Wild and Free (The Three #3)(81)

We got to the bottom and everyone traversed the beach toward Jabber, but Abel let me go when I got close.

I looked up to him even as Dad kept pulling me.

Abel nodded toward the boat.

I nodded back and let Dad guide me to Jabber. Moose and Poncho followed.

The rest stayed behind, fanning out along the beach, silent.

I tried not to look at Snake, but I couldn’t help it. His throat was covered, but I could see his face in the waning sunlight.

They should have covered him. He looked peaceful. He never looked peaceful. He always looked…something.

“Let’s do this,” Jabber grunted, flinching as he reached down to a bottle of Jack.

Moose and Poncho went to get theirs and Dad let me go to grab the last two. He handed one to me.

I looked around, not knowing what to do, then followed their lead as they busted open the caps, lifted them to their lips, and took a deep tug.

My throat was burning and my eyes were on fire when I was done, but I sucked back air and controlled the burn as Dad turned to me.

“Say good-bye, little girl,” he murmured.

I knew what he meant by that, so I swallowed, nodded, and moved to the side of the boat.

I squatted down and stared at Snake.

“Thanks for teaching me checkers,” I whispered. My throat started burning a different way as I croaked, “And thank you for dying for me.”

The tears slid down my cheeks as I lifted my hand and touched my fingertips to the gold crucifix I’d clasped around my neck. I then moved my fingers to my lips and got out of my squat to lean over the side of the boat, reach out, and touch them to Snake’s cold cheek.

I held them there until I felt hands on me. I looked behind me and saw Dad and Moose.

I moved away. Moose moved in. He did what he had to do. Then Poncho did. After Poncho, Moose wheeled Jabber close and he did. And finally, Dad did.

Then Poncho and Moose moved to the other side of the boat, Dad motioned for me to come to him, and Jabber stayed where he was, close to the stern of the boat.

“Hup-ta,” Dad grunted the nonsensical words they always said before taking a shot. All the men lifted their bottles, grunted “Hup-ta,” then poured and shook them all over the inside of the boat.

I did the same with mine.

They tossed their bottles in with Snake. I followed suit and did it knowing that either Abel arranged all this, understanding the kind of closure Dad and the boys would need, or he’d found out what they needed and made certain they had it.

And I loved the fact that, this time, my man gave my father, his friends, and, most especially, Snake, what they needed.

Moose went back to Jabber and wheeled him a few feet up the beach. After Dad jerked his head that I should go to Jabber, I did. And I stood next to Jabber as Dad, Moose, and Poncho bent to the boat and gave it a mighty heave, shoving it into the waves, going into them thigh-deep, pushing Snake to sea, the sun setting on the horizon.

I gulped back a sob as more wet hit my cheeks, and Jabber’s hand came out and curled around mine.

Dad, Moose, and Poncho stood in the waves, watching the boat drift to sea before they turned and made their way out of the surf to Jabber and me.

Dad slid an arm around my shoulders and got close. I kept hold of Jabber’s hand. We all stood and watched as Snake rode the waves, one last ride—not a wild one, a peaceful one.

As it should be.

Then I heard zinging and four flaming arrows arced through the violet of the overhead sky, falling and hitting the boat.

It burst into flames.

I couldn’t hold back my sob. Jabber’s hand tightened in mine as Dad lifted his hand and turned his body so he could tuck my cheek to his chest.

I didn’t tear my eyes from the boat as it burned.

After some time, the silence that had been pierced only by the sound of the distant flames and the soft lapping of water against rock was interrupted with guitar strings.

I turned my head, Dad turned his body, and we saw that Abel had his guitar on a thigh that was up, his boot and ass balanced on a rock, his other leg straight. He was playing.

And then he was singing.

And that was when the tears poured out of me.

Because he was singing (and I didn’t know he could sing) and doing it beautifully.

But mostly because he was singing Cat Stevens’s “The Wind.”

I listened to Abel’s deep voice wrapping around the words as my eyes drifted back to Snake getting one thing he wanted in life and getting it after he died.

Abel finished the song, gave it a few moments, then I again looked to him when he kept going.

This time doing Pearl Jam’s “Just Breathe.”

When he started singing, his dark head was bent, watching his fingers move on the strings.

But on the first “stay with me,” he lifted his head and looked right to me.

And my world stopped.

But my tears didn’t.

My friend Snake burned, my life was turned upside down, and I stood on a pebbled beach with family, a bunch of vampires and werewolves, my man singing to me, and I fell in love.

Forever and completely.

But I’d already been in love.

Since the day I was born to be Abel’s.

I stared into Abel’s eyes as the words he sang poured into my soul, and I knew no matter what became of me, I’d live wild and free and full for the rest of my life.