34. Chapter Thirty-Four Nathan

Chapter Thirty-Four: Nathan

W e all stood there, our eyes locked on Knuckles. He shifted under the weight of our stares, like he could feel the questions we were itching to ask just by looking at us. I kept my arms crossed and my face hard, remembering every shady deal and back alley scuffle he'd dragged me through.

He’d been like a father to me, yeah.

But that didn’t change the fact that he had almost gotten Justin killed…and Alex along with him.

"Alright," Knuckles finally said, clearing his throat. "I gotta lay it out for you guys."

His eyes met mine, and they were full of something like regret. Or maybe it was just fear. Hard to tell with him. Knuckles raked his hand through his hair, looking like he'd aged a decade in the last minute.

"Well, I guess you've figured out at least some of this by now," he started, his voice rough around the edges. He glanced around at us, finding no friendly faces. "I fell for your mom when your dad was stuck in Hong Kong. It just…happened. And it grew. We kept it up for years, sneaking off whenever we could or meeting up at that old teahouse."

"Love stories are great and all," I cut in, feeling the anger simmering beneath my skin, "but what's that got to do with Justin?"

He flinched, as if the sound of Justin's name caused him physical pain. "I didn't know he was my kid until about three weeks back—right before Evelyn…before she died." His eyes dropped to the floor, and for a second, I saw something in him break.

Justin's face was a mess of emotions, like he couldn't decide whether to punch something or just break down. Derek squeezed his hand, their cat wedged between them. I wanted to say something, anything to cut through the thick silence that had fallen over us. But my throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper.

"Even if that's all true, trying to kill him? That's how you deal with family now?" The words came out sharper than I intended, but hell, I was past caring about niceties.

Knuckles raised his hands, palms facing us, as if he could push away the accusations. "Look, I get it. You want me dead, go ahead. After Evelyn…" His voice cracked, and for a brief moment, I saw the man who had been more than just muscle in our family operation. A man broken by loss. "I got nothing left."

We all went quiet, the gravity of what was happening pressing down on us. It was one thing to be angry, another to stare down the possibility of actually ending someone who was—messy feelings aside—part of the family.

Knuckles looked from one sibling to the other, a hard edge to his jaw. "Everything I did was for her, you gotta understand that," he said, voice rough with the weight of unsaid things. "Kenny was getting wise. When it came to the burned businesses, he started thinking, maybe someone in his own house was playing him."

"So you were protecting our mother?" I asked, my arms still tight across my chest. The idea didn't settle right with me, not with what we've been through.

"Yeah." He ran a hand over his face, looking every bit the broken man who had nothing left to lose. "The heat on us…it wasn't just business. It got personal, and she was at risk."

"Personal doesn't cut it when you're dealing with family," Alex snapped, his words like a punch.

"Look," Knuckles continued, shifting his feet awkwardly. "I didn't know Justin would be at the club that night. But the choices I made, I made them for Evelyn."

"Choices…" I echoed, the word tasting like bile. "You call almost killing your own blood a choice?"

"Love can push you to the edge, make you do crazy stuff," Knuckles said, and there was a plea in his tone, a plea for understanding. "You know about love, don't you? The things you'd do for it?"

I glanced at Abby. Yeah, I’d done some insane things for love.

But…

“The flower shop,” Abby was the one who cut in, said was I was thinking. “Why that? You killed the clerk there—”

“It wasn’t us,” Kenny said. “That one was your father. He was starting to suspect you, figured anything you had on him would be there…so he burned it.”

The room fell silent, heavy with things unsaid and feelings too tangled to unravel. Even Alex, always quick with a sharp word or a fist, just stood there, his jaw set hard but eyes that had lost their fire.

It was Lily who found her voice first, cutting through the quiet like a knife. "I can't believe she's gone."

That hit me harder than any punch I'd ever taken. The silence returned, thick and suffocating, as we all tried to wrap our heads around a world without Ma.

Then, out of nowhere, I felt a hand slip into mine, warm and steady. Abby. She was looking at me with those sad eyes that saw too much. "We should put her to rest, shouldn't we?"

I nodded, feeling a lump rise in my throat. Abby's touch was grounding, pulling me back from the edge of whatever madness was creeping into my mind—visions of Ma's ghost or some crap like that.

"Right. Put her to rest," I said again, the words feeling strange and foreign on my tongue. It was final, closing a chapter that none of us were ready to end. But it was necessary—Ma deserved that much.

Knuckles straightened up, his voice rough. "I've started putting things together for Evelyn…if you'll come with me."

He didn't wait for an answer, just got up and moved toward the door. We followed, a silent procession. My mind was racing but my feet moved automatically, Abby's hand still clasped in mine.

We walked out of the dim room, our steps echoing softly in the hallway. People were everywhere, talking in hushed tones, some casting us curious looks. They parted like the sea, giving us room to pass. Knuckles led the way, sure and steady despite everything.

As we approached the windows looking out over the ocean, I saw flickers of candlelight dancing in the air moving though the old warehouse. A crowd had formed, their backs to us, heads bowed.

They were all there for her, for Ma.

Knuckles stopped short, and we came up beside him. There, against the glass, an altar glowed with candles and was littered with offerings. In its center was a picture of my mother, her smile lighting up the room even now.

"Damn," Alex muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He'd never been one for showing emotion, but his words were heavy with it now.

I stared at the photo, the sight of it knocking the wind out of me. She was everywhere and nowhere, all at once. Abby squeezed my hand, and I squeezed back, grateful for the touch, the connection.

"Ma would've liked this," Lily said, her voice soft but clear.

"Yeah," I agreed, my throat tight. "She would've."

A hand brushed against my arm, tentative like someone reaching through a fog. I turned to see an older man, his face lined with years of hard work and tougher times. He looked at me, and his eyes held stories I'd never heard before.

"You have her eyes," he said in Mandarin. "You look just like Evelyn."

I averted my gaze. “She was my mother.”

The man nodded. "She helped us when we had nothing, when we came to this country. We've got our own little shop now, all thanks to her." His voice cracked, but he pushed on. "We had to come back, y'know? To remember her."

I looked back at the crowd, really saw them this time. Their faces were open books of grief and gratitude. People from every corner of life, here because of Ma. She'd touched lives in ways I hadn't even imagined, fighting battles I never knew about.

"Damn," I whispered to myself. The word was a drop in the ocean of what I felt. Ma had been a force alright, one that had reached further than any of us realized.

Tears came, hot and fast. I stood there, staring at nothing, feeling them trail down my face. Abby squeezed my hand so hard it hurt, but it was the kind of pain that kept me grounded.

"Hey," Justin's voice was quiet next to my ear as his hand landed on my shoulder, solid and real. Then Lily, on my other side, her touch gentle.

Alex stepped in close, not saying a word, just being there. We were together, our breathing mixed in the heavy air as we let go for Ma.

We must have stood like that for ages. The world buzzed around us, yet we were in our own bubble of sorrow and silence. Finally, I cleared my throat, wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand, and turned to look at each of them.

"We can't let this slide," I said, my voice rough. "Ma deserves justice. We gotta make things right."

They nodded, faces set in grim lines, understanding what had to be done.

No more words were needed; our mom's memory was calling us to action.