Page 75 of When the Smoke Clears

This is a different location than Nana’s funeral, and I’m thankful for that. After everything, I’m not sure I could step foot inside there right now. Not without completely breaking down.

Unlike Nana’s funeral, today I do wear black. This isn’t a celebration of life. It’s a truly somber time, and my heart is broken at what’s been lost and why. Not just for my part in it, but for how this all came to be.

Pete stands closest to the front doors. He nods in greeting as we approach. The club members aren’t dressed any differently than usual. Jeans and t-shirts, leather cuts. I spot James approaching from the throng. He looks impeccable as always, his black jeans and crisp, white button-up paired with stylish black riding boots.

I smile at him, full of gratitude. Something like affection is there, too. He keeps showing up when I need him, and brick by brick it feels like we’re building something.

Sutton and James shake hands, exchanging a cordial greeting. I watch them openly. There’s a tension that lingers. Not animosity so much as limited trust.

“Thank you for coming. I didn’t expect you to bring everyone.” I lean into James’ open arms for a short hug, and he kisses my cheek.

“It was their choice.” He brushes off the comment.

“I’m going to find Melissa.” I gesture to the door with my chin, and James waves me to enter while he stays behind.

The small room is sparsely decorated in dark jewel tones. A standard soundtrack of somber music filters softly through two mounted speakers. In the front row, Melissa sits with her head bowed, and her body shakes with silent sobs.

In this moment, I’m glad we ran into each other at the police department. Our acquaintance is an odd one, considering the circumstances, but no one should have to mourn their son alone. So without hesitation, I walk right up to the front row and sit in the open seat next to her.

Her shoulders continue to quake as I wrap my arms around her. “I’m so, so sorry,” I whisper into her hair. This time, my apology isn’t for my actions. It’s simply a heartfelt reaction to her loss.

Sutton’s hand rests on my shoulder, while he remains standing.

I continue to hold her until she dabs at her eyes with a mangled tissue and turns to look at me. Her eyes are swollen and red-rimmed. My arms fall to my lap and I shift back in the seat, creating more space between us.

Melissa lifts her gaze and takes in the room, suddenly filled with people. Her eyes widen and shoot back to me. “Did you do this?”

I can’t decipher her tone. “I hope it’s ok. My dad is the President of the Falcons, the motorcycle club Colt was a part of. I shared some of his struggles so they would understand that his actions didn’t all come from a bad place.”

Her lower lip trembles and tears pour over her lashes again. “Thank you.”

Heavy tears roll down my own cheeks. “I wish I could do more.”

“Will you sit with me?” Her voice is soft, timid. Nothing like the woman I’ve seen previously who, though grieving, had a certain conviction.

“Sure. If that’s ok.”

She pats my leg where I sit, and Sutton sits in the seat next to me. His arm drapes behind me, but not in the casual way he usually does. His body is stiff.

Many of the club members take seats throughout the room. I don’t miss Hawk standing near the front door with my dad.

My dad. What an odd thought. I said it to Ginger before, but it’s starting to feel more casual, natural, to think and say.

The room falls eerily quiet and tension builds. James gives Hawk a pat on the arm as he passes and saunters down the aisle our way. Alone, he maneuvers into the second row, sitting in the chair directly behind mine.

Melissa looks over her shoulder at him, and he nods in greeting.

Her attention draws past him, and I turn to see what’s caught her eye.

Alan’s glare is already on me as he enters from the double doors. He misses Hawk’s gaze narrowing behind him.

My heart pounds in my chest. What information has been shared with him? Not that it matters. He’s never needed a reason to hate me.

Like at Nana’s funeral, Alan wears a black suit. I inspect him more critically than usual and note the perfect fit of the jacket and the sleek appearance of the pants. It’s a beautiful set.

Contrarily, Colt’s mom wears a thin, black dress with a shawl over the top. The ends are tattered and the state of the dress hints at being worn many times. I find myself looking for her reaction. After watching him in a mixture of sadness and disgust, she shakes her head and turns forward again, dabbing at her eyes.

Colt’s words from Nana’s house resurface. His rage over the financial disparity between how Alan lived with Stephanie and me compared to the trailer park that Colt and his mother lived in.

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