Chapter 92 R.I.P. – Koen
R.I.P.
KOEN
THREE DAYS LATER
It’s raining.
The grey sky and heavy mist captures the very essence of the grief weighing heavily on us all.
The rain falls in a steady but relentless drizzle. It soaks my hair, darkens my suit, and I see it pool into beaded droplets atop the mahogany woodgrain of the casket before they grow too large and roll off.
In my hand, I roll the stem of the rose I stole from one of the bouquets back at the church. A rogue thorn pricks my thumb, the pain welcome within the deep sea of numbness I’m currently drowning in.
Father Lucent steps up to the head of the casket and, with a single nod from me, he begins.
Everyone’s silent as he starts with the prayers.
I’m aware of Alex and Aidan at my side, Rory next to him.
Liam’s watching with a somber expression on the other side of the casket—holding Remi, next to Mac and Lily.
Garrett and Jerrad, Conor and Jimmy, the circle of people thick around us, everyone showing up to pay their respects.
Sniffles and tears start to fall at the delivery of the Lord’s Prayer, but I remain silent, jaw locked, eyes trained on the dark casket, stoic, controlled. I don’t need to speak; I need to feel. I need to say goodbye.
The priest’s words float through the heavy drizzle “… beloved husband, son, brother, cousin and friend…”
I inhale softly when the coffin is gently lowered down, bringing with it a heavy sense of finality.
Jace.
Jace is gone.
A few minutes after the ceremony concludes, I step forward, letting the rose fall as I say goodbye.
I step back, paying my respects to Conor and Jimmy and finally… Cara, Jace’s wife. Her eyes are red-rimmed and swollen from crying, and I pull her in for a hug, letting her know she’ll be taken care of; we’ll look out for her. It’s what Jace would have wanted.
Before turning to leave, I find Liam and Remi, and give my daughter a quick kiss before I turn and walk out of the cemetery.
There will be a gathering after, but I won’t attend.
I’ve already been away for too long.
And there’s somewhere else I need to be.
I stride with purpose through the busy hospital, all the way to the third floor, where I find Nikolai Kostalov, the Bratva Pakhan himself, leaning against the wall in a quiet hallway, right where I left him.
“Any change?” I ask, and he shakes his head slowly.
My jaw tightens, and I nod once before clasping him on the shoulder.
“Thanks, Niko.”
He gives me a silent nod before I leave him behind and step into the room to his left.
Before today, I hadn’t left it.
Not for three days.
Hadn’t left her.
But with the funeral today, Niko offered to watch out for Briar so all of us could attend.
Jace was close to each and every one of us, and asking anyone to stay behind wouldn’t have been fair.
We are still in the midst of untangling the web of deception Seamus had woven within the Devils, so there are few in my circle I truly trust right now.
On the night everything went down, Niko kept his word. He kept Rory and Remi safe, and when he offered again, just for a few hours so I could say goodbye to my cousin—my friend—I reluctantly agreed.
I stand at the end of the bed, watching her sleep.
She got lucky.
That’s what the doctors said anyway. The bullet had just grazed her skull.
While the damage wasn’t devastating, she’d lost a lot of blood.
And she had a concussion, either from the bullet itself, or the wound at the back of her head where she must have hit it.
There’d been some swelling in her brain, and they induced a medical coma hoping to minimize the damage done.
They lifted the coma yesterday morning, but Briar still hasn’t woken up.
The rain picks up outside, the pitter-pattering of the drops hits up against the window, the sky darkening as if in tune with my mood.
A clean white bandage is wrapped around Briar’s head, with cute little unicorn stickers stuck all over it, courtesy of Remi from her visit this morning before we left for the church.
“I can’t bury you too,” I murmur softly, letting out a deep sigh before reclaiming my spot in the chair beside her head, leaning in to trace my fingers down the side of her cheek.
“On the night we first met, you asked me to play a game. Do you remember?” She doesn’t say anything—doesn’t move.
“I picked truth.” My voice is soft as I recall the memory.
“You called me a coward and then you asked me what my biggest regret was.” I move closer, tracing my fingers over hers.
“I told you I didn’t have one, and that was true…
then. But if you asked me today, I’d confess that my biggest regret… was ever letting you go.”
“Truth or dare, Briar Rose?” I say, my voice rough.
She doesn’t answer me, blue eyes closed, her chest rising and falling alongside the routine beeping of the machines.
“It’s okay, I’ll choose.” I move to stroke my fingers gently through her hair.
“Dare,” I whisper softly into her ear.
“I dare you to stay.”