mine. “Kaia—”
“I’m fine,” I insist, cutting her off before straightening up. “Let’s just… let’s just get through this.”
She narrows her eyes on me hesitantly, but I take off before she can say anything.
The setup is incredible. Someone, probably City and the NOLA brothers, has created a memorial area with photographs of Hurricane, his patches, and his favorite bourbon. There’s even his guitar leaning against one of the display boards, the one he started playing when Immy was born. He would get her to sleep by playing melodies to her. I swear I have never seen someone learn how to play an instrument as fast as he did. But when that man put his mind to something, he was as determined as they get. And when Immy was having trouble sleeping, he was sure that music and his dulcet tones were going to work.
And the fucker was right.
Of course he was.
A slow smile crosses my face again at the memory as I continue glancing at the memorial table, and then I see what Oahu Defiance has prepared, and I nearly collapse from the emotional weight of it all.
They’ve brought traditional Hawaiian items, ti leaves, orchids, a hand-carved wooden bowl, and a ceremonial lei. It’s clearly a blessing or sending ceremony, something authentically Hawaiian to honor Hurricane’s connection to the Islands and my heritage.
My chest tightens, pride and sorrow twisting together. This is more than I ever expected, more than I deserve, and yet it feels so right for him, for us.
My husband.
My forever.
