Raphael
Sunlight filters through the church’s stained-glass windows, painting the worn, wooden pews in jewel tones. My family fills the front rows, their shoulders hunched in grief.
The closed casket rests at the altar beneath an arrangement of white lilies and blue hydrangeas. Mother always did have impeccable taste, even when burying a son.
I count the familiar faces. My parents had flown in from the country estate, and Father sits rigidly beside Aaiden in an expensive black suit, a pillar of Alpha restraint in mourning. My youngest brother, Gabriel, rests a protective hand on Mother’s shoulder.
In the pews behind them, every seat is packed tight with extended family, business partners, and society friends who wouldn’t recognize me if I walked past them on the street tomorrow. The turnout is impressive, though most of them are here only for the bragging rights.
The pastor speaks about legacy and the comforts of an afterlife, meaningless platitudes about a man he’s never met. But my throat tightens, nonetheless. The unwelcome pressure of tears stings, and I blink to banish them.
But not fast enough as an elbow digs into my ribs. “You’re not allowed to cry at your own funeral. It’s tacky.”
I turn to my mate, drinking in the sight of his face in profile, the sharp line of his jaw, the flicker of amusement in his blue eyes. Even seated in the balcony, out of view from the mourners below, his ash-blond hair catches the light from the stained glass, turning it copper and gold.
“I paid for this farce,” I whisper back. “It entitles me to at least one tear.”
Behind us comes the soft crunch of popcorn, and I twist to see Jace, massive and stoic as ever, digging into a paper bag.
I stare at him, incredulous. “You brought snacks to my funeral?”
“These things always drag. Especially fake ones.” Jace shrugs, his broad shoulders rising and falling beneath his black, tactical jacket. “Still think you should have died of a venereal disease. Something rare and exotic. Would’ve been more fitting than a car crash.”
“Please,” Rico scoffs from beside him, the blade of his knife glinting as he uses it to clean beneath his fingernails. “That’s amateur hour. He should have gone out in a yacht explosion. Rich boy like him? The press would have eaten it up.”
“Assassination by a jealous lover,” Lena offers, not looking up from the scope of her rifle, which she’s cleaning as if we’re not sitting in a church balcony overlooking my funeral. “Multiple stab wounds to the groin. That would have been poetic.”
A chuckle escapes me, and Avery shoots me a warning look. Below, my mother dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief as the pastor invites my father to speak. I wonder what lies he’ll tell today.
“Glad to provide entertainment for you all,” I murmur, but my sarcasm can’t mask the honesty behind my words.
I’m grateful this ragtag crew of criminals let me return to their fold after what I did.
It wasn’t an easy road back. Not for Avery after Cassian shot him, and not for me returning home at his side.
It had taken Avery three days to come back to me, lying pale and still in the Rockfords’ private hospital. The bullet that had torn through his body almost stole him from me just when I had won him back.
It took a few more days after that before he could walk on his own. We returned to his apartment, only to be met with the displeasure of his chosen family. They didn’t like seeing me back by his side, not with their boss injured and Cassian nowhere in sight.
Only Lena hadn’t looked surprised, though I wouldn’t know it if she was. The woman gives away nothing.
My return to the fold had been touch and go there for a bit, unsure of whether they’d accept me back. Still was, but I’ll keep working to win back their trust, because I’m going anywhere this time.
After this funeral, I don’t have anywhere else to go, which is the entire point. This is me committing, one-hundred percent.
Aaiden and I had planned my demise over Avery’s hospital bed, and he’d been the one to suggest we use Cassian’s body to help sell my death. My brother has never been one to waste resources.
And all it cost me was my sports car. My poor baby had turned into a twisted, burning shell on the side of a mountain road, the body inside doctored to have dental records to confirm it was me.
A little money got the investigators to not investigate beyond the shattered whiskey bottle found next to the body, and so came the inglorious end to Rockford.
As if he senses my thoughts, Avery reaches over to clasp my hand, while below, the pastor resumes speaking, moving the mourners to the cemetery for the interment.
Time to leave.
We wait for the congregation to file out before slipping down the back stairs. My family will bury Cassian in my casket, and I will walk away from everything I once was.
But it’s all worth it for the man I’ll become who can stand at Avery’s side.
We sneak out through the church’s side entrance, dodging the news vans parked at the curb with their satellite dishes pointed skyward. The death of a Rockford, even one who stayed out of the spotlight, is newsworthy enough to warrant coverage.
Avery leads the way, and I follow him into the waiting car, our crew piling in around us, and I watch through tinted windows as my past shrinks in the rearview mirror.
As Jace pulls onto the main road, Rico produces a flask from inside his jacket and passes it around. “To the dearly departed. May he rest in pieces.”
“Charred pieces,” Lena adds, taking a swig.
After Cassian’s part in Avery’s injury was revealed, they’d all gotten over his loss real fast. It didn’t hurt that none of them liked the guy, either, and only tolerated him for Avery’s sake.
The same as they’ll tolerate me until I can prove myself worthy again.
When Lena holds out the flask, I take it and toss back a small shot. The whiskey burns down my throat, warming my chest. I hand it to Avery, who drinks without breaking eye contact with me, his lips touching where mine were moments before, drinking for me and not for the man in my casket.
The drive to Avery’s apartment— our apartment—takes twenty minutes. It’s in a converted industrial building, all exposed brick and steel beams, with security that would make most military installations envious. Not the kind of place where anyone would search for a Rockford, which is the point.
Inside, I’m still getting used to seeing my things mingled with his. My leather-bound books lined up beside his weapons manuals. My Italian coffee maker on the counter next to his collection of fine whiskeys. My clothes hanging beside his in the closet.
Cohabitating again had lifted years off my shoulders, reminding me of what true happiness felt like.
Avery throws his keys into the bowl by the door. “Welcome home, dead man.”
As he helps me out of my suit jacket, our chests brush, and his hands run over my biceps as he stares up at me with heat in his eyes.
Dying never felt so good.
“All right, enough of the eye-fucking.” Rico pushes past us toward the kitchen. “Let’s get this party started.”
Jace disappears into the kitchen and returns carrying a cake covered in black icing with red lettering that spells Happy Death Day in what resembles dripping blood. Two candles burn bright on top.
“Why two?” I ask.
“One for each time you’ve risen from the grave to be a pain in our asses,” Lena explains, perching on the arm of the sofa with her usual grace.
“More like a pain in Avery’s ass. Am I right?” Rico raises his hand for a high-five that no one returns, and he huffs. “Some family you are, leaving me hanging.”
They ignore him and launch into an off-key rendition of “Happy Death Day,” to the beat of a common birthday song, with improvised lyrics about dismemberment. It’s grotesque and perfect and makes my chest tight.
When they finish, Avery turns to me, his beautiful features softening into an expression meant only for me despite our audience. “How does it feel to die a second time?”
The question hits deeper than the others might realize. When I first woke up and felt the loss of my bond with Avery, I wasn’t sure I would survive. Only my determination to track him down and reclaim him had allowed me to keep it together.
Now, I pull my mate against my side, careful of his still-healing wound. “It feels far better than the first time. Today, I only lost the parts of me that never mattered.”
Understanding and forgiveness flicker in Avery’s expression, along with love. It’s still new, this fragile reconciliation between us. Still healing.
“Blow out your candles before they melt the frosting,” Jace says, as practical as ever.
I lean forward, making a silent wish, not for wealth or safety or success, but for time. Time to prove myself worthy of this second chance. Time to love Avery the way I should have from the beginning. Time to become someone new.
The candles sputter out with my breath, and the room erupts in cheers and whistles.
“Now for the good part.” Jace reaches into his pocket and pulls out a slim leather wallet, handing it to me with unusual ceremony. “Your new life, courtesy of our forgery expert.”
Inside, I find a driver’s license and passport, both bearing my new photograph, with the sides of my head shaved and the top dyed black. I’m still getting used to my new appearance in the mirror, and it will get even more strange when I visit the dermatologist next week to have my tattoo lasered off.
Can’t have such an easy to identify mark on my body to link me back to the Rockfords.
About to put the ID’s away, I catch the name listed. I stare at it, blinking.
“Thorne Wilder?” I read aloud, looking up at my new family with disbelief. “What the hell?”
Rico doubles over laughing. “Oh, man, your face! Priceless.”
“Who picked this?” I hold up the ID like it’s contaminated.
Lena raises her hand, her cool blue eyes dancing. “That would be me. Because you’re such a thorn in everyone’s sides.” She pauses for effect. “And because you’re surprisingly wild in the sack, as proven by Avery.”
Heat rushes to my face as Avery chokes on his drink. “I never said?—”
“You guys fucked in the back of the SUV while everyone was listening, and two of your people were watching.” Lena shrugs, unrepentant. “Live with your shame.”
“Very funny,” I mutter, pocketing the ID.
But I have to admit it’s fitting. Thorne Wilder. A name with edges. A name untethered from family legacy and expectation.
Jace cuts the cake, serving slices on paper plates while Rico pours drinks. The conversation flows, punctuated by laughter and the occasional crude joke at my expense. I watch them, these people who were my family through blood and fire, who will hopefully be again through their forgiveness, and peace settles over me.
Avery finishes his cake and stands, his hand finding mine. “I need to borrow the dead man for a minute.”
No one bothers to protest as he leads me toward our bedroom.
The door closes behind us, muffling the sounds of celebration, and Avery turns to face me, his expression unreadable in the soft light filtering through the curtains. For a moment, we stand in silence, and I wonder if he’s seeing the same thing I am, all the parallel lives we might have lived, collapsing into this single moment of possibility.
“I have something for you,” he says, moving to the dresser.
He opens the top drawer and retrieves a small black box, the kind that usually holds cufflinks or collar stays.
My heart stutters in my chest as he returns to stand before me. “Avery?—”
“Wait.” A finger covers my lips. “Let me say this while I still have the nerve.”
He opens the box, revealing two simple platinum bands nestled within the black velvet. Plain, unadorned, practical. Perfect.
“These are symbolic, obviously,” he explains, his pheromones betraying his nervousness. “Wearing a wedding ring is stupid in our line of work. They’re a liability.”
Breath held, I wait as he continues.
“But I want to get married. To you.” He looks up with fierce determination. “Not because I think we need a piece of paper to validate what we have. Not because I want to play house. But because I want to stand in front of those assholes in the other room and vow that this time, we choose each other. No matter what.”
My throat closes around any words I might say, so I pull him into my arms, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other on the small of his back, still careful of his wound. Always careful with him now. I never want to risk losing him like that again.
I pour years of regret and gratitude and a lifetime of love into the kiss I give him, and when we separate, we both breathe hard.
I press my forehead to his. “I have always loved you, even when I was too much of a coward to do anything about it. Even when I put duty above happiness.”
Avery’s hands grip my shirt, bunching the fabric. “You better take better care of my heart this time. I won’t survive losing you again.”
“I will,” I say, then correct myself. “I do.”
The words hang between us, a vow more binding than any ceremony. I kiss him again, slower this time, savoring the taste of him, the feel of his body. His hands slide under my shirt, tracing the line of a body that belongs only to him, and I lose myself in the sensation.
Until my phone rings.
Loud and insistent, the sound cuts through our moment, and Avery groans into my mouth.
“They only just buried your coffin,” he grumbles as I reach for my pocket. “Can’t they give us one day of peace?”
I pull out the phone, ready to silence it, when I see the name on the screen. Aaiden wouldn’t call unless it was important.
“Hush.” With a quick kiss to Avery’s temple, I answer. “Aaiden. Is everything all right?”
Avery rests his head on my shoulder to listen, and his warmth steadies me as Aaiden’s urgent tone fills my ear.
“It’s Jade. We know where he is, and you’ll never guess who found him.”
The End