Chapter Twenty-Two
Eli
It’s been three days, and I’m finally going home.
No permanent damage was done to me, the doctors said. No nerve damage. No airway compromise. No infection. Just blood loss. Enough that I spent the last few days getting topped off like some kind of human Capri Sun until they were confident I wouldn’t keel over the second I stood up.
The cut on my forehead was superficial. A bandage. Some ointment. That was it.
They even managed to get the duct tape off my face without doing too much damage.
The damage mostly being my hair. They had to cut it off.
I don’t mind, though. I was in need of a haircut, anyway. Just hadn’t had the time or money to get one these past few months.
My throat, however…That’s where the stitches sit. Several of them.
They told me the cut wasn’t deep enough to kill me.
But it could have…slowly and quietly…If my blood hadn’t clotted the way it did.
I reach up and touch the bandage at my neck, my breath catching. Even now…days later…I still feel Knuckles' hand at my throat.
He saved my life even in his death.
“Ready, baby?”
Skip’s voice is soft. Almost like he’s afraid anything louder will shatter me.
I open my eyes and look at him.
Am I ready?
To leave the hospital and walk straight into a funeral home and say goodbye to the man who used every last breath to protect me?
No.
But…I nod.
Because Skip needs me to try. Because Knuckles deserves that much.
Skip steps closer and holds out his hand. I take it. My fingers are trembling, but he doesn’t mention it. He just squeezes gently and leans down to kiss my temple.
“Let’s go, pretty boy,” he whispers. “We’ll get through this day together.”
We walk out of the hospital room side by side, our steps slow, heavy, and quiet.
And every one of them takes us closer to saying goodbye.
***Skip***
I hate funerals.
Even more so when it’s one of my brothers lying in that tiny fucking box.
Eli tugs on my hand, drawing me out of my head, and I follow him over to where Spike stands with Riley and Asher. His shoulders are tight, jaw clenched, grief sitting behind his eyes like a loaded gun.
“When we get back to the compound,” Spike says as we approach, “we’re having a party. Knuckles would shoot every one of us if this is how we said goodbye to him.”
“Beer over tears,” I grin, even though my throat feels like broken glass.
“Exactly,” Spike grunts. Then his gaze softens as he turns to Eli. “How you feeling?”
Eli shakes his head, looking small and so damn sad.
“Guilty,” he whispers.
My stomach drops.
I want to pull him into my arms. Tell him he has nothing to feel guilty about. Tell him I’m the one who brought him into all this shit. I’m the reason he nearly died. If guilt belongs anywhere, it’s on my shoulders.
But instead, I squeeze his hand while Spike takes a breath.
“What exactly are you feeling guilty about?” Spike finally asks.
“That I’m sad about Knuckles,” Eli says, voice cracking. “When we first met, I hated him. He was so mean to me. But over the past month, we… I don’t know… I got to know him. I saw why he was angry. I’d be angry too if I had a time limit on my life.”
Riley steps closer. “Eli… why guilty?”
“Because he was your friend. Your family. And I don’t feel like I knew him enough to be this sad.
It’s not fair to all of you that I got his last words.
His last laugh. His last breath.” Eli swipes at his face, brushing away the fresh tears.
“I’m nobody. He deserved to die surrounded by all of you… not trapped with me.”
Before Spike can speak, Patch steps forward, voice unusually gentle.
“Let me ask you something.”
And when Eli looks up, he realizes we’re surrounded by our family.
Bones, Sunny, Abby, Max, Tank, Crusher, Foster, Patch, Maverick, Luca…even some of Maverick’s men. A damn fortress made of family.
“Before he died,” Patch asks quietly, “did he say anything?”
We found out yesterday that cancer didn’t take our brother…not directly. The bullet finished what his body was already losing the battle against.
It’s fucked up, but knowing Knuckles, he’d prefer it that way.
“He told me…” Eli takes a shuddering breath. “…he’d much rather die protecting his family than from cancer.”
Patch barks a laugh. “Yeah. That sounds like him.”
“Before Cortéz took us,” Eli continues, “he pulled me outside the shop because he thought he was dying right then. He was so pale. So weak.” Eli’s voice cracks again.
“But when we got taken? He hid all of that. He fought so hard to save me, even though he could barely breathe. He was shaking so badly, but he kept smiling at me. Reassuring me. Kept putting himself between them and me.”
Sunny wipes her face and cuddles against Bones.
“I don’t know how he even stood up,” Eli whispers. “But he did. He killed all three of those men. And he died in my lap. And that’s what I feel guilty about. Those moments… they weren’t mine to have. They belonged to his family.”
“You are his family, baby,” I tell him, cupping his cheek. “You feel this way because the two of you went through hell together. Trauma like that bonds people…stronger than blood. You have no reason to feel guilty, pretty boy.”
Maverick steps forward, voice soft but commanding.
“If anything, think of it this way… Knuckles was furious that cancer was going to be the thing that took him out. He didn’t want to die weak. He didn’t want to die in a bed.” Maverick touches Eli’s shoulder. “You gave him a warrior’s death. A heroic one. A death worthy of Knuckles.”
Eli’s breath hitches.
“He fought for someone,” Maverick continues. “For you. His family. Don’t you dare carry guilt for that. You honor him by living your life with pride…for our brother.”
Eli breaks, folding into me, and I wrap him up tight.
Because he needs it.
Because we all do.
“Thank you,” he whispers against my chest.
A whisper so soft, but heard by all.