3. Heidi

The weeds keep coming back, no matter how many times I pull them. Their tendrils spread around the flowers planted in front of the grave, choking their growth and turning their leaves brown.

I could have stopped them from dying if I’d come sooner, but judging from the tangle of stems, no one else has visited Theo recently either.

That surprises me, considering how much my late husband was loved by the club. Those men idolised him. They even wear a memorial patch on their kuttes to remember him.

My phone rings for the third time in the last five minutes, and I scowl, frustrated at the constant interruption as ‘Bobby’ flashes on my screen.

Can he not take a hint?

Clearly, Bobby hasn’t got the message that I want to be left the fuck alone. I can’t even visit the grave of my deceased husband without being harangued by his fucking club.

I shouldn’t take my frustrations out on Bobby, though. He has no idea what he’s signed himself up for by joining the Sons. He’s a good kid, a transplant from London sent to swell our numbers after the Pioneers killed our last two prospects, but that goodness in him won’t last. It never does. And prospects have a shorter lifespan than patched brothers around here. I don’t want to know him because, eventually, his headstone will be somewhere in this cemetery too.

I silence my phone, slipping it back into my jacket pocket where it’s easier to ignore before I lean forward to grab another handful of thick stems. Tearing them out of the ground, I use so much force, it displaces the surrounding soil, but the gravesite is no longer hidden behind the weeds.

Sitting back on my heels, I stare at the black marble headstone. The gold engraved lettering catches the mid-morning sunlight as it peeks through a tiny break in the clouds, making it shimmer. It’s an expensive-looking memorial, with both a crow—his road name—and the Untamed Sons insignia etched beneath all the usual details.

Theodore Thorn. Loving Husband and Brother.

Those brothers were not his by blood, but they were his family. Club takes care of club.

Always.

Sometimes in the worst possible ways.

I stare at the words, numbness spreading through my body. Theo’s murder hit everyone hard, and Howler’s revenge had been swift against the men who ended my husband’s life.

I close my eyes, trying to ignore the blossoming pain in my chest. I miss Theo every day. Both of us were lost when we found each other. I was close to giving up on everything when he strolled into my life and gave it meaning.

Later, we found the club—the missing piece. I went from having no family to having a huge one. It was the only time in my entire life that I felt safe and protected.

Untilthat night.

The cold air brings me out of my torturous walk down memory lane. It’s almost summer, but today is unseasonably cold and grey. A shiver rolls through me as the wind picks up.

I lean forward and trail my fingers over the silky marble surface. They’d given Theo a send-off worthy of a king, and I should have seen that for the respectful act it was, but at the time it felt empty to me. I blamed the club for his murder, and I couldn’t get past that for a long time.

I run my fingers through the grass at the side of the grave, letting the quiet settle in around me. I hate coming here, but I have to face my past. Running from it didn’t work. Getting angry did even less. If I’m going to repair my shattered parts, I have to find peace.

But how do I find peace knowing I’ve lost everything?

The darkness I usually bury deep inside me surges to the forefront. Angry tears roll down my cheeks, but crying doesn’t help.

It takes all my strength to push down the emotions I keep buried deeper than my husband’s coffin.

“Wherever you are, I hope you’re together,” I say softly as I get to my feet, brushing the dirt off my jeans.

I cut across the grass, making my way over to where Mara is buried. She was a good woman, a good friend, and I have no doubt she would have been a good mother. Her death was a tragedy that still hurts me to this day.

She was nothing more than collateral damage, and it scares me to think that Sophia could face the same path as her mother. The urge to take her and run far from this hell swirls inside me. But I can’t. She’s already lost Mara, I can’t take her father as well. And Trick… he’s trying to make amends. I see it in him every day, and it’s hard to hold onto my anger at him when he’s doing everything he can.

I pause in front of the grave, my insides twisting as I drop to my knees at the side of it. I would give anything to talk to Mara again, even if it’s just for a second. She was my friend—maybe the only true friend I’ve ever had.

“Trick’s doing good,” I say, getting comfortable on the ground.

I know she can’t hear me, but knowing she’s here, underneath the dirt, makes me feel close to her.

“He’s a different person now. Sad and broken. You wouldn’t recognise the man he is, although now and then I see a hint of the old Trick.” My throat tightens. “He’s trying so hard to make amends, but the club isn’t making it easy for him. Rage won’t move on, and the others don’t trust him.” I peer out over the rows of headstones, a sea of lives ended. “If he had any sense, he’d take Sophia far away from this life. It’s fucking cursed.”

Savagely, I pluck a handful of grass out of the soil. Time is supposed to heal all wounds, but it’s a crock of shit. Time does nothing but force you to hide your feelings.

Sure, sympathy comes thick and fast in the first few weeks after a loss, then tolerance fades as the months tick by. After a year, no one wants to talk about your pain or suffering. After two, any remaining emotion is seen as weakness.

I miss my fucking friend so much, and I miss Theo. I miss the life we were creating together and the hope of a future we never got to have.

I place a hand on my hollow stomach, nausea churning through me like curdled milk. I never got to hold my baby. I don’t know if she was a girl, but I wanted a daughter so much that when I think of her, she’s wearing pretty dresses and bows in her hair.

Eleven weeks of her growing inside me was all I got, and it wasn’t enough.

My breath shudders as I let out a sob. I’ve become better at choking down my pain in public, but behind closed doors is another matter. I can’t hide my torment at losing mine and Theo’s child. It was the last piece I had of him, and it was cruelly snatched away from me.

Just like Theo was.

Sophia came into my life at a time when I’d given up on everything. I was drinking too much in order to drown my pain, pretending I was out for a good time when really I just wanted to numb myself. I spat my vitriol out like poison at the club and made enemies where I didn’t need to have any. There were times I wanted my life to end. What was the point without Theo and my child?

Then Sophia was put into my arms, and she gave me a reason to live. I love her with every part of me, and I will always stand between her and anyone who tries to harm her—even the club. She is the light in the darkness that beats around me.

I run my fingers over the top of the headstone before standing, and with a final glance at her grave, I make my way back to the car.

There is no grave for the child I lost, no memorial or remembrance. No one knows about my miscarriage other than Mara and that secret died with her.

As I slide behind the steering wheel, I take a moment to gather myself before I start the engine. Usually, I’m pretty good at compartmentalising my emotions, but today, I can’t do it. My thoughts are turbulent as I drive, like a ship on the ocean, the waves tossing me around.

I can still feel the blood on my hands from that night, and sometimes it feels so real that I have to check, but my skin is always clean.

I grip the steering wheel as I take a shuddering breath. Get out of your head, Heidi.

The past can’t be changed, and I’ve learned to keep swimming in those choppy waters. It’s the only way to survive, but it doesn’t stop the gnawing pain in my stomach every time I think about that day.

By the time I guide the car onto the small leafy cul-de-sac, I’ve buried my trauma deep inside me and my scars are hidden away.

Trick’s bike is on the driveway, the chrome shimmering in the mid-morning sunlight. I used to love riding with Theo. There is something so liberating about being on the back of a bike, my arms wrapped around the guy I love and the open road ahead, but that was another life.

All I’ll ever be is Crow’s widow.

As I cut the engine, I feel the weight of everything slamming down on me, pushing my shoulders toward the ground.

My chest tightens and flutters start in my throat. I can’t keep living like this. Sometimes, I wish I could run far away, but I tried keeping my distance and it just made me spiral deeper into depression. For better or worse, the Sons are my family, and they’re the last connection I have to Theo. I can’t give that up.

Resting my head against the steering wheel, I try to calm my breathing. Going to the cemetery always knocks me off my feet, which is why I’ve left it so long between visits, but this time, I can’t get out of my head.

The anniversary of their deaths is coming up. That’s the reason I feel like this.

For the first time since I took over Sophia’s care, I want to reach for a bottle to get lost in. I hate this time of year, and I hate that fucking two-week period between Theo dying and my miscarriage.

I don’t want to remember that time. I would scrub it from the calendar completely if I could.

I lift my head off the steering wheel. “Get yourself to-fucking-gether,” I whisper.

I grip the door handle, but I don’t pull it immediately, needing a moment to collect myself. When I step out of the car, my mask is back in place and my smile is painted on.

Flowers line the small front garden, a colour wheel of boldness that is so different from the flowers at the cemetery.

Here, everything feels alive and full of hope.

There, death creeps around everything, choking the life out of anything it touches.

I pause at the front door as another shudder runs through me.

Game face, Heidi.