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Once Charm was safely out of the way Orla opened the door to the room which we’d just been laughing in together.
Artie held his hand out to me. “Are you ready?”
I shook my head. “No, not even a little bit.”
“That’s okay,” he whispered as we stepped through the door. “I won’t let go of your hand this time.”
Finneas Callaghan died the next morning just as a fresh autumn rain fell outside, drenching the world completely and shrouding it in a gray pallor.
Even though Ireland was a typically rainy place, to me it felt like the world was weeping as he took his last breath.
Father Murphy, who was indeed a very young priest, read out Finneas’s last rites as the monitor flatlined and I stared at his almost serene face.
He never did wake up after he met the guys, the doctors explained that his body was shutting down and there was nothing more they could do other than to make him comfortable.
In the end, it was Enzo who was by my side when Finneas finally did go, and despite everything that had happened between us, I turned my face into his chest and let him comfort me.
For once, I couldn’t find it in me to cry as we watched the nurses do their job and begin to dress his body for its trip to the funeral home.
Finneas had been very clear about his memorial wishes, so there wasn’t much for me to do other than watch as the bed was wheeled from the room and Enzo and I were alone.
“I didn’t realize how quickly things happen,” Enzo said, his voice a bit far away as he held me to him.
“Me either,” I whispered. “With my mam, I wasn’t even awake when they fished the car out of the river. The dads handled everything.”
“I wasn’t even in the same country when my mom died,” he admitted, stroking my back as I let out a shuddering breath. “I was still on the plane and when I landed I saw the text from my dad that she was gone.”
We sat in silence for a long time and at some point Orla must have called the rest of my pack because they filed into the room, their expressions sad as they enveloped the both of us into one large hug.
“We’re going to be okay, right?” I asked as I inhaled the mixture of our scents.
Whether Enzo was answering me about Finneas or just in general, I wasn’t sure, but he nodded. “Yeah, I think we’re going to be just fine.”
Chapter forty-two
The funeral was a quiet affair a few days later. It was sparsely attended by some of the nurses and a few of his former colleagues from when he worked at the Garda, so the church was almost empty as Father Murphy gave services. I didn’t mind it as I sat back and listened, my eyes not leaving the shiny black coffin that sat up on the dais.
“Are you all right, mo ròs?” Leith leaned over to ask, his fingers entangled with mine on my lap. “You didn’t eat this morning.”
I nodded, resting my head on his shoulder with a sigh as Father Murphy recited the prayer that signaled that it was nearly time for the processional to the graveyard.
My pack had offered to carry his coffin, but Finneas’s old colleagues shot that down and we watched as, together, they stepped up the dais and each took a side.
It was still raining when we left the church and my pack surrounded me like a wall to keep me from getting wet, Artie tucking his arm into my elbow with one hand as he held an umbrella in the other. Charm trotted just in front of us just like she was supposed to, though none of us would let Artie fall. Not again.
Glasnevin cemetery was a short walk from the church and was the same place that Mam was buried.
I hadn’t known it at the time, but while the dads had been able to bring their wives back for burial, Finneas was still technically married to Mam and chose to have her buried in the plot that they’d purchased when they were still happy.
It should have made me angry at him that he still got to pick where she was laid to rest forever, but as soon as we stepped into the cemetery I knew she would have loved it.
I’d never visited her grave before, and now as they set up everything for Finneas’s burial, I crouched in front of it, running my fingers along the groove of her name.
“Mona Callaghan,” Wiz read out loud. “We are such stuff as dreams are made on and our little life is rounded with a sleep.”
“That’s from the Tempest, right?” Enzo asked as he hovered just behind me, ready to help me to my feet at any given moment.
I nodded. “She rewrote it for me and told it to me as a bedtime story when I was little. She loved Shakespeare.”
