Bayou isn’t just mourning his twin—he’s mourning half his soul.
Watching him crumble guts me because Hurricane wasn’t just mine.
He was Bayou’s too.
His blood, his other half.
And yet even through the pain, I can feel it—Hurricane is still here.
In Bayou’s words.
In the tears he won’t shed.
In the love that ties all of us together.
In that breeze that won’t seem to let up.
And when he’s finished, Bayou scrubs at his face with the heel of his hand, fighting for control. Then he looks straight at me, eyes burning through the haze of grief. His voice is stony when he says, “Kaia… you want to say something?”
My breath catches, my body trembling. Part of me wants to curl into myself, to stay quiet, because speaking his name out loud feels like breaking again.
But another part of me, a stronger, steadier part, knows I have to.
Forhim.
Forus.
I hadn’t planned to speak.
I wasn’t going to.
How do you summarize a love that consumed your entire world?
How do you say goodbye to someone who was youreverything?
But looking around at all these faces, at all these people who came here to honor Hurricane, who loved him and respected him and are here to support me and our children…
How can I not?
I hand Immy to Mom and step forward, my hands trembling as another wave of pain builds in my lower back.
Clearing my throat, I stand in front of all these people as another breeze circles me. Closing my eyes, I let it waft over me, and it soothes me enough for me to begin. Opening my eyes, I peer out over the mass of bikers and loved ones all here for my husband.
“I never thought I’d be in a world without Hurricane.” My voice is surprisingly steady. “These past few weeks, everything has felt so quiet. Like someone turned down the volume on life itself…” I pause, pressing a hand to my belly as the pain intensifies.
Keep it together, Kaia.
Just a few more minutes.
“Hurricane wasn’t just loud because he liked attention. He was loud because he had so much love to give that it couldn’t be contained. He loved Immy with a fierceness that amazed me every day. He loved this club… he loved all of you, like you were pieces of his own soul.”
The faces looking back at me are full of tears, of understanding, of the same grief that’s been eating me alive for weeks, but my eyes land on Ingrid. The one person whom I’ve been hiding from the most.
Who I’ve been hurting the most.
“I’ve been hiding,” I admit, and the words feel like a confession. “Shutting myself away from all of you, from the family he built, from the love he left behind. I thought I was protecting myself from more pain, but I realize now that I was just making everything quieter.”
Another wave of pain builds in my stomach, stronger than any of the others. My hand grips tight on the lectern while I breathe through it, determined to finish what I started. My eyes turn back to Ingrid. “But standing here, seeing all of you, feeling all this love, I realize that it doesn’t have to be quiet. Hurricane’s love is still here, in every single one of you. In this brotherhood, he helped build. In the family he created. And if I would just open my door, if I would just let you in the way he would want me to, then maybe—”
