“Give me another fucking bottle. I’m gonna need it,” Kiro grumbled.
He and my Aunt Nan didn’t have the best relationship, but Mom said it was good compared to the way it had once been.
When the four entered the room. Kiro held up his bottle. “I’m fucking mourning. Don’t start this shit in here.”
Nan looked ashamed, and Mase nodded. “Sorry. I was just getting her riled up out of boredom.”
Kiro lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Understood.”
“I’m so sorry, Kiro,” Reese, my Uncle Mase’s wife said as she walked away from the others toward Kiro. “You go ahead and mourn, and I’ll keep these two in check.”
“Still ain’t figured out how the fuck you scored that one,” Kiro said pointing with his bottle toward Reese while looking at Mase.
“Me neither,” Mase replied then sank down on the sofa across from Kiro. “Pass the whiskey.”
Cruz Kerrington
THE SMELL OF flowers. I hated the overpowering smell as much as I hated funerals. They depressed me. I shouldn’t have to be here. I didn’t know Emily Manning. Sure, I knew Lila Kate but I wouldn’t expect her to come to my grandmother’s funeral. Hell, I wouldn’t go if I could get away with it. Once someone was dead it as done. Why have a big ass depressing funeral?
I wanted my ashes taken out a few miles into the Gulf and scattered. No songs, no flowers, and no fucking tears. I loosened the collar on my shirt some and sighed. My dad had been adamant that I was going. We all were. The whole damn family was here. As was every other family in Rosemary Beach that we were close to.
“We are going for Grant, Harlow and Lila Kate!” my dad had roared when I bitched about not seeing a reason to attend this funeral.
The truth was, I had tried to get Lila out of my head for the past three days and it wasn’t working. All I could see was Lila. When I’d had another girl pressed up against the wall of my condo last night, I’d had Lila Kate’s face in my head. I didn’t want to see her this soon. I was still working her out of my system. I even pointed out to my father that they may be having a funeral for me once Grant Carter got his hands on me. Dad had told me I’d asked for it.
“There’s Nate,” my mother whispered. “Go apologize.”
“For what?” I asked confused. I hadn’t done shit to Nate.
She grabbed my arm like I was still eight years old. “For taking Lila Kate without a word. That’s what for.”
I wasn’t apologizing to him for that. “No.”
Her nails bit into my skin. “Now.”
I wasn’t apologizing, but I’d walk over there and say something to him to let her think I did before she grabbed me by my ear and hauled me to him.
“Fine,” I muttered and her hand released me as soon as I headed in his direction.