“Oh, baby. No. You know that woman lived with regret every single day of her whole fucking life about it. You know she did. She had to. She loved you. You know it deep down.”
I shake my head, blinking the tears out of my eyes so I can see his face. “She never said it, though. I didn’t know I was waiting for it. I didn’t know I needed it. But now I’ll never get it.”
Moses crushes me to him with an embrace that holds me together. “You felt it. She felt it. That’s why she didn’t have to say it. She knew you knew.”
My tears soak his shirt as gut-wrenching wails take over. I did feel it. I believe she regretted it too. But I still wanted to hear her admit it.
I lose track of how long we’re on our knees, but when my tears finally dry, Moses is still wrapped around me, keeping me from splintering apart.
I rise, and he comes along, sitting beside me on the bed. I gaze into his green-gold eyes. “She was the only family I had left, and now she’s gone.”
The tears burning behind my eyes don’t spill over this time, but I feel them there all the same. Taunting me. Telling me I’m not strong enough to get through all of this at once. Telling me the grief will win if I let it.
“You’ve got family, mama. Right here. I’m with you to the end. You and I are ride or die. And my boys are your family too, if you want ’em. They’ll drive you fucking nuts, but they’re here for you. And Keira, she fucking loves you like a sister. You have family. Doesn’t matter if they don’t share blood. In the end, blood doesn’t make you closer. It’s about who you love and who loves you back.”
I blink back wetness again as I think about what he said. About who loves me and who I love.
“I love you,” I blurt out, not sure why, but I have to say it that very second.
“I know you do, mama. And I love you so goddamned much. We’ll get through this together. First one minute. Then one hour. And then one day at a time.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, my head pounding like twin drums. “I just can’t believe she’s gone. I swear, she lived to disapprove of everything I’ve ever said or done.”
“She wouldn’t have disapproved if she didn’t care,” Moses says with a small smile.
I think of all the arguments Bernie and I had over the years. If that’s any indication, then she cared a whole hell of a lot.
“I’m going to miss that old bat something fierce. There are days I would’ve sworn it wasn’t true. But, goddamn it, I loved to rile her up. God, I’m going to miss that too.”
Moses pulls me closer and lifts me up to sit across his lap, with his arms holding me tight. “Of course you will. But I’m pretty damn sure it wouldn’t have mattered when this happened. It would have always been too soon. That’s just how it works.”
I lay my cheek against his chest and let him hold me while I soak up his warmth and strength. “You learn all that from losing your grand-mère?”
Moses sweeps the hair away from my face and tucks it behind my ear. “Yeah, that taught me a hell of a lot, even if I didn’t go the right way with life after she passed. It’s been a long damn time since I had blood family in my life. Which is why I know the family you make for yourself is just as important, because that’s all I’ve got left.”
I peek up at him as he swipes his fingers across my cheeks once more to clear away the tears. “I’m so sorry you lost her, but I’m really glad you found a new family too. I don’t know what I’d do without you right now.”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. Just enough to give me hope that this dark, oily emotion churning in the pit of my stomach and leaking into my chest won’t last forever. Because right now, the hold it has on me feels stronger than anything I’ve ever felt before.
“We’ll make it through this together, mama. I got you. I’ll hold you together, no matter what.”
And we stay like that, me on Moses’s lap, his arms around me, until I fall asleep.
Thirty-Two
Magnolia
The morning of Bernie’s funeral dawns gray and cloudy, with a drizzle of rain that she probably requested specifically from the Big Man upstairs. Bernie would totally do that kind of thing. She was old school about mourning, and would definitely want us to be reminded that today is a solemn occasion, not one for celebration.
What surprises me more than anything is the four SUVs waiting at the curb when we go out, all dressed in black, to head to the graveside service.
Moses notices my hesitation. “Mount and I discussed security. There’s a damn good possibility Reyes knows about the funeral, and I’m not taking any chances with you. We came up with a plan that gets you there and back safely. If Reyes tries to come at us, we’ll take him down.”
My mind hasn’t been on Reyes or our less-than-ideal situation all week. In all honesty, nothing has been on my mind but the weight of my grief and regrets.
I’ve slept, cried, spent time with Keira and Rory, made love with Moses, played chess, and just tried to get through each day. I haven’t even talked to my girls—but Moses and the guys have handled everything, explaining the delay in their safe return, and promising to help them get back on their feet once everything dies down.
I’ve let every ball I’ve been juggling fall, but instead of shattering, Moses has been there to catch and handle even the biggest responsibilities. He’s an amazing man, and I don’t know what I’d do without him.
I think of the lie he didn’t want to admit to telling me. The lie our entire relationship was based on. I was right, I think. Because one lie that didn’t hurt anyone doesn’t matter when compared to hundreds of his actions, proving exactly who he is at the heart of it all.
And now, he and Mount have arranged everything so I can actually go to Bernie’s funeral without looking over my shoulder every five seconds for a man who wants me dead—when I didn’t think about making sure I stayed safe at all.
“Thank you,” I whisper to him as he helps me into one of the SUVs.
Jules and Trey are in the one behind us. Mount and Keira are in the one in front of us. I don’t know who is in the lead car, but it doesn’t matter. My family is coming along to stand by my side while I say good-bye to someone who mattered to me. It feels good knowing people care enough about me to do that.
All week, I’ve grappled with the fact that I’m never going to hear Bernie say those words I wanted to hear, and I think I’m starting to finally make my peace with it. But, God, it’s hard to let go of something you needed from someone you’ll never see again.
I take a slow breath, careful not to let the tears start rolling again. I haven’t cried as much in my entire life as I have this week. I guess I’ve never had the luxury. But grief is ruthless and sneaks up when I least expect it, taking me by surprise in vicious waves. My only hope for today is to get through this and give Bernie a proper good-bye.
Thirty minutes later, the vehicle slows to a halt behind the one in front of us, and the driver shifts into park.
“Whenever you’re ready, mama. We’ve got a few minutes before we need to get out.”