Chapter Fourteen #2
Daire had come to this world alone. Doc eased his loneliness, helped him make his way in a strange land—let him feel needed. For a time.
He couldn’t be selfish. The last few months put Doc through what humans called hell. Daire wouldn’t wish such a painful end on anybody. Most deaths he’d witnessed came from claws, teeth, and flame, but quickly.
Doc had been more than a friend: an advisor, therapist, mentor…. He’d sworn Daire would fly again. No matter when or how, Daire had to, for Doc.
Doc once explained the concept of a wake, a kind of party to remember the dead, but he’d wanted his passing to be a private matter: no funeral, no wake, no mourners. Only Daire.
Back home at High Reaches, the body would be on display for a day, then burned after sundown, if the departed died in human form.
Those who died in dragon form usually met their end while fighting, and their bodies lay scattered among many.
Either way, the court held a life celebration, with good food, lots of dancing, and an empty chair in the midst of the festivities for the guest of honor.
Father’s memorial would have lasted for days, ending with Daire and his brothers visiting the sacred mountain to pray to the Goddess for their father’s happiness in the afterlife, and for his reunion with Mother.
Had Father received any honors at all? Surely Uncle Urien wouldn’t have deprived him of a proper sendoff. Oh, wait. Urien. Yes, he would. Another crime for him to pay for.
Nothing like a dragon ceremony for Doc. Had Nate received such an honor? Had he wanted to? What about the real Griffin? Had anyone acknowledged him but Doc and Daire? Maybe Sakaris made arrangements in Adrakus.
Daire lifted his face to the sky, emitting a mourning cry. In dragon form, the sound would’ve echoed for miles, to be joined by every other nearby dragon, whether or not they knew the deceased. Losing a member cost the entire community.
He sat on the riverbank, watching the current flow past, so much like life.
The evening seemed so peaceful, at odds with his breaking heart.
Birds chirped in the nearby trees, bullfrogs called out, and the water splashed over rocks.
Daire closed his eyes, imagining mountains, the castle, and his family waiting for him.
Reality came crashing down the moment he reopened his eyes. Sitting here accomplished nothing. He trudged back to the cabin and placed the empty urn on the mantelpiece next to Nate’s.
He pulled out Nate’s old guitar. At first, he simply strummed, the notes giving the ache in his heart an outlet. Random chords eventually gave way to a melody Doc often asked for, an old country song about missing someone.
Before, the chords, notes, and words were merely a song on the radio, one Daire tried to replicate on his own. He couldn’t reach the notes the singer could, so he improvised something suitable to his voice.
Doc meant those words for Nate. Daire meant them for Doc and so many others who’d left a hole in his life he couldn’t quite fill.
He’d never learned all the words, so he contented himself with the first verse and the chorus on repeat.
The ache in his chest worsened until tears streamed down his cheeks and his voice choked with tears.
He simply hugged the guitar to his chest, mourning the loss, mourning for himself. What kind of life would he have? He’d waited for three years. Why? Would things ever get better? Would he ever return home?
He looked around at the mementos of another man’s life, though he’d gradually changed things in subtle ways, incorporating his own likes into the mix.
Now he’d need to sort out the things Doc left behind. Goddess, how would he ever get through such an ordeal?
Next week. Next week, he’d deal with Doc’s affairs. Tonight, he didn’t want to be alone.
Wearing the same blue button-down and khaki pants he’d worn for this solemn occasion, he climbed into his truck.
The drive to Joe’s went by too quickly. He almost turned around.
No, not happening. Nothing but ghosts awaited him at home, ghosts and the fading hope of Sakaris returning for him, a hope growing fainter with every passing day.
Better to drink away his sorrows—or try to—with other lonely people doing the same. Was there any chance the biker would show again?
Probably not, but he’d never know if he didn’t try.
This time, sex wasn’t foremost in Daire’s mind.
He needed comfort, arms to hold him tight while he cried—cried for his father, cried for his brothers, cried for Nate, who’d become so real to him over the years, and mostly, for Doc, a true friend in this place.
Daire must’ve been quite a sight, all cried out, hair disheveled from running his hand through the messy, collar-length strands.
He’d unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt for comfort.
To hell if someone didn’t like seeing the scars creeping down from his shoulders to mar the skin of his upper chest.
Sheila didn’t say a thing, merely wrapped him in a hug and held on. Daire fought for a moment, then returned the embrace. He wasn’t so alone after all. Maybe he should accept offers of comfort from others as he had from Doc.
Sheila pulled away, wiping at her cheek with one hand. “Are you okay, Griff? You don’t look okay.”
Daire simply nodded, not trusting his fragile hold on his emotions. Only after regaining control did he say, “I’m sure going to miss him so much.” He choked back a sob.
“A lot of us will. Maybe I can come in and have a drink with you later.”
Daire nodded. “I’d like that.”
“And if you need any help taking care of Doc’s things, please call me. I had to handle the aftermath for my grandma, and it’s…rough. Me and Jack Daniels finally got through eighty years of Gran’s keepsakes. You shouldn’t go through shit like that alone.”
Daire gave Sheila another quick hug before entering the bar.
Maybe he should have stayed home, but his muddled thoughts wouldn’t have been much company.
Kinda sparse crowd tonight. Not a single Stewart in sight.
Daire slid onto a barstool, keeping three between him and the next customer, though one look would tell anyone to fuck off.
He looked as bad walking into this place as most people did crawling out.
Keith came over, his usual beaming smile missing and a beer in his hand. He said nothing, simply set the beer down and reached over the bar to squeeze Daire’s shoulder.
Daire gratefully swallowed some of the cold brew.
As long as he kept his mouth busy with the bottle, no one would expect him to speak.
How could he properly convey how he’d gained a whole new respect for humans because of Doc?
How Doc kept him from giving up, pushed him to keep striving.
Nate had been one lucky dragon. No wonder he’d sacrificed so much to stay here.
Someone called from down the bar. Keith glanced their way, then apologetically back at Daire.
“Sorry, Griff, I gotta go. You’ll call me if you need me, right?
” Those deep green eyes held an earnestness Daire had never seen before.
For a moment, guilt descended for not being honest with Keith about… well, pretty much anything.
“I will.”
Keith dashed off, holding his thumb and forefinger to his mouth and ear in a “call me” gesture.
Daire perused the bar. No biker. A few people waved, then promptly turned away.
Likely not because of his ruined face this time.
The whole town knew of his closeness to Doc, the nosy ones gossiping about their relationship.
None of those assholes visited Doc in his last days.
Most of the ones who did were more curious about his estate than his health.
Vultures, the lot of them.
Some hospital workers visited, but they weren’t the types to hang out at Joe’s.
Daire raised his beer in a toast, not giving half a damn if folks thought him crazy. “Here’s to you, Doc,” he said, then downed the rest of his beer.
He watched the crowd for a while, some arriving in twos or more, others coming in single and leaving with someone else, or merely holding them on the dance floor for a while.
Daire would’ve given anything for someone to hold him while shuffling to music, not caring about anything else, even though he'd always been a mediocre dancer at best.
Should he wait for Sheila and her promised shared drink? No, he didn’t belong here with the loud country music and people laughing. Instead, he made his apologies to Keith and went home. He’d sit alone in his cabin to mourn.
Maybe watch a game show in Doc’s honor.