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I took another steadying breath, and finally looked at Dayton again, “As I said, I appreciate everything. It was a lovely service.”

I couldn’t hold his gaze. I was staring at my nails long before I’d finished speaking. His hand settled over mine, and I somehow found the strength to glance up without crying.

“You’re a strong woman. He’s lucky to have you.”

I sniffed, placing an arm protectively around my boy as I nodded and moved along.

Chapter Three

The Vote

C.C.

I hated death.

I couldn’t be a part of it all. I hadn’t attended a funeral since my eldest brother was lost in the war. I’d been sixteen then.

My disposition toward it was odd really. Loss was something I probably should have gotten used to a long time ago. After burying Cliff, I went on to be drafted myself.

Of my squad of ten men, only two came home with me.

When death becomes such a normal part of everyday occurrences that you can recognize its approach and predict its arrival, things change a little inside ya. I thought it meant I was cold or that part of me was dead.

It turned out I was just in a state of numbness.

I learned that I could execute a man without blinking, but the thought of someone I love suffering the pain of loss, was too much to bear. Any effort I made toward trying to comfort someone only resulted in my collapsing along with them.

For years, I’d truly feared I’d not last the length of a funeral, and I never wanted to risk making such an affair about me.

So, I just didn’t go to them.

Not until I saw Oakland and little Crystal huddled on the porch together after the police broke the news. Someone had to be there for him and Mrs. Brenna. They didn’t have any kin around these parts. Hell, they’d just moved all the way from Georgia.

Having made up my mind to see them safely through it, I coaxed myself into a nice shirt and combed my long, dirty-blond hair. I’d even managed to distance my thoughts until most of the service was over.

In the end, I felt like I’d honored my friend, and done right by his people. It was a feeling I needed, especially with the weight I’d been carrying inside these past few days.

It wasn’t so bad. I hadn’t been seeing shit since they discharged me from the hospital yesterday. Surely, that meant I was getting better…

I tucked that little bit of hope that sentiment brought right into my back pocket as I saddled my bike and fired it up.

I sat there a minute, bike rumbling and shaking beneath me. Pat was a good man. He’d had faith in me when few did. He’d invited me to attend church with him and been an ear when I needed it most.

It really was the good ones that were taken early. I shook my head, knowing it was true and let out a heavy breath as I rolled into place with those exiting the cemetery.

The clubhouse was just a few blocks to my left, but there was still thirty minutes until our president, Mark Miller, would call us Steel Disciples to table. I hooked a right and let the wind blow over me as I accelerated down the highway. While the miles passed, so did my thoughts. I’d no desire to be cooped up in any one place for very long, even if that place was one I called home. I loved my club brothers, but I was half stir crazy after my recent stint in Glen Carbon Memorial.

It’d only been three days, but hell, three hours in a unit like that was enough to leave one batshit. It didn’t matter if you had a diagnosis when you entered or not. I groaned thinking about the labels they’d slapped onto my file.

PTSD

EtOH Abuse.

Major Depression.

I didn’t understand why they scribbled schizophrenia on there this last time.

I didn’t care at the time. I’d spent the entire three days in a fog that Patrick drifted in and out of with me. It felt good knowing he was paying me visits, of course, if I’d been in my right mind, I’d have known it was a dream or a spirit.