Page 74 of Fired at the Heart

After this funeral, I don’t have anywhere else to go, which is the entire point. This is me committing, one-hundred percent.

Aaiden and I had planned my demise over Avery’s hospital bed, and he’d been the one to suggest we use Cassian’s body to help sell my death. My brother has never been one to waste resources.

And all it cost me was my sports car. My poor baby had turned into a twisted, burning shell on the side of a mountain road, the body inside doctored to have dental records to confirm it was me.

A little money got the investigators to not investigate beyond the shattered whiskey bottle found next to the body, and so came the inglorious end to Raphael Rockford.

As if he senses my thoughts, Avery reaches over to clasp my hand, while below, the pastor resumes speaking, moving the mourners to the cemetery for the interment.

Time to leave.

We wait for the congregation to file out before slipping down the back stairs. My family will bury Cassian in my casket, and I will walk away from everything I once was.

But it’s all worth it for the man I’ll become who can stand at Avery’s side.

We sneak out through the church’s side entrance, dodging the news vans parked at the curb with their satellite dishes pointed skyward. The death of a Rockford, even one who stayed out of the spotlight, is newsworthy enough to warrant coverage.

Avery leads the way, and I follow him into the waiting car, our crew piling in around us, and I watch through tinted windows as my past shrinks in the rearview mirror.

As Jace pulls onto the main road, Rico produces a flask from inside his jacket and passes it around. “To the dearly departed. May he rest in pieces.”

“Charred pieces,” Lena adds, taking a swig.

After Cassian’s part in Avery’s injury was revealed, they’d all gotten over his loss real fast. It didn’t hurt that none of them liked the guy, either, and only tolerated him for Avery’s sake.

The same as they’ll tolerate me until I can prove myself worthy again.

When Lena holds out the flask, I take it and toss back a small shot. The whiskey burns down my throat, warming my chest. I hand it to Avery, who drinks without breaking eye contact with me, his lips touching where mine were moments before, drinking for me and not for the man in my casket.

The drive to Avery’s apartment—ourapartment—takes twenty minutes. It’s in a converted industrial building, all exposed brick and steel beams, with security that would make most military installations envious. Not the kind of place where anyone would search for a Rockford, which is the point.

Inside, I’m still getting used to seeing my things mingled with his. My leather-bound books lined up beside his weapons manuals. My Italian coffee maker on the counter next to his collection of fine whiskeys. My clothes hanging beside his in the closet.

Cohabitating again had lifted years off my shoulders, reminding me of what true happiness felt like.

Avery throws his keys into the bowl by the door. “Welcome home, dead man.”

As he helps me out of my suit jacket, our chests brush, and his hands run over my biceps as he stares up at me with heat in his eyes.

Dying never felt so good.

“All right, enough of the eye-fucking.” Rico pushes past us toward the kitchen. “Let’s get this party started.”

Jace disappears into the kitchen and returns carrying a cake covered in black icing with red lettering that spellsHappy Death Dayin what resembles dripping blood. Two candles burn bright on top.

“Why two?” I ask.

“One for each time you’ve risen from the grave to be a pain in our asses,” Lena explains, perching on the arm of the sofa with her usual grace.

“More like a pain in Avery’s ass. Am I right?” Rico raises his hand for a high-five that no one returns, and he huffs. “Some family you are, leaving me hanging.”

They ignore him and launch into an off-key rendition of “Happy Death Day,” to the beat of a common birthday song, with improvised lyrics about dismemberment. It’s grotesque and perfect and makes my chest tight.

When they finish, Avery turns to me, his beautiful features softening into an expression meant only for me despite our audience. “How does it feel to die a second time?”

The question hits deeper than the others might realize. When I first woke up and felt the loss of my bond with Avery, I wasn’t sure I would survive. Only my determination to track him down and reclaim him had allowed me to keep it together.

Now, I pull my mate against my side, careful of his still-healing wound. “It feels far better than the first time. Today, I only lost the parts of me that never mattered.”

---