Page 11 of Beautifully Shattered
I grunt, mainly because him calling her akidjust rubs me the wrong fucking way.
She’s not a kid. She’s a goddamn warrior. A mother who lost her baby.
“You called?” I bite out, not in the fucking mood for Smitty’s usual brand of chaos.
“Yeah. All the funerals are set for Wednesday. Just wanted to check if your woman wants to have her kid’s funeral at the same time.”
“No,” I snap, ice in my voice as fury lights up my fucking chest.
The fuck is he thinking?
Does he believe she’d want to lump Bobbi’s farewell in with the rest? Like it’s just another fucking name on the list?
She’s not just grieving. My Angel is gutted.
And he fucking thinks she’d give a single fuck about anyone else’s funeral right now?
“My wife will arrange her own funeral for her daughter.”
“Yeah. Okay. I figured, but… well fuck, I dunno.”
He sounds unsure for once, and it almost makes me feel bad.
“Where are the funerals taking place?” I ask instead of acknowledging his insensitivity.
Is it even insensitivity? Or am I just looking for someone to throw my own rage at?
“At the new compound,” Smitty responds. “We’ve set up a memorial area. Our fallen will be cremated before Wednesday,and their ashes will be placed in the memorial wall during the ceremony.”
Shit.
I rub my hand down over my face.
I need to get my head outta my arse.
People fucking died.
Good people.
Important people.
People who wore our patch and called me brother.
People I fucking cared about.
My gut twists, the weight of it finally catching up with me.
So many have died.
For my club.
For me.
For Abbey.
“I’ll be there,” I rasp, hating how obvious the emotion is in my voice. “Just text me the time.”
“And will your wife be there?” he asks, like her presence is expected.
