We drive for twenty minutes, the car in dead silence, and before I know it, we’re pulling up to a massive cathedral. I gape out the window, staring up at the incredible building that until now, I didn’t even know was here. “Shit,” I breathe. “This place is massive.”
“Wait until you see inside,” King grumbles. “This was my father’s favorite place on earth.”
My brows furrow as I meet King’s stare. “Oh?” I ask. “I, uhh … I didn’t realize that he was religious.”
“He wasn’t,” King says with a soft chuckle. “But he would come here to seek peace and guidance. I don’t know, I think maybe it was a combination of things, but whenever the world was falling to pieces around him, he would come here and just sit in the pews for a few hours until he got clarity.”
I nod and look back at the massive cathedral, watching as people dressed in black suits and dresses begin flooding through the front doors of the impressive building. King pushes his door open and climbs out before turning back and helping me.
Once I’m balanced on my feet, his arm instantly slips through mine, holding me discreetly. To the outside world, it would look as though he’s just using me for comfort, but in reality, he’s holding me as tight as fucking possible to make sure that I don’t fall and tear my internal stitches.
As a group, the five of us slowly walk to the impressive entrance of the cathedral, but as we go to step over the threshold and enter the building, King pulls away from me, and Cruz instantly takes his place. “I need to stay out here,” King mutters, seeing the confusion stretched across my face.
I nod, and just like that, it’s the last I see of King as we walk through the doors and find our seats.
It’s gloomy as fuck in here.
I guess for the most part, it would be beautiful with its high, open ceilings, large windows, and jaw-dropping architecture, but all the sadness pulsing through the room and the soft, grievous music changes the entire ambiance.
Why did it have to be Tobias? He was the closest thing I had to a father.
We take our seats, and Cruz instantly slides in beside me, keeping his arm curled around my waist so that I don’t have to press myself up against the hard back of the pew. I look around, and as I take it all in, I’m struck by the fact that Royston Carver didn’t get something like this. He was an important player in this fucked up game, so where was his grand funeral?
I glance at Carver on my other side and ignore the way his leg presses up against mine, knowing that if I focus on it for too long, I won’t be able to resist reaching out and pulling him closer. Just that brief moment with him in my bathroom this morning wasn’t enough—it will never be enough.
“What?” he grumbles, his voice low as he keeps his stare straight ahead, refusing to look down and meet my stare.
My tongue rolls over my lip as I realize that bringing this up with him could potentially be a bad move, but now that he knows there’s something on my mind, he won’t be able to let it go. I let out a shaky breath. “Why didn’t your father get a grand funeral?”
I notice Grayson flinch ever so slightly at my question. My gaze slices up to his to find him glancing between Carver and me, unsure how this is going to play out.
Carver tenses and I watch as his jaw clenches, making it clear that the topic of his father’s death is not something he particularly wishes to discuss, but why? He’s talked about him before, he’s openly admitted to how much he hated him, so why does it give him such a hard time? Is he still trying to process and deal with the betrayal that he suffered at his father’s hands?
Grayson leans forward, properly meeting my stare. “When a member of Dynasty is disgraced for actions taken against our organization, they are stripped of the benefits that come along with the territory. Royston was not given a grand funeral, just as Preston Scardoni won’t. However, their families are allowed the opportunity to bury their loved one in private.”
My gaze flicks back to Carver. “Did you?” I whisper, sliding my hand out to brush against his knee.
Carver moves his leg away from mine. “No,” he mutters, keeping his stare straight ahead and his face a complete mask. “My family went away. They never got the opportunity. His body wasn’t claimed for burial, so Dynasty cremated him and disposed of his ashes. He’s not my fucking problem anymore.”
Guilt sits heavily in my chest as I sit back and lean closer into Cruz.
Well, fuck. Why did I let that one little piece of information claw its way inside my chest and burn my dark heart into ashes? Why should I give a shit that Carver never got a chance to say goodbye to his father? That man murdered mine. He deserved what was coming for him, but Carver? Shit.
The soft music lowers, and the thoughts of Carver and his father instantly leave my mind. Mr. Danforth steps up in front of the congregation, looking out at the crowded bodies and slowly scanning the room. As he does, I can’t help but follow his gaze.
Mr. Danforth stops on the front row, and I peer around Cruz to find King’s mother and his little brother and sister, Cody and Caitlin. The kids look absolutely devastated, and to be honest, with the injuries Caitlin sustained during the sham of a ball, I’m surprised she’s here. Perhaps she received special permission to attend, either way, she looks like today is the worst day of her life. In fact, that goes for both her brother and her mother.
“Thank you all for being here to celebrate the life of the late Tobias King. His death was a tragedy, one we will all feel for many years to come,” Cruz’s father says, pressing his lips into a hard line. He takes a deep breath—as if standing up in front of Tobias’ friends and family is one of the hardest things he’ll ever have to do. Then without wasting a single second, he lifts both of his hands. “Please let us stand as one and rise.”
Without hesitation, everybody in the room raises to their feet, and the soft, grievous music changes to something equally as chilling and heartbreaking. Every eye in the room fills with unshed tears.
Every head turns to the grand entrance of the cathedral, and as I peer through the bodies blocking my view, I find King standing among seven other men, all of which are heads of Dynasty, carrying Tobias’ casket.
My heart sinks as I imagine the horrendous weight now resting on King’s shoulders, but just as he had said in the car—he has no choice but to be strong. For his mother, for his brother and sister, and for the rest of Dynasty looking in and watching his every move, waiting to find his weaknesses. They won’t find any though, not when it comes to King.
The walk from the entrance of the cathedral to the front of the church seems to go on forever, and as King passes us, I can’t help but meet his stare. To me, he looks broken, but to the outside world, he looks like the only person in this impressive building who has his shit together.
The men take the casket to the very front and place it down on the table that has been patiently awaiting Tobias’ arrival.
King hesitates at the front of the church. He looks back toward me sitting among his friends before glancing at his mother. Realizing that now is more important than ever to make an impression, he walks to his mother’s side and drops down next to her.
The ceremony is lovely and exactly what I had hoped for Tobias. Taking a page out of King’s book, I try my hardest to hold my composure for the people around me. For the most part, I think it works. That is until Tobias’ wife takes a stand behind the dais and looks out at the crowd of bodies, all watching her with tear-stained eyes.