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“Thank you…”
Rome nodded, then went back to his work. Before we left, the sketch had been framed and sat next to her bed. Security around Mary O’Connell was impressive. They were taking Jonathon back to Florida.
The funeral would take place there in a few weeks. He’d always wanted to be cremated she said. They would do whatever she needed, Liam promised. The service could wait for her to be ready.
“Thank you,” she murmured to me as we prepared to leave.
I hated myself in that moment. I was part of the reason her husband was dead.
“Thank you for loving my boys,” she said, then gave me a hug that should have been awkward. Except it wasn’t. I wrapped her up tight, returning the ferociousness of her embrace.
“I know they aren’t telling me everything,” she whispered in a hushed voice. When I pulled back, she gave me a gentle smile. Her eyes were still so sad a hint of light gleamed within them. “He always kept his secrets, and Jonathon said we had to let him, but this is dangerous. I need them both to be okay. Take care of them for me?”
His mother knew far more than I thought. Even Liam would be happy realizing she knew. “With every breath left in my body,” I promised her. She sniffled once, then gave me another tight hug.
“Take care of yourself too.”
That whole interaction stuck with me as we left. The weirdest part wasn’t going to see his mother in the secure facility, but more the security escorting us.
Mickey’s friends had arrived the previous day, and following a brief introduction, he’d left with two of them. The other two had stayed at the clubhouse with a girl who looked strangely familiar. She didn’t say much, though I caught her watching me the same way I watched her.
When we left this morning, two of them had escorted us. Neither said much. The fact that the tension ratcheted when they said they were escorting us had both Liam and Rome eyeing them.
But when their gazes tracked to me, the twins had relaxed. They were coming with us because of me. As it was, Mickey had asked me to check in with them or him if I planned on leaving—even if I was going with the guys.
Between his comments about sending me away, and the wild tension padding every single movement or syllable from him, I didn’t want to argue. “For now,” I promised him. “While all of this is going on…we’ll work it out. Nevertheless, the guys have to have some say too.”
Kellan hadn’t disapproved of the idea, but he’d wanted to meet these guys first. Something we’d all agreed with, then we met them, and I couldn’t tell you what I thought of them.
For the funeral, the guys were all in suits. Not everyone wore jackets, but they were all in ties. It was probably tacky to admire how handsome they looked. Three of Mickey’s friends were going with us. One—Alphabet, remained at the Clubhouse with Grace.
Mom had woken earlier that morning. While she’d been a little groggy, she seemed clearer than she’d been since they brought her back. Had it been almost a week already? It was beyond surreal.
A week.
So much had happened in that week.
The service took place in a church located not far from the group home Rome said they’d spent so much time in. Like so many other parts of the neighborhood, it had cracked sidewalks, dingy walls, and an air of too much use, but there was a warmth inside them.
The minister, Roland West, introduced himself as a Unitarian and a friend of Steph’s. He and Mickey seemed to know each other well enough. Affection had been present as they’d shaken hands. When he wanted to pull Mickey aside to speak to him, I intended to give them privacy. Although before I could step away, however, Mickey had taken my hand.
“You didn’t want a graveside service,” Roland said as he studied Mickey.
“Steph never liked them,” Mickey explained. The roughness of his voice made me ache for him. There were unshed tears, anger, and something indefinable coloring every single word. “Particularly when the kids were involved. Too hard on them.”
“I remember. What I thought we would do, since you want to keep it simple is begin with a welcome and reading. Then you can speak if you’d like at the beginning. If not, we can open it up to her friends and others in the neighborhood who knew her. Let them have their say.”
Mickey’s hand tightened.
“We can take as long or short as you’d like. We’ll pass the candle to each person as they speak. Keep it informal but also open. When the last person has spoken, you can have your chance again if you’d like. If not—I’ll finish up, and we’ll go from there. Sound good?”
Pulling at his tie, Mickey nodded. He never seemed to be a man given to fidgeting. Then again, I could hardly blame him for the present restlessness. “I appreciate it, Roland.”
“After the service, would you like company to go with you to the cremation facility?”
“Appreciate it, but…” Mickey glanced down at me. “That one’s a little more private. If you can handle the food and drinks after…”
“Darla’s already gotten everything ready. The neighborhood came prepared, too—everyone loved your sister.”
