Page 156 of Collect the Pieces

Ulfric pulls her into a hug next. She stiffens at first, arms locked at her sides. But after a few seconds, her posture softens, just barely, before she steps back.

“Thank you for everything you’re doing, Ulfric.” Her voice is raw, thick with unshed emotion. She sniffs and presses the tissue against her nose, gathering herself. “Dad could be stubborn.” A weak smile flickers across her lips. “I know you two had your disagreements. The… club stuff.”

She swallows hard. Given how she seems to feel about the club, the words must be like splinters stuck in her throat. But she gets them out. “But he loved you like a brother. Respected you.” Her voice wavers, but she pushes through. “And Dad… he didn’t respect many people.”

Ulfric’s warm rumbling laughter feels like a truce between them. “That describes him well, sweetheart.”

They share a few more words and then Abby hurries to her car, sliding behind the wheel and slamming the door. She doesn’t look back as she pulls away.

Ulfric sighs and jams his hands in his pockets, watching her car turn left, then disappear. “Some men are better attalkingabout being family men, than they are atbeingfamily men.”

I’m not sure what to say to that. I clasp my hands in front of me, tilt my head up, and study him. Waiting to see if he has more to say.

“Thank you for being so understanding, Margot.” He lifts his chin in the direction Abby just drove off. “What you said to her was really nice.”

Gee, it’s almost like I do this for a living or something.

“I meant it.” I gesture toward the house. “Obviously, I see people moving through grief all the time. It’s complicated. Especially if they had unresolved issues—which many parents and children do.”

“Yeah, he tried healing those wounds a little too late. Moved across the country to be near her but I’m not sure that went so well.” He lets out another heavy sigh. “He was a good brother. Loyal as they come. To the club, anyway. I want to give him the best send-off possible.”

“Absolutely.” I rest my hand on his forearm. “Relationships are complicated.” I nod toward the house. “We’ve seen it all. We don’t judge. Bringing Mr. Hall’s loved ones peace and comfort during this difficult time is our only concern.”

“Thank you, darlin’.” He lifts his chin toward the house. “Your dad’s handled funerals for us before. I trust you.”

“Well, we appreciate that.”

“What she said about a shoot-out ain’t gonna happen.” He lifts his chin toward the road. “I just want to put your mind at ease.”

“I wasn’t worried.” That seems like the safest thing to say.

“Lost Kings MC is the other club around here,” he says. “We won’t have a problem with them, though. I’ve already spoken to their enforcer.” He grinds his teeth as if he’s debating whether to speak his next words. “But Whisper had some other…business associates who might attend. I’ll make sure there’re no issues. Wrath already said he’d assist.”

Guilt prickles over my skin.

I’m notobligatedto disclose my relationship with Jigsaw’s club, am I? Is it dishonest to stand here and act like I don’t know who he’s talking about? This feels like a hypothetical that would’ve been on one of the exams in myFuneral Service Ethicsclass.

Why is he even sharing all of this with me now? Is he worried my father would tell him to take his business elsewhere? If only Ulfric knew. We’ve had family showdowns that make a biker brawl look quaint.

“We can coordinate with whomever you’d like.” There.That’s a perfectly neutral answer.

The deep rumble of an engine rolls through the streets of the usually quiet neighborhood. I cock my head. Is that Jigsaw’s bike?

A faint smile lifts the corners of Ulfric’s mouth, as if the throaty engine is music to his ears.

The sound grows louder, until the sidewalk under my feet trembles.

Jigsaw lifts his chin as he approaches the house. Instead of riding around back to park in the lot, he pulls up right at the curb.

“Speak of the devil,” Ulfric murmurs, his gaze locked on Jigsaw as he swings his leg over his bike. “A Lost King right here in Pine Hollow.”

His tone holds curiosity, not hostility, but guilt still ties my stomach in knots. I should’ve told him sooner.

“Yes, uh…” All my professionalism seems to be leaking out through my shoes.

Jigsaw strides over the sidewalk, his gaze locked on my face, although I don’t doubt he took a good look at who’s standing next to me.

Without hesitation, he slips an arm around my waist and leans in, pressing a warm, deliberate kiss against my cheek. “Hey, sweetheart.”

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