26. Chapter 26
Chapter 26
Maci
T he funeral home parking lot hosts two cars and a truck squished together near the front. However, the entire left side of the lot is overrun with motorcycles.
My voice comes out in a whisper. “They came.”
“You didn’t think they would?” Sutton’s curiosity is genuine.
I shrug. “I think I pictured a handful of them coming, at most. Not a large portion.”
Sutton’s lips purse, and he surveys the sea of motorcycles.
This is a different location than Nana’s funeral, and I’m thankful for that. After everything, I’m not sure I could step foot inside there right now. Not without completely breaking down.
Unlike Nana’s funeral, today I do wear black. This isn’t a celebration of life. It’s a truly somber time, and my heart is broken at what’s been lost and why. Not just for my part in it, but for how this all came to be.
Pete stands closest to the front doors. He nods in greeting as we approach. The club members aren’t dressed any differently than usual. Jeans and t-shirts, leather cuts. I spot James approaching from the throng. He looks impeccable as always, his black jeans and crisp, white button-up paired with stylish black riding boots.
I smile at him, full of gratitude. Something like affection is there, too. He keeps showing up when I need him, and brick by brick it feels like we’re building something.
Sutton and James shake hands, exchanging a cordial greeting. I watch them openly. There’s a tension that lingers. Not animosity so much as limited trust.
“Thank you for coming. I didn’t expect you to bring everyone.” I lean into James’ open arms for a short hug, and he kisses my cheek.
“It was their choice.” He brushes off the comment.
“I’m going to find Melissa.” I gesture to the door with my chin, and James waves me to enter while he stays behind.
The small room is sparsely decorated in dark jewel tones. A standard soundtrack of somber music filters softly through two mounted speakers. In the front row, Melissa sits with her head bowed, and her body shakes with silent sobs.
In this moment, I’m glad we ran into each other at the police department. Our acquaintance is an odd one, considering the circumstances, but no one should have to mourn their son alone. So without hesitation, I walk right up to the front row and sit in the open seat next to her.
Her shoulders continue to quake as I wrap my arms around her. “I’m so, so sorry,” I whisper into her hair. This time, my apology isn’t for my actions. It’s simply a heartfelt reaction to her loss.
Sutton’s hand rests on my shoulder, while he remains standing.
I continue to hold her until she dabs at her eyes with a mangled tissue and turns to look at me. Her eyes are swollen and red-rimmed. My arms fall to my lap and I shift back in the seat, creating more space between us.
Melissa lifts her gaze and takes in the room, suddenly filled with people. Her eyes widen and shoot back to me. “Did you do this?”
I can’t decipher her tone. “I hope it’s ok. My dad is the President of the Falcons, the motorcycle club Colt was a part of. I shared some of his struggles so they would understand that his actions didn’t all come from a bad place.”
Her lower lip trembles and tears pour over her lashes again. “Thank you.”
Heavy tears roll down my own cheeks. “I wish I could do more.”
“Will you sit with me?” Her voice is soft, timid. Nothing like the woman I’ve seen previously who, though grieving, had a certain conviction.
“Sure. If that’s ok.”
She pats my leg where I sit, and Sutton sits in the seat next to me. His arm drapes behind me, but not in the casual way he usually does. His body is stiff.
Many of the club members take seats throughout the room. I don’t miss Hawk standing near the front door with my dad.
My dad. What an odd thought. I said it to Ginger before, but it’s starting to feel more casual, natural, to think and say.
The room falls eerily quiet and tension builds. James gives Hawk a pat on the arm as he passes and saunters down the aisle our way. Alone, he maneuvers into the second row, sitting in the chair directly behind mine.
Melissa looks over her shoulder at him, and he nods in greeting.
Her attention draws past him, and I turn to see what’s caught her eye.
Alan’s glare is already on me as he enters from the double doors. He misses Hawk’s gaze narrowing behind him.
My heart pounds in my chest. What information has been shared with him? Not that it matters. He’s never needed a reason to hate me.
Like at Nana’s funeral, Alan wears a black suit. I inspect him more critically than usual and note the perfect fit of the jacket and the sleek appearance of the pants. It’s a beautiful set.
Contrarily, Colt’s mom wears a thin, black dress with a shawl over the top. The ends are tattered and the state of the dress hints at being worn many times. I find myself looking for her reaction. After watching him in a mixture of sadness and disgust, she shakes her head and turns forward again, dabbing at her eyes.
Colt’s words from Nana’s house resurface. His rage over the financial disparity between how Alan lived with Stephanie and me compared to the trailer park that Colt and his mother lived in.
Instead of walking down the middle aisle as we did, Alan skirts along the side of the room farthest from us. If looks could kill, he’d make sure I was six feet under. He’s always been less than tolerant of me, but this is a new level of hostility.
He doesn’t acknowledge Melissa.
Sutton’s arm around my shoulders tightens. Anger sizzles beneath his composed demeanor.
Alan seats himself in the center of the front row on the opposite side of the aisle. The closest club member is about three rows back from him.
An older man in a suit comes in, eliciting everyone’s attention. The tension doesn’t dissipate as he approaches the podium. He goes through a short service that concludes in a matter of minutes. No one else speaks, and there’s hardly a mention of what Colt did with his life. There’s just a small photo on the table where his simple gray urn sits.
There’s no invitation to a lunch, which isn’t surprising, considering this isn’t a group that’s going to spend any time together.
Colt’s mother stays in her seat as Sutton and I rise. Pete nods from two rows back as he exits before us, but James makes his way around to Melissa. He begins to speak, but a different voice breaks the quiet first.
“I can’t believe you had the gall to show your face here.” Alan stands on the other side of the aisle, his eyes shooting death rays at me. His behavior is different than I’ve experienced. I’m used to his furious faces, as if his top could actually blow. Today, he seems smug, like he knows something I don’t, despite his anger.
James turns and eliminates the space between Alan and him in three long strides. “You don’t know me, but that’s my daughter, and if you so much as breathe wrong in her direction, you’re going to join your son as a pile of ashes.” His accent is the thickest I’ve heard, leading me to believe he tempers it.
Alan’s head snaps back and his weight shifts, though to his credit his feet remain planted.
James’ voice quiets, but I don’t think for one second it’s to hide it from anyone. The fury rolling off of him is palpable, and for once, he’s actually a little scary. “You’re lucky I don’t take care of you now. I know you put your hands on my daughter.”
I’m rooted in place, silently wondering if Alan’s teeth may actually break into pieces like in the cartoons considering how tightly he’s gritting them.
Somehow, he has the balls to say, “Maybe someone should’ve put their hands on her sooner. She’s a spoiled brat.”
In the time it takes Sutton to jolt, and me to grip his arm to stop him moving, James wraps one hand around Alan’s neck and sends him stumbling backward toward the far wall, until they’re both pressed tightly to it. His grip doesn’t loosen as he squeezes the life from Alan.
It seems no one followed the officiant out, because the Falcons are still scattered around the room, none moving to or away from the situation. Melissa is frozen next to me. She hasn’t made a sound the entire time.
James’ voice is lethally quiet. I almost miss what comes out between the volume and distance between us. “You’re a vile piece of shite. You pick on people to counterbalance your tiny dick. But you will not disrespect my daughter again, or it will be the last thing you do.”
Alan’s face is turning a deep crimson, and he flounders like a fish in James’ grasp, his own hands trying futilely to open my father’s hand. The maneuver accentuates the difference in their builds, despite the relatively similar height.
James is unbothered. He continues to hold fast on Alan’s neck. After a few long seconds, he asks, “D’you understand?”
Alan’s flailing must somehow be affirmation, because James seems to accept whatever it is and releases him. Alan almost falls to the ground but ultimately manages to stay on his feet, using the wall as support.
James turns casually and walks back over to Melissa. He gestures for her to exit before him and she does without question. With a final glance at Alan, whose color is slowly returning to normal as he coughs fitfully, Sutton and I follow after James and Melissa into the parking lot.
The other club members follow suit, then mill around their bikes as the four of us stand together before the left side of the building. The only person to exit after Alan is McCoy. He waits for Alan to get in his car before joining the rest of the group.
James takes the opportunity to speak to Melissa. “I couldn’t help but notice that Colt’s military time wasn’t mentioned today.”
Melissa’s brows come together and her lips purse in confusion. “Colt wasn’t in the military.”
“Is that so?” James exchanges a look with Hawk nearby. “It’s not a requirement of the club, but many have history in the military. Colt used to talk about it frequently.”
Melissa’s face softens. “He always wanted to be in the army. A sniper. I don’t know for certain, but I think he attempted to enlist and didn’t pass the evaluation.”
Understanding dawns on James’ face. “I see.” He touches Melissa’s shoulder lightly. “You reach out if we can help you in any way.”
The corner of her mouth tugs into a smile. “Thank you. And thank you all for coming.” Her eyes well with tears. “I know Colt burned a lot of bridges, but he struggled with his demons.”
James continues to look at her softly, though he doesn’t say anything else.
She turns to me. “Thank you for coming, Maci. I’m sure this couldn’t have been easy for you. I hope the trouble with Alan blows over. Is your mother ok?”
My heart rate picks up. “Yes?”
She lets out an odd sort of chuckle. “She didn’t come today, that’s why I asked. I don’t think it’s within Alan’s wheelhouse to think about my feelings, so I doubt he asked her not to come for my sake.”
I shake my head. “No. Um, they’re separated.”
Her eyes take on a worried look. “Hopefully she’s smarter than me. Maybe she caught on to his secret life sooner than I did.”
Sutton’s fingers grip my back tighter as I cock my head in question. “I’m sorry, what do you mean, secret life?”
She angles her head toward one shoulder. “He was always on work trips. Never would give me much in the way of details. Always spending money in large amounts.”
I think back to the start of Stephanie’s marriage to Alan. “You mean gambling?”
“Oh, no, he wasn’t into gambling. He had a family in another state,” she says adamantly.
My mouth drops open for entirely too long. “He had…wait, you know this with certainty?”
“Oh, sure. I talked to the wife once. When I confronted him about it, he filed for divorce. Said I was delusional.” She shrugs. “He was an awful husband. Nothing I did ever made him happy, so I couldn’t be bothered to care if he claimed I was delusional. We both knew he was lying.”
How the fuck did we miss this?
“Anyway, good luck with everything, Maci.” Melissa smiles softly and then walks away.
Sutton rubs his hand up and down my shoulder, trying to comfort me. “You ready?”
He may think I’m close to crumbling with the twists and turns of the day.
James looks between us.
“Yes,” I say, distracted.
Sutton tips his chin down at James and leads me to the truck with his arm still tucked around me.