Chapter 3

3

KANNON

I stepped in front of the mirror. I didn’t know why I cared what I looked like. No one was going to be there to see me. Hell, I had a feeling a lot of them would prefer they didn’t see me. I knew people thought I was a troublemaker. A pain in the ass. A dark stain in their lives.

I didn’t care.

I reached for my leather jacket. I wore the thing so much, the leather was beyond broken in. It wasn’t going to do shit to protect me from road rash should I go down, but it was comfortable, it kept me warm, and it looked cool.

My shirt was clean and my jeans didn’t have any grease or holes. That was about as good as it got. That was what people expected from me. And it was comfortable. At this stage in my life, I was more worried about feeling good and comfortable versus looking good according to societal standards.

I grabbed my keys and headed out. I opened the garage and started my bike, letting it run a few seconds before I revved the engine. The noise ripped through the quiet of the neighborhood. I liked that sound—assertive, unapologetic. Just like me. I kicked up the stand and rolled out onto the street, using the clicker to close the garage.

I dreaded this funeral but was also looking forward to it. It had been a slow death. Watching him fade day by day was cruel. If I could have prayed him healthy, I would have done it. Unfortunately, there was no saving him. So watching him die was the only option. The suffering sucked. It pissed me off.

But that was over now. The finality of it hovered around me. The ride felt good. It helped me clear my head before I had to do the whole sendoff thing. It was very tempting to keep driving past the church, to outrun the ghosts and the whispers that awaited me there.

But I couldn’t. There were obligations—unpleasant yet necessary.

I pulled into the chapel parking lot on my Harley, the rumble of the engine cutting through the quiet. As usual, people looked my way. I knew what they were thinking. They thought it was disrespectful to be making such a racket at a funeral. I could see the curiosity, the disapproval, and the caution. One old lady was literally clutching her pearls. As if I wanted her cheap ass necklace. I purposely revved the engine just to piss her off.

The frowns made me laugh. Like the noise of my bike was going to wake the dead.

If only it could.

I felt the people watching me as I cut the engine. A couple of men in suits exchanged glances, their judgment written all over their carefully pressed collars. I ignored them. Gary Jacobs would’ve loved the spectacle. He was not one to conform.

I swung my leg off the bike, leaving my helmet hanging from the handlebars. I took in the scene. The chapel was the typical picturesque building. All white with a big cross on top. It felt wrong for Gary. He wasn’t the type for quiet corners and polished pews. He loved a good beer garden and the occasional biker rally. Hell, in his day, Gary would’ve rolled up to his own funeral on his old Harley if arthritis hadn’t forced him off it. The thought made me smirk. Gary was a kickass dude. I was going to miss him.

I walked toward the front of the church, picking up snippets of conversation. Some were pitying Gary. Talking about his final days. As if they knew. I knew none of them had gone to visit Gary.

Others were talking about what they were going to be doing next week. That was life, right? Gary was gone but life went on. In a week, everyone would forget him. Their own lives would be front and center again, like nothing had happened. It irritated me, the superficiality of it all. But Gary wouldn’t have cared, not really. He had lived his life his way, loud and without regrets. He would want us to do the same.

As I approached the entrance, I saw one of Gary’s oldest friends, Rick. He wasn’t in the best health either.

Rick’s shoulders were hunched. Despite his frailty, his eyes lit up when he saw me approaching. It was strange that it was the old crotchety guys that seemed to get along with me most. I wondered if that meant I was a crotchety old bastard at heart.

“Kannon!” he called out, his voice gravelly but warm. I walked over to him. We exchanged a brief, firm handshake.

“How you holding up, old man?” I asked, clapping him gently on the back.

Rick shrugged. “I’m not the one in the coffin, so I guess I can’t complain.”

“Yeah,” I replied. The understanding between us didn’t need more words. We both stood there for a moment, just taking in the situation. Neither of us were the touchy feely type, but we both felt the loss. Gary had been gone a while but had only just recently died.

There was a difference.

I pulled open the door and stepped inside. The picture of Gary just inside the doors stopped me in my tracks. It was one I hadn’t seen before. He was smiling, glasses a little crooked and wearing one of those button-ups he always swore made him look “respectable.” He looked alive, like he could walk through the doors at any moment, cracking some dry joke about how we were all wasting our time crying over him.

I took a moment to look at the man I considered one of my good friends despite being old enough to be my father. He was like a father to me. The man used to give some of the best advice. In the last years of his life, even though he wasn’t always coherent and didn’t really understand what year it was, his advice was still sound.

“Gone too soon,” I murmured, pulling the flask from my jacket. I raised it in a silent toast to the man who taught me how to rebuild an engine, throw a punch, and keep my word. I took a swig, the burn in my throat grounding me, but my moment was interrupted.

“What are you doing?” A sharp voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

A wiry kid in a too-tight suit rushed over, swiping at the flask like it was a live grenade. He jammed it back into my jacket pocket, eyes wide and disapproving. “You can’t do that here! This is a chapel.”

I stepped back, sizing him up with a sneer. He visibly shrank under my gaze. “You always grab things that don’t belong to you?” I asked, my voice low.

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Drinking isn’t allowed in the chapel. It’s disrespectful. This is a funeral.”

I gave him a dry look. “Gee, is that what it is?”

“Sir, you’ll need to leave if you aren’t here for the funeral. We don’t want to disrupt the mourners.”

I rolled my eyes, not the least bit bothered by the geek trying to be a boss. “Did you know him?” I asked, tilting my head toward the picture of Gary.

The kid blinked, caught off guard. “No, but?—”

“Then piss off.”

His mouth opened, then closed before he scurried away like a mouse escaping a cat. I shook my head and chuckled to myself before walking deeper into the chapel. I sat near the back, my usual spot at gatherings like this, where I could watch without being watched too closely.

I knew I wasn’t like the rest of these people. I wasn’t wearing a suit and tie. Gary would laugh at me if he saw me wearing something like that. If I believed in ghosts or heaven, I would be worried he would laugh at me from his ghostly corner of the universe.

Familiar faces filtered in. People from my old life, folks who probably wished I had stayed gone. Some looked at me and nodded in acknowledgment. Others avoided my eyes entirely. It didn’t bother me. Gary would’ve rolled his eyes at their cold shoulders and told me to stop giving a damn about what people thought. He always said, “You live your life for you, not them, kid.”

One by one, people went up to the casket. I tried not to watch too closely, but their careful goodbyes rubbed me the wrong way. Too neat. Too polite. Gary deserved more than that. He hated fake shit like that.

Something pulled at me. I hated talking about death or giving in to the grief and the typical traditions surrounding mourning, but something was drawing me to go to him. The last thing I wanted to see was my dead friend but I owed it to him. All these people were whispering flowery words and acting like they were all best buds. He deserved something real. Not a load of bullshit.

I stood up and ignored the murmurs from the pews as I made my way down the aisle. My boots echoed against the floor, a sharp contrast to the muted sniffles and shuffling feet. When I reached the last bed Gary would ever sleep in, I hesitated for a second, staring down at him.

“You’re really gone, old man,” I muttered. “I hope you’re somewhere stirring up shit. You’re free. Your old, tired body ain’t holding you back. I don’t know if there are bikes where you are, but it wouldn’t be heaven without them. When I get there, we’re going to ride into eternity. No helmets. The wind is going to run through our hair, and yes, you’ll have good hair again.”

I pulled the guitar pick out of my pocket, an old one he gave me years ago when I first picked up the instrument. It felt right to leave it with him. I tucked it into the sleeve of his jacket, patting it into place. “I’ll pour one out for you later, when that rat-faced kid isn’t breathing down my neck. You’d like this place, though. Real fancy. Your beautiful wife would be snapping pictures of every corner, calling it perfect.”

I lingered for a moment, the weight of loss pressing down harder than I expected. I didn’t want to start crying or let the grief take hold. I swallowed the lump in my throat. Gray feelings were creeping up. Turning away, I felt the first cracks in my resolve. I didn’t know if I was going to be able to sit through this whole funeral. I didn’t want to see a slide show memorializing his life. It would be too much.

But then I saw her.

Merritt .

She stood near the front of the chapel just a few feet away from me with her hands clasped in front of her. The navy dress she wore clung to her body like it had been made for her. Black pantyhose shaped her legs. The black sweater she’d thrown over her shoulders didn’t do much to hide the soft curve of her neck. Her hair was pulled back, severe and practical. Her eyes were red-rimmed but steady. She looked beautiful, but more than that, she looked like grief personified.

My chest tightened. “Merritt,” I said, barely above a whisper.

Her gaze snapped to mine, and for a second, I saw something unguarded in her expression. Then she straightened her spine, her chin lifting with that quiet defiance I remembered so well.

“Kannon,” she said, her voice level despite the quiver in her bottom lip. “It’s been a long time.”

“Ten years,” I replied, my voice rougher than I intended. “Give or take a couple weeks.”

She didn’t look impressed with me. I could feel the judgment from every person in the chapel. Everyone was watching us. I could only imagine what they were thinking.

But I only cared about what one person thought.