Page 48 of Where We Promise

First of all, ravens are starting to sound more and more like they belong in a club of some kind. They’re bad ass.

Secondly, congratu-fucking-lations…did that make sense? I’m trying to tell you I’m proud of you. You’re incredibly talented, I know because I may have stalked you on social media to see this new business page. The newborn shoot you did was pretty awesome, how do you get the baby balled up like that? It looks so tiny.

As far as my own aspirations…I actually finished my associates already, but I’m hoping to start taking some business courses at night, after working at the club’s garage. Honestly, my hope…I want to own my spot…outside of the club. I don’t want the garage to be associated or funded by club funds. I want to be able to help people if they needed it, be my own boss. I want to buy my own house, and one day have a wife and be a dad.

I want a life full of laughter and smiles.

Don’t know what else to say but that’s what I want. Sure, leading the club would be nice, but I’m really hoping I don’t have to step up for a long while. I’d like my dad to get better, and keep leading for as long as he can. Maybe when I’m thirty I could take over, that way I have time to travel and build my life up…not sure, but if I had to put it all together, that’s how I’d want it to look.

-J

PS- Did you know ravens remember faces? I think I’d like to be one in another life…if that sort of thing is possible, but if I were one, I know I’d remember yours, Penelope.

FOURTEEN

PENELOPE

AGE NINETEEN

The rain fell lightly, beading along the crimson petals.

Roses were arranged every few feet, and even more were draped along the coffin. Every head around me was bowed in grief; sorrow wrapped around the crowd and seemed to squeeze us tight.

My heart thrashed around, sad in a different way. I didn’t know Mathias King as well as people would assume. He was always walking in circles that didn’t revolve anywhere near me. Even as I grew up and was friends with Luke and Jamie, Mathias had never spoken directly to me.

He was nice enough, and after he’d learned about what Tuck had forced my mom and me to do, he’d walked up to us and apologized in person. Then he’d paid for us to go to a local spa to get pampered for the day. I’d never forget how uncomfortable he’d looked standing there in his leather cut, a blue shirt underneath, buttoned and pressed nicely, as if his wife had just ironed it the night before.

His gaze would cut back toward Margie, the stern woman he called his wife. Jameson’s mother. She had light hair, brown eyes and was completely gorgeous. She also was never seen around the club. The day Mathias came to apologize to us on behalf of his vice president, he’d driven over in a Buick, his wife sat shotgun, smirking the entire time. As if she knew her husband was uncomfortable but wouldn’t do a thing to help him.

Now, looking at her as tears stained her face and her son held her hand, I was the one feeling uncomfortable. I wanted to shed my skin, and let my soul wander over to curl inside Jamie’s. Just so he wouldn’t have to bear the burden of grief alone. I knew he was fighting his emotions, likely had to in front of the entire club.

Two hundred people surrounded the black casket raised over a six-foot grave. Leather cuts adorned every single chest, as if it were armor, a family crest of blood and bond.

The men and women of the Richland Chaos Kings were sad, and rightly so. Mathias was a good man, and now the torch of leadership would fall to Jameson.

The officiant was one of the members, reading from a book of poems instead of the Bible. Margie wanted his service to reflect her husband’s life, and while he wasn’t a holy man, he was a thoughtful one. Full of depth and emotion, and someone who cared deeply for his wife and son, and for his club.

“In Chaos we rode, but you made sure we always felt like kings. We say goodbye to you friend, but only for now. Not forever.”

Max, the officiant, shut his small book of poems and lowered his head. Everyone around the casket seemed to as well…all but Jamie.

His head remained lifted, his gaze searing the casket covered in flowers.

Words were exchanged, and people began to move.

My eyes were glued to the new leader of the Chaos Kings, even as Luke looked over, trying to get my attention.

But Jameson’s focus was on his mother and helping her as they made their way to a car. I could tell Jamie wanted to linger near the grave, as if he couldn’t quite come to terms with letting this be his last goodbye to his father.

I felt a pinching in my chest as I followed the crowd back toward the cars. Mom clung to Miles’ arm, but glanced back once, likely to make sure I was okay. She knew my feelings for Jameson had returned tenfold over the past year when he started writing me. She knew that I returned for the funeral, not because of my respect for Mathias, but my devotion to Jamie.

My eyes still tracked him as he walked toward the lead car. His mom clung to him, sobbing into his shoulder. His wheat-colored hair was soaked from the rain, his caramel eyes, rimmed by those thick lashes, were downcast and that firm jaw of his, more defined than I had ever seen it, tensed.

I just kept watching him, silently begging him to look at me.

Nearly to the car I’d ridden in with Mom, I finally felt it…Sunshine clouded by grief, Jameson’s gaze found mine. His feet faltered as if he’d just registered that I had been present for his father’s funeral. Mouth parting, brows drawing in, his expression twisted like he was conflicted over how he felt at the sight of me.

I wanted to smile but refused to let my lips curl up. The letters over the past year between us felt like a tiny ember, growing and growing. I took a step toward him, still being separated by at least six cars, but he cut a look over his shoulder, toward where his mother sat in his car.

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