Chapter 15
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— Holden —
T he cemetery was quiet at dawn.
I’d been putting this off for weeks. Since the funeral, since I’d stood at the back and watched them lower Danny’s casket into the ground while his mother wept and my brothers held their fists over their hearts.
I hadn’t been back since. Couldn’t face it. Couldn’t face him.
Danny’s grave was marked with a simple headstone. Black granite, white letters. Daniel “Danny” Curtis. Beloved Son. Brother in Arms. The dates underneath made my stomach turn. Nineteen years old. He’d barely lived.
I crouched down in front of the stone, my knees pressing into the damp grass. “Hey, kid.”
My voice sounded wrong out here. The words felt stupid—talking to dirt and stone.
But I kept going anyway. “I fucked up.” I let out a breath that was almost a laugh.
“You used to give me shit about being too uptight. Remember that?” I pressed my palm against the cold granite.
“Well, I loosened up. And I destroyed everything.”
A bird sang somewhere in the trees. Otherwise, silence.
“You saved my life,” I continued. “Stepped in front of a bullet meant for me. Died in my arms asking if you’d proved yourself.
And you know what I did with that life you saved?
” My voice cracked. “I drank myself into oblivion and cheated on Bea. While she was with your mother because I asked her to go.”
The words hung in the air, ugly and true.
“I went to her apartment and told her, Danny. Showed up at her door in my riding gear and said the words. Some club girl I don’t even remember—and I told her that too, that I don’t remember, like that was supposed to make it better.
” I stopped. Swallowed. “And then I left. Didn’t give her a chance to say anything.
Just made the decision for both of us and walked out, because that’s what I do, right? I plan the exit.”
I sat down fully on the grass, not caring that it was wet, that my jeans were getting soaked.
“I haven’t called her. Haven’t tried. I keep telling myself she doesn’t want to hear from me, but the truth is I’m too much of a coward to find out.” I shook my head. “You were always better with people than me. Didn’t overthink everything the way I do.”
The stone stared back at me, impassive. Danny’s name carved into rock, permanent and unchangeable.
“I don’t know how to fix this,” I admitted. “I don’t know if it can be fixed. And the worst part is—” My voice broke completely. “The worst part is I don’t even remember it. You died, and I was so fucking destroyed that I let myself disappear into a bottle. I don’t fucking remember.”
Tears slid down my face. “You saved my life,” I repeated.
I don’t know how long I sat there. Long enough for the sun to come up. Long enough for my jeans to soak through completely. I heard footsteps on the gravel path behind me, but I didn’t turn. Didn’t care who saw me like this.
“Holden?”
I looked over my shoulder. Mrs. Curtis was standing a few feet away, a bundle of roses in her arms, her face tight with concern.
“Mrs. Curtis.” I scrambled to my feet, suddenly aware of how I must look—red-eyed, grass-stained, clearly having been crying. “I’m sorry. I’ll get out of your way.”
“No.” She stepped closer. “Stay. Please.”
I froze, uncertain.
She moved past me and knelt at Danny’s grave, placing the roses carefully against the headstone. For a moment, she just looked at her son’s name, her lips moving silently—a prayer, maybe, or just words she needed to say.
Then she stood and turned to face me. “How long have you been here?”
“I don’t know. An hour, maybe.”
“First time since the funeral?”
I nodded.
“Me too.” She gave a small, sad smile. “First time I’ve been able to come alone,” she corrected. “My sister’s been bringing me, but today—today I needed to talk to him by myself.”
“I should go. Give you privacy.”
“Holden.” Her voice was firm. “When was the last time you ate?”
The question caught me off guard. “I… I don’t know.”
She studied my face for a long moment, seeing things I probably didn’t want her to see. Then she reached out and took my arm. “Come. I’ll make you lunch.”
“Mrs. Curtis, you don’t have to—”
“Danny talked about you all the time. ‘Holden this, Holden that.’ You were his hero.” Her eyes glistened. “You’re family. And family doesn’t let family starve.”
I didn’t have the strength to argue. Didn’t have the strength for much of anything.
I let her lead me to her car. Let her drive me to her small house a few miles from the cemetery.
Let her sit me at her kitchen table and put coffee in front of me while she cooked bacon and eggs like it was the most normal thing in the world.
The kitchen was full of Danny. Photos on the fridge. A drawing he’d made as a kid, still pinned to a corkboard. A Venom Riders MC sticker on the cabinet.
“He loved that club,” Mrs. Curtis said, following my gaze. “Loved being part of something bigger than himself. Loved the brotherhood.”
“He was a good prospect. Would’ve been a good brother.”
“He was a good boy.” She set a plate in front of me. “Eat.”
I picked up the fork, more out of obedience than hunger. The bacon was crisp, the eggs done right. The kind of meal a mother makes without thinking about it.
“He’d want you to keep living,” she said quietly.
I looked up at her.
“Danny. He’d want you to keep living. Not just surviving—living. He didn’t step in front of that bullet so you could destroy yourself with guilt.”
“I know.” My voice was rough. “But I don’t know how to do that. Not after what I’ve done.”
“What have you done?” The question was gentle, not accusatory. Like she genuinely wanted to know.
So I told her about the drinking. The blackout. The woman I didn’t remember. Then I stopped, because the next part was harder.
“There’s this woman—” I started, and stopped.
Of course she knew Bea. I’d been the one to send Bea to her.
My head wasn’t tracking right — too much whiskey, not enough sleep.
I rubbed my face. “Sorry. You know Bea. I’m not — I’m not all the way here this morning.
” I dragged in a breath. “She’s my whole world, Mrs. Curtis.
I thought we’d be together for the rest of our lives.
I really believed that.” My voice cracked.
“And then Danny died and I fucked everything up. Sorry — language.”
“Holden, my son was in your MC. I’ve heard worse before breakfast.”
I almost smiled. Almost. “I don’t know how much Bea told you. When she was coming to see you after — I don’t know what she said.”
Mrs. Curtis shook her head. “That girl didn’t say a word about herself.
Every visit was about me and Danny. How I was sleeping, whether I was eating, did I need anything.
” She paused. “But I could tell something was wrong. She had that look — like she was holding herself together for everyone else and falling apart when no one was watching.” She met my eyes. “Such a lovely woman, your Bea.”
“Yeah.” The word came out rough. “She is.”
“So what happened?”
I told her the rest. Mrs. Curtis listened without interrupting. When I finished, she was quiet for a long moment. “That’s a lot of pain,” she finally said. “Yours and hers both.”
“I don’t know how to fix it.”
“Maybe you can’t.” She reached across the table and covered my hand with hers. “Maybe some things are too broken to fix. But that doesn’t mean you stop trying to be better.” She looked at Danny’s photo on the fridge for a moment. “He believed you were worth saving.”
I stared at her. She’d lost her son because of me. She had every right to blame me. To hate me. “Why are you being kind to me?”
“Because Danny would want me to.” She squeezed my hand. “And because I know what guilt looks like. You’re carrying enough for ten men. You don’t need me adding to it.”
I didn’t deserve her kindness. Didn’t deserve any of this.
“Thank you,” I managed.
“Come back,” she said. “To the grave, to this house, wherever. Don’t carry this alone. Danny wouldn’t want that.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
I stayed for another hour, listening to stories about Danny as a kid. His first bike. His obsession with action movies. The way he’d cried when their dog died but tried to hide it because he thought crying wasn’t manly.