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Priest is quiet for the longest time. When he finally looks up, his eyes are soft and a bit shiny, though that might just be a trick of the light.
“I wish we could have known you more,” he says. “I wish we could have welcomed you here and kept you safe. But I promise that we will keep your sister safe in your place. We’ll give her a home, and we’ll take care of her. We’ll have her back through whatever comes her way, and she’ll never have to be alone again. You gave your life to keep her safe, and we will honor that. Forever.”
My heart aches, and Gage looks at me, a soft smile on his face.
“Did you want to say something?” he asks, and he doesn’t say it, but I know none of them would think less of me if I couldn’t manage to get any words out of my mouth.
But this could be the only chance I have to say what I want to say. Here in our living room, in this little memorial these men set up just for me.
So I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, swallowing past the emotion so I can find my voice. Just like I did when Knox asked before, I dig into the memories I have and think of the best moments I had with my sister.
“I remember being ten, when the ice cream truck came through our neighborhood. We didn’t have any money for it, and dad wasn’t home to ask. I think I’d had a bad day at school or something, because I was in a shit mood. You told me to wait in the driveway so the truck would stop, and then you ran down the street. The driver stopped, but I didn’t know what to say to him because I didn’t have any money. Then you came running back with three dollars in your hand, and we sat on the curb and ate ice cream before dinner like little rebels.”
“Where did she get the money?” Ash asks softly.
I laugh at the memory. “From this kid down the block. She told him she’d do his homework that night if he gave her three bucks. And she did it.”
The guys laugh at that, warm and appreciative.
“She was just... like that. Always willing to help, to do what she could to make things better for us. One time there was this massive storm, and the power went out in the middle of the night. Dad was asleep, and Hannah slipped out of bed and got all the flashlights and candles in the house and set them up in our room. We made a blanket fort and told stories to drown out the sound of the thunder and lightning. We were both afraid of storms, but she was willing to ignore that to make sure we weren’t in the dark.”
I wipe my eyes and drag in a deep breath. There was definitely a time when I would have been horrified to think of these guys, or anyone else for that matter, seeing me cry like this. But I know that my emotions are safe with them, and I know they’ve felt loss and hurt the way I have, so it’s not like it’s something completely new to them.
I look at Knox and smile a little. “And you’re right. She was so brave.”
I recount the story about Hannah climbing trees and helping me get to the top of the tree in the park for the others, and they’re all smiling by the time I’m done.
“She was quieter than I am sometimes, and people always thought that meant she was the meek one. But she wasn’t. She was brave and strong. She stood up for the kids in school who got picked on for being weird or poor or whatever. She didn’t take shit from anybody. That’s why it was so weird to see her so cowed when it came to Julian. He talked to her like she was a stupid kid, and she let him do it. But it was all a part of a long game. For her son. It was always like that with her.”
“She sounds amazing,” Gage murmurs. “I can see why you love her so much. And why she loved you so much in return.”
That starts the tears flowing again, and I just nod because it’s true.
“For a while, we were all we had in the world,” I tell them. “Our dad was a piece of shit, and we couldn’t count on him for anything. So we had to count on each other. That was always enough. She was always enough.”
I tell more stories about Hannah. About her learning how to cook something I wanted to try because we saw it on TV. About her walking to the library because she loved to read. About her adopting the stray cats of our neighborhood and leaving out little tins of canned chicken and fish for them and building boxes stuffed with blankets for them to curl up in during the winter.
I talk until my throat goes dry and I feel like I can’t cry anymore. I feel wrung out, but not in a bad way. And the guys listen. They take it all in and sometimes ask questions, but for the most part, they just let me get it all out.
When I feel like I don’t have anything else to say, I bow my head and drag in a shuddering breath. It feels like saying goodbye, but I guess that’s what funerals and memorials are about. Letting the person go to their rest and all.
“I’ll look out for Cody,” I murmur. “I’ll get him away from Julian, and I’ll keep him safe. I’ll teach him that there are people in the world who would move mountains to make sure he’s safe and happy. Just like you did.” I thought I was out of tears to cry, but more well in my eyes, dripping down my cheeks.
My lips tremble, but I force the words to keep coming. “I love you. So much. Always have, and I always will. Kill for you. Live for you. Die for you.”
In unison, the guys echo it back like a prayer. A benediction.
It feels like a release, and something in my chest loosens a little, the poisonous, numbing pain easing a bit.
