When my parents bought a family plot in Chicago’s most prestigious cemetery, I laughed at them. I remember the moment so vividly I could swear we had the conversation yesterday, when in reality, it was years ago. I remember laughing so hard at the idea of my young, spritely parents needing to think of something like that, and then I laughed at how morbid it was.
But now it’s a reality, one that I’m having trouble accepting. After our family meeting, I threw myself into work and planning. Business didn’t allow for me to be away from my role as chief financial officer of Frost Industries for any amount of time, and I could only pawn off so much on my assistant. Clara is great, but I couldn’t do that to her. She’s shy and the idea of walking into a boardroom on her own in the past has left her having a meltdown. So in between my bouts of depression, planning to take out our enemy, and training with Rayne so my brothers and ex-whatever Everett is, don’t worry so much, working, and planning a funeral for our parents, I’m pretty damn exhausted. But the exhaustion is good. It helps. It reminds me I’m alive and that my parents would want me to live despite them being gone.
The cemetery is deathly quiet as mourners arrive. We anticipated a big turnout, but this is beyond what even I could have dreamed of. Hundreds of people surround the two empty graves with the coffins resting at the top. People from all parts of their lives, their childhoods, college, Dad’s old job, and then there’s Frost Industries. The contrast between the good side and the bad side has never seemed so obvious as it does from my place in the front row. Every time I look around and see a mixture of high-class society, and people who work in the underworld, who make money on other’s pain, it’s almost enough to make me laugh.
Almost.
Snow holds my hand tightly, her blonde hair curled around her face as she struggles to hold it together. We’re trying to show a united front, to prove to the world that this hasn’t broken us. But it’s come pretty fucking close.
It’s the first time we’ve been seen in public since the accident. We arrived together, and we will leave together. The show of solidarity will hopefully squash any chance of the board thinking they can overthrow Storm and that anyone within the underbelly of Chicago will think they can stake a claim on our territory.
We are showing the world that adversity only ever makes the Saint James family stronger.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay doing the eulogy? I can do it if you want?” Storm asks for the tenth time since we left the house, and probably the three hundredth overall. He thinks the words will break me, but showing emotion isn’t a bad thing.
“It’s not a bad thing if I cry up there, Storm. We went over this. From a publicity standpoint, if one of us goes up there and doesn’t shed a tear, just reads this thing with no emotion, it makes us look cold. Snow won’t make it through the whole thing, and you and Rayne will be too strong. It’s best it’s me.” I squeeze his hand and give him a weak smile.
This is the first time I’ve sat idly for more than a few minutes, and all the things I’ve been trying to stamp down are rising to the surface, threatening to break through the carefully crafted walls I’ve put up. Even at night, I’m too exhausted to spend more than a few minutes thinking before I pass out. But if anything is going to break me, it’s sitting in the front row of my parents’ funeral.
Storm takes his seat beside me, and on the other side of Snow, Rayne and Emerson are wrapped around one another. I’m glad he has someone through this. If this had happened six months ago, I can’t imagine how much worse this situation would be. Emerson keeps him grounded and is stopping him from murdering every Russo man he can get his hands on.
But it’s the man sitting beside him that I crave. I have to walk away every time Everett gets too close. Having him nearby is a blessing and a curse, because all I want to do is lean on him, and I can’t do that without breaking my own heart. When he left, I wish I could say it hurt so much because of our romantic relationship, but that’s not what left me crying myself to sleep every night. He was my best friend, my confidant, my everything. Every issue I ever had, I went to him, and suddenly he was gone. I didn’t know where he was or what he was doing. I never knew if he was safe or if he was dead in a ditch somewhere. That was what tore my heart out and what I’ve never been able to recover from. It’s the reason I don’t let anyone get close, the reason my best friends are my siblings and my assistant. I can’t handle the idea of someone I love leaving me again.
The priest clears his throat into the microphone and everyone’s attention turns to him as he begins to talk about my parents being called back to heaven.
What a load of bullshit.
We’ve never been people who go to church every Sunday, only going for special occasions, but having a priest is ridiculous for a number of reasons apart from that one. One, my father was a mafia boss, so even if we were religious in the traditional sense, he was almost definitely going to hell. Two, I would argue that at least thirty percent of the people in attendance are also criminals. And three, who wants to hear that their parents were called to heaven when they were actually driven off the road by our enemy?
And yet the instructions were very clear, to the point they named Father Harvey as the priest they wanted to conduct the service. I’m still curious how they knew a priest by name, but hey, I’m curious about a lot of shit.
“And now, their daughter Wynter is going to share a few words,” he says, and it’s only the mention of my name that tugs me back to the present.
I stand, carefully straightening my tight, knee-length cotton dress down my thighs. Snow still covers the ground, so I’ve paired it with stockings and my favorite boots, along with a dark green coat to match my mother’s eye color. Carefully I make my way to the front, and it’s only when I’m standing beside the coffins that I realize just how many people are here.
Pulling the cue cards from my coat pocket, I take a deep breath to settle my nerves. I’ve never struggled to speak in public, but right now it seems harder than it ever has before. My heart beats a little too hard, my hands shake to the point I can barely focus on the words I scrawled on the cards, and tears that I’ve tried to hold at bay gather in my eyes.
My eyes sweep across the crowd again and settle on Everett’s. Silently he’s telling me I’ve got this, and it’s his strength that allows me to start reading. “I wanted to begin with saying thank you for your attendance today. I always knew my parents were loved, but seeing you all here today really proves that. If you knew them well, you would know that there isn’t a thing they wouldn’t do for a person in need. When we were children, our home was always open to friends in need, and every single one of our friends gained an extra set of parents.”
I’m talking to him now, admitting that everything Storm said that night we found out was true. He was a part of this family, just the same as we were.
“My mother donated to every charity far and wide, never wanting to see anyone go without as she had for many years. My father, regardless of how busy he was, always had time to help others. And that’s how I hope the city of Chicago will always remember them.”
I read over the next few lines. The ink has run slightly from the tears I shed as I wrote these words. “But what I can tell you about them that you may not already know is that they were the best parents we ever could have hoped for. When we had nothing, we still never wanted for anything. They always made sure we had everything we needed, and on top of that, they gave us love.” I choke on the sob clawing up my throat, and panic starts to settle in my stomach. I have to get through this, I can’t show too much weakness. “They taught us how to love, and how to be loved. They taught us that no matter your circumstances, no matter how bleak life may seem, if you have love, you have everything you’ll ever need.” The last words break as they leave my mouth and heavy tears roll down my cheeks. My eyes move from the crowd to the coffins beside me, and my knees weaken.
No, I can’t do this. I can’t say goodbye to them.
Before I can think to hold on to something, an arm wraps around my waist, holding me steady, and when I look up, I’m met with deep oceans. “You’ve got this, dove,” he whispers. “And I’ve got you.”
I shouldn’t lean into his touch, but I do.
I shouldn’t allow him to comfort me, but I do.
And I definitely shouldn’t enjoy the way his large hand splays across my waist, and yet, I do.
“My family has lost our guiding lights, the people who taught us right from wrong, and how to navigate this crazy world, but we haven’t lost our purpose. We will continue their legacy as a family, and make sure the world never forgets the people who always made it brighter.”
I had stewed on the final words all night last night. Knowing our enemies were watching only made it more important to make a statement. And the words I chose only served as a message to everyone who thought they could threaten us.
We are coming for you.
