Page 243 of Smooth Sailing

They were all wearing their cuts.

For most of Chaos, their cuts were leather jackets with the Chaos patch on the back, only a few of them wore leather vests. Hugger had explained he didn’t wear it in Phoenix not only because it was “hot as fuck,” but because, when they were on missions, they didn’t wear their patches.

He also explained Resurrection never paraded their club info in public.

But all of Resurrection were wearing their cuts that day.

The sky was gray and ugly, like my mood.

But it was a sight to behold, two hundred and fifty some bikers curving around the casket of just one. I’d never seen a turnout this impressive for anyone, except a head of state or a royal.

Chaos, obviously, was up front of that crowd.

A movement in front of us caught my eye, and I looked to see Carrie now had her head resting on Elvira’s shoulder, Dakota had climbed into Elvira’s lap and Vira had wound her arms around the little boy.

Only Vira’s profile was visible to me, but from what I could see, silent tears were rolling down her cheeks as her back remained straight, and her gaze stayed locked to the casket.

I’d never seen anyone cry with such dignity before.

And I loved she gave that to Big Petey.

Tabby was a mess, and Tyra wasn’t far behind her. They were curled into each other, holding on for support, but faced forward.

It didn’t take long before everyone had arrived, took their positions, and Tack, center casket, standing between Rush and Hop, didn’t delay in taking a step forward.

His gaze never left the casket.

Quiet greeted him, so when his gravelly voice sounded loud, it was like a thunderclap.

“Fuck you, old man, for being mortal.”

I couldn’t stop my mouth from forming a smile, because it was sad, but it was apropos.

Tabby let out a cry-laugh.

Tyra held her closer.

“Fuck you more for convincing us you weren’t,” Tack went on. “We all have our place in this brotherhood, but you held every place. Wherever we needed you. However we needed you. Whenever we needed you. You were there. Warrior. Wiseman. Healer. Priest. Hand-holder. Babysitter. Brother. Father. Granddad. Uncle. Husband. Partner. You went through the worst with us, and it was a rough ride, but you walked through fire with us, and finally, when we got smooth sailing, you fucked off. And gotta say, ’cause I know you like it honest, Pete, it pisses all of us off.”

It was definitely going to be the weirdest eulogy I’d ever heard.

And I could tell, absolutely the most perfect.

Tack put his hand on the casket and bowed his head.

Tyra, Tabby and Elvira all let out audible sobs when he did.

I knew why.

I’d heard all about Kane “Tack” Allen, and I’d seen that movie, and from what I heard, saw and knew, nothing bowed that man. He’d been through hell, personally and with his Club, and he’d guided his brothers out of it, his family, their families, and he’d done it eyes forward, head high, back straight, shoulders squared, vision strong.

Now he was bowed…

By the loss of Big Petey.

“Only thing we got to hold on to is you lived a life where you owned the wind, and in your time, you were wild like it. Wild like fire. Wild like the wind. And now you’re finally free.”

Not taking my eyes off Tack, I dug in my purse for a Kleenex.

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