Page 10

Mouse sets the bag on the counter and stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets.

"A few of the guys have been calling."

Knox looks up.

"They've been asking what you need. If there's anything they can do."

Need. The word catches somewhere in my chest. I need Raven. Everything else feels irrelevant.

Mouse shifts his weight and glances toward me again.

"We'll start bringing food by. Checking in. Whatever you guys need."

The silence stretches between us because we all know he isn't really talking about food.

The club is worried.

About Knox.

About me.

About what comes next.

"I told Bishop I'd stop by and let him know how things are going," Mouse adds.

Knox rubs a hand over his face. "Tell him we're fine."

The lie hangs in the room for a second.

Mouse hears it. So does Jon. Hell, even I hear it. But nobody calls it out.

"Will do."

A few more words are exchanged about funeral arrangements, about calling the guys once the service is set, about who can help with whatever needs doing. I don't pay much attention to any of it.

They're talking about Raven like she's already gone.

Maybe she is. Maybe that's the part I still haven't figured out how to understand.

Eventually, Mouse makes his way back toward the door. He pauses beside the couch, looking down at me like he's trying to find something worth saying.

Whatever it is, he comes up empty.

Instead, he squeezes my shoulder once.

Then he leaves.

In the kitchen, Knox lifts the lid off the crockpot. The smell of chicken soup fills the room.

Raven would’ve loved that somebody brought soup.

Samuel

I've already redone the knot twice, but it still looks wrong. I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and wonder if anybody would notice if I skipped the tie altogether.

I drag a hand over my face and look down at the strip of black fabric hanging around my neck. I hate ties. Always have.

The last time I wore one was the day we got married.