Scars of Yesterday (Sons of Templar MC #8) - Anne Malcom Page 0,33
Will he leave them too?”
I swallowed razor blades, my eyes watering ever so slightly as I shook my head. “No, baby. He will always be in your dreams.”
Lily nodded then looked at her reflection. “I think you need to get much better at doing my hair then, if Daddy isn’t here to do it.”
I choked out a laugh at her no-nonsense tone. She smiled at me, sad yet comforting, and that beautiful smile scraped against the wounds of my soul.
I redid Lily’s here then left her to check on Jack.
He was sitting on his bed, fully dressed. He would’ve looked adorable in his black suit if not for the fact that he was wearing it to bury his father.
“You almost ready to go, baby?” I asked him.
He jerked, looking up, so deep in thought he hadn’t even realized I was there.
My son was too young to be staring into space with such intensity. To have that ravaged, jaded look in his face.
“Are you ready?” he asked instead, standing.
“You don’t need to worry about me, sweetie,” I answered.
He furrowed his brows. “I’m the man of the house now, mom,” Jack said, as he adjusted his tie. “It’s my job to take care of you.”
I stared at him, the boy with Ranger’s eyes who looked more and more like his father every day. I couldn’t decide whether this would be torture or a blessing, watching my son grow into a man without my husband there to steer him.
I cupped his cheek. “No, sweet boy. You will become a man one day. A wonderful one. One that your father would have been so very proud of. But not yet. Not now. Right now, you’re going to be a kid. I’m going to take care of you. That’s my job.”
Jack stared at me with far too much seriousness and worry. “But Mom, you had Dad to help you with that job. He told me that I had to be the man of the house when he wasn’t here.” His voice was starting to wobble now, cracks in my little man’s façade spreading. “He’s not here. He’s dead, so I need to take care of you and Lily. Because he’s dead, mom.” Tears began to trail down his cheeks, and I pulled him into my chest, if only so he couldn’t see his mother crying too.
I didn’t shed a tear during the funeral. Not a single one. I didn’t cling to the coffin as they lowered it to the ground. No falling to my knees this time either. That wasn’t becoming of an Old Lady. Or a mother.
I wasn’t really an Old Lady anymore, though, was I? I didn’t have to play the part, be strong and ready to kick some bitch’s ass if she didn’t know her place. I didn’t have to handle my husband coming home late or covered in blood.
Because I didn’t have a husband anymore.
But still, for my kids, I held on. They were already going to have memories of their father’s funeral, they sure as shit weren’t going to have memories of their mother losing her shit.
All of the women, the Old Ladies, my friends, stood in the front row. Their husbands, wearing cuts and dark glasses of their own stood behind them. The cemetery was drowned in a sea of leather.
It was a massive show of support.
But I’d never felt more alone.
I wish I could say that the day passed by in a blur. Amy had given me a Valium before the service which I took gratefully. I’d take whatever pills or do whatever it took to help numb the pain.
Though the Valium worked on the edges, softening them, it didn’t reach down to the core of me which was bleeding and dying.
So the funeral was not a blur. I remembered every single. Horrible. Detail.
The only thing I was thankful for that entire day was that everyone went to the club after the funeral. I couldn’t stand having people in my house, which was already full of casseroles and death flowers, none of which were able to hide the absence of Ranger.
I didn’t want to go to the club.
Not one fucking bit.
But I went anyway.
The kids stayed close to me the entire time, all but clinging to my dress. Lily stuck to my side because she didn’t know what to do with herself other than cling to her one remaining parent. Jack was near because he was still convinced that he had to protect me.