She didn’t know what she’d been expecting. She’d been trying not to think about it. But she was almost as shocked by the fact that he looked as though he was asleep than if he’d been gruesomely injured. Paul had told her that Dean’s neck had been broken. She knew what a broken neck looked like, she’d seen her fair share of animals that had come off worse in an argument with a vehicle, but there was no evidence of that looseness or the awkward angle that was so telling. There wasn’t even a graze on her brother’s handsome face, she supposed his helmet must have been to thank for that, or maybe Little Mark.
Little Mark was the owner and manager of Green Pastures Funeral Home and a friend to the club, being a distant relative of Kong’s. She had spotted him as he stood to one side of the main room. It was hard to miss him, even among the blurred sea of faces; he was anything but what his name suggested. He was possibly the only person in the room to truly rival Paul’s size, but his paunch followed Kong’s genetic line. He had played college football and had a bright future until a shoulder injury had forced him into the family business.
Ashleigh felt awkward. Were people expecting her to throw herself over the coffin wailing and tearing her hair? Would they think she hadn’t loved her brother enough if she didn’t? Any gesture of affection she might have made, any word she might have said, she would not do or say with a room full of people watching and listening. She squeezed her hands into fists, every fiber of her being demanding that she turn and run. It was too hard to say goodbye. Just. Too. Hard. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t sit through the service and be composed and dignified, it was too big an ask. She needed air...
Paul’s hand moved from the small of her back and slipped around her waist as he pulled her into his side and tucked her against his body. She turned into his warmth and breathed deeply of his scent rather than look at what had been her affectionate, protective, vivacious, life-loving brother. She bit her lip until she tasted blood as she fought a private war with her tears, but she was victorious. As she relaxed marginally, Paul helped her to step away from the casket and walked her back to her mother and Dolly. He released her to stand between the two older women and went to take his place in line with his brothers.
Someone must have made a motion, but she didn’t see who or what. She only knew that the people from the main room began to file through, each stopping a moment at the casket. Some bowed their heads silently, some mumbled a few words, some touched Dean’s hands where they lay folded over his stomach. Ashleigh tuned out. She didn’t want to intrude on other people’s mourning as she didn’t want people to intrude on hers. She recognized the patches of Paul’s former club when those members entered. The sight of the club girls, their mascara already streaked, made Ashleigh feel sad in a desolate way. They reminded her that, to the best of her knowledge, her brother had never known true love, and now he never would, and that was such a bleak thought.
An age passed before everyone else had paid their respects. She followed her mother out of the room because now it was the turn of the club, his brothers, to say their final goodbyes, and that would be done privately. She knew they would each lay a keepsake in the casket before they closed the lid. Crash closed the door behind them. Ashleigh, her mother and Dolly made their way to the main door to wait.
Eventually the Chapel doors opened and the casket came out, borne on the shoulders of the members. A reverent hush fell, ending the muted conversations that had been rippling around the room. The crowd parted to allow them through. In silence they bore her brother through the room to the waiting hearse. As the last member stepped out of the building, Moira, Ashleigh and Dolly stepped out too. The blinding sunshine was somehow offensive, as if the heavens themselves were being disrespectfully bright.
Ashleigh drove her mother and Dolly to the church, following behind the hearse and its escort of numerous thundering Harleys. Ashleigh knew that the sound of that many engines would have thrilled her brother. Chiz, Fletch and Morse forced themselves to ride. Fletch had tossed his cane into her car before they had mounted up. He took it with a relieved word of thanks when they got to the church. Morse was pale and shaking, but upright and looking grimly determined to remain so.
It was the first time she’d stepped foot inside the First Baptist Church since her wedding day. She remembered the proud smile that Dean had sported all day. He’d hated wearing pants and a dress shirt. He’d looked like a GQ model, a fidgety one that couldn’t stop tugging his collar or shucking his cuffs, but still. Ashleigh still felt guilty that he’d had to be so uncomfortable for that day. They took their seats on a front pew at one side of the aisle. The club would sit on the other.