Page 68 of Steel

His last question has my body tightening. I didn’t realize it was noticeable. Fuck, I need to think of something that isn’t a lie. “Been tryin’ to get me to give her another fuckin’ chance.” I sigh and scrub my hands over my face. “Not goin’ there again, Pres. Don’t think so, anyway.”

My mind drifts to Bozo and the way he was always telling me that I needed to do whatever I could to make sure Lyric had a happy life. I always thought that meant her mama and daddy being together. It’s why I’ve sacrificed so much of my happiness the last seven years.

Is that what he actually meant?

“Want my advice, brother?”

Glancing over, I lift a shoulder. “‘Course I do.”

“I think you’ve given up enough of your time to her. She’s not good for you. Never thought was. Can’t recall a time I actually saw happiness in you since she’s been in your life. Not unless you got that little girl of yours with you. Being with someone just for the kids, that ain’t gonna do anything but make everyone miserable. If losing our brother has taught us anything, it’s that life is too fucking short to take anything for granted, and it’s definitely too fucking short to be anything but happy. If I die today, Steel, I’m going out a happy man. Before I met Nova and my kids, I couldn’t really say that.” Wraith steps away from the building after squeezing my shoulder. “I hope you let yourself find that. It’s time to head to the cemetery.”

Without another word, I follow Wraith as he leads us back to the clubhouse. A hearse is backing up to the doors as we reach the front, and I roll my head along my shoulders as I prepare myself.

Eight of us surround the casket, placing our hands through the metal holders along its framing. We glance at each other with stoic faces, and our President begins the quiet countdown to one. Just like everything else we do, we lift our brother together and begin the slow and steady trek through the sad and tearful mourners as we carry him to his final ride.

There’s reluctance in each of our grips as we release our holds.

Once he’s safe in the back of the hearse, we step back as a unit and stand tall and proud as the driver shuts the door gently. He turns to face us, his hands folded in front of him as he gazes at us with compassion. “It’s an honor and a privilege to carry your fallen brother on his final ride.”

Sobs sound out around us as they catch wind of his words, and I clench my hands to still the shaking in them.

Wraith steps forward and clasps hands with the driver. “Thank you for the care and compassion you’re showing him and all of us.”

The grittiness of his words betrays him, showing the world the depth of his grief, but he’s not ashamed and carries it proudly.

He turns to me as the driver climbs into the vehicle. “I know you drove your Bronco here because of Lyric, but I know you want to be riding with us.” He holds out a set of keys and drops them into my palm. “I think Bozo would want you to ride his. We were the only family he had, so his bike stays with us. It’s only right that it’s there as we put him in the ground. Prospect Poe will drive the girls in your Bronco if that’s good with you.”

The sharp ridges of the keys cut into the skin of my palm as I tighten them in my fist. “Let me check in with Lyric. If she’s okay with it, it’d be my honor to ride my brother’s bike.”

Heather and Lyric are standing over with the club whores, which doesn’t surprise me. I’m not unaware of the way everyone has been mostly ignoring Heather. She’s only got herself to blame. Every time someone tried to interact with her wheneverwe were together, she rebuffed their efforts, too worried about where she was going to get her next fix. That’s another thing that surprises me about today. Even though I’ve not paid her much attention, I did long enough to be sure she was sober to take care of our daughter.

Maybe she’s actually trying this time, like she said she would.

“Hey,” I say quietly when I stop in front of them. “Lyric, are you okay if Prospect Poe drives you and your mom to the cemetery so I can ride Uncle Bozo’s bike?”

Lyric nods, giving me a shaky smile. “Yes, Daddy, that’s okay.”

Heather steps up to me, and I grit my teeth to keep from stepping back. “I don’t want to ride with someone I don’t know. Lyric can go with him, and I’ll ride on the bike with you.”

The laugh that tears from my chest is grating, causing her eyes to widen, and she take a step back. “So, you refuse to ride with someone you don’t know, but you’re okay sendin’ our daughter on her own? The fuck is wrong with you?”

Heather’s eyes harden, and she lifts her chin. “Lyric is familiar with him. I’m not.”

“Actually, she’s not that familiar with Poe. You’re damn lucky this is my club and these are my brothers. As for ridin’ on the back of the bike? Not happenin’. You’ll ride with Lyric in the Bronco behind the bikes or you can stay the fuck here. After the funeral, we’ll come back here then I’ll take you back to my house to get your car so you can go. Anything else, I ain’t dealin’ with today.”

I tug on one of Lyric’s locks and drop a kiss to the top of her head with a warning to the prospect to keep her safe before heading over to Bozo’s bike. Like the rest of my brothers, we walk the bikes until we’re in formation behind the hearse, which pulled outside the gates a few minutes ago. The driver starts his slow procession down the road and the rumble of pipes singsthrough the air as, bike by bike, members from various clubs fire them up to follow behind us.

People emerge from houses and businesses as we drive by, most paying their respects by dropping their chins to their chests. Others stand stoically, watching the waves of black and chrome pass by them in a cloud of sadness and a harmony of thundering pipes.

Glancing in the side mirror, my throat tightens when I see Bozo’s procession goes on for miles. It’s nothing less than the man deserves.

It’s not long before we’re pulling through the gates of the cemetery and following the hearse to the plot laid out for Bozo.

“Jude ‘Bozo’ Snyder was a hell of a man,” Chappy, our Nomad brother, begins the service.

I stand through the service, my fingers curled around the back of Lyric’s chair, listening to Chappy go over our brother’s life while I stare at the casket waiting to be lowered into the ground.

Someone clears their throat, and I glance up to find Wraith standing in front of us. “There was nothing more our brother loved than being on his bike. He once told me that the growl of the pipes was one of the most peaceful sounds he’d ever heard. He said he found freedom, he found peace, and he always found clarity when he was flying down the streets on his bike.”

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