I refuse food, content with my whiskey and my grief. I don’t want to move from my spot on the couch right now. Storm and Wilder glance worriedly at me when they go upstairs to talk with the other men, while I pull the blanket over my head and fall asleep.
I don’t much like this timeline. I’ll try again later.
Chapter Four
Three days later
Marie
The skies decided to open up and howl their unhappiness today. It suits my mood perfectly as I dress in a long black dress with flat black boots. The weather won’t allow heels, which is just as well. A girl never knows when she’ll need to make a run for it.
Grabbing a raincoat, I throw it over my outfit and head downstairs where the club is waiting for me. Storm warned me everyone is coming to pay their respects, which means there will be more people at the church and then the ride to the cemetery.
Ace is going to have a joint funeral with Lore, to keep things simple. I’m not sure how Henry will feel about this, and I wistfully wish for a flask to take with me. The last thing I need is to become an alcoholic, so it’s just as well I don’t indulge too often.
Blowing out a breath, I push my blonde curls over my shoulder. I needed something to do to manage the nervousenergy in my system, so I also did my makeup. I hit my hair and face with hair and setting spray respectively to make sure my curls won’t fall and my makeup stays put. I’m not going to the funeral to make a fashion statement, but I’ve slowly been filing away information about the club.
One thing I’ve overheard is that weakness isn’t respected. I can’t curl up into a sloppy mess while everyone around me is also hurting. I’ll lock away the pain, grief, and anger until I can hide away to scream.
Because the anger? Baby, it’s a bubbling volcano. I’m trying to make sure I won’t blow up on someone, which means pretending I’m surviving.
My footsteps feel heavy as I stomp down the last steps, and the bikers stand, watching as I descend to stand in front of them. I hate to wear black, unless it’s in the form of leggings. It feels depressing, so the only black dress I own is one with a slit up the side. It’s one I bought in a hurry yesterday since my belongings are still nil, and I didn’t realize the slit was so high until I was pulling it on today.
Fuck it.
“Ready?” Storm asks, his eyes moving up my body at a crawl in appreciation. “We’re taking the bikes.”
“And I’ll drive behind you,” I say sensibly.
A dress is not a great clothing choice for the back of a bike.
“That’ll work until the trip to the cemetery,” Wilder allows.
My eyes move over to the new president of the Knotted Anarchists, admiring how good he looks. It appears I’m all about finding ways to escape my pain as of late. I shouldn’t have slept with both of them over the last few days, but it’s the only thing that brings me comfort.
I haven’t been to work yet, and I put in for bereavement leave. They can’t fire me, even as a new hire, since this is a protected area. At least I have that.
“Alright,” I reply, my eyes remaining on his green eyes. They’re darker than usual and there’s no amusement in them, not that I’d expect any today.
There are very few things to smile about of late.
“It’s the procession,” Arsenal adds. I can feel the heat of anger coming from him, and I wonder why.
Wilder isn’t being a dick, despite his clipped reply. I’m not upset. I know today is going to be a rough day overall, and I can absolutely acknowledge that. I’m a big girl.
“Are we ready to go?” I ask, breaking eye contact with Wilder to pull on my raincoat as thunder explodes over the house.
A motorcycle ride in this weather, how wonderful. It fits the mood of sadness over all of us. I am finally getting my wish of the world grieving and screaming at the injustice of Lore’s death.
I suppose it fits the adage of being careful what you wish for. More the fool am I for tempting fate.
“Yes,” Storm says. “Everyone else is going to meet us at the church. Do you want me to drive you?”
“I’ll be okay,” I tell him, fixing the hood of my coat over my hair before grabbing my purse and keys. “Thank you though.”
The men around me are all wearing their leathers for the drive, and my lips curve a little as my eyes fall on the line of boots near the front door.
“You all take your boots off every time you come into the house,” I muse, grasping at the faint distraction.
