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Doc Paul looked around and nodded.
“Nando has survived the surgery. He is stable, but unfortunately, he lapsed into a coma. So far, we’ve not been able to wake him,” Doc Paul said, and we all felt the bomb hit the room.
???
Soon after Nando’s update and his family started seeing him, we were informed Dan Horton had come through and was stable, but he’d been paralysed. His parents and brother were rightfully distraught but thankful he was alive. They scurried out to see him ignoring those around them, their focus understandably on Dan.
Axel was the last update, and it rocked us to our souls. They’d saved his spine from the bullet, and it wouldn’t fully paralyse him. But the bullet damaged his nervous system, and his left leg would be paralysed. It was a condition called monoplegia, and basically, the nervous system concerning Axel’s leg had been damaged beyond repair. He’d stand and walk, but his left leg wouldn’t respond.
Ellen broke down, unable to understand her vibrant husband was going to be handicapped. Everyone from Rage looked broken as we tried to understand how this would affect Axel. The only thing that sank deep into my heart was Axel would never ride two wheels again. His Harley days were over, according to the doctors. Already my mind was making plans to get around this shit. There were trikes; we could adjust one. Axel would ride with Rage, even if he couldn’t walk on his own feet without help.
I stared out the window in a daze as anger and hate flared in me. Fury wanted a war? Rage would give him one. Now Rage would ignore the most basic of rules. Fury had crossed the line, and a child had been orphaned.
???
It was a warm sunny day, which felt wrong to me. The sun shouldn’t be shining when we were putting one of our own in the ground. And Justin Goldberg, cop or not, was one of ours. The call had gone out, and allies had arrived. The route Justin Goldberg would take on his way to his final resting place was lined with bikes. Even those not in our close circle of allies had answered. Riding clubs, nomads, and other MCs in South Dakota, all came to honour a man whose life had been dedicated to protecting the innocent. It was the best Rage could offer a man we called a close friend. Off duty cops from other areas in uniform lined the streets, standing shoulder to shoulder with bikers.
Bobby Lucas was one of the pallbearers opposite me. Nando remained in a coma, and Dan Horton was being pushed in, sitting in a wheelchair. I’d heard the guy had discharged himself this morning, pissing doctors off to attend Justin’s funeral. Dan was struggling to come to terms with the fact he’d never walk again. Worse, he was going to be retired on disability. Phoe was pushing to find a way he could stay a cop, and she was still flying in experts. Phoe Michaelson wasn’t accepting that an honourable guy would remain paralysed, despite being constantly told this repeatedly by each expert.
I let her do this, even though I knew it was hopeless. But Phoe needed this shit, so I let her try. I couldn’t break her heart further.
We reached the altar, and slowly we lowered Justin onto it. I was representing Rage. Behind me stood Dylan Hawthorne, representing Justin Goldberg’s coma-ridden partner. Nando’s survival still wasn’t assured. So Dylan Hawthorne, being there instead of at his cousin’s bedside, said a lot.
Glancing around, I noticed the older three Hawthorne brothers, the men who had spawned a generation of legends. Even Nando’s father, Curt Hawthorne, and his wife, Francesca, were here, silently crying. To stand there, burying a man who’d become a son to them, was painful beyond belief. My heart broke for them. But respect welled too, because I saw every Hawthorne behind Curt and Francesca. They must have asked someone to sit with Nando; the guy hadn’t been left alone since we got the call.
But for Justin, the Hawthorne clan turned out to bury one of their own. The church was full of blue; neighbouring towns had sent cover so RCPD could bury Justin Goldberg, a hero to everyone present. And as I said, their off duty officers lined the streets. A sigh of true respect. Justin’s parents stood with their hands on their grandson, a six-year-old boy, their faces taunt and holding pain.
“That boy never goes without,” I murmured as I took my place beside Phoe.
“Never,” Phoe swore.
My hand fumbled for Phoe’s, and her fingers slid into mine. I wasn’t ready for this. Unready to say goodbye to a guy who should have been an enemy but was a friend instead. Images of Justin raced through my mind, his laughter and smile prevalent. He had been a fuckin’ great man and a severe loss.
Beside me Axel stood balancing on crutches and ignoring Ellen whispering for him to sit down. Axel had escaped hospital for the day but was going back, even if we had to force him, much like Dan Horton was also going back. They may think they’d discharged themselves, but everyone who loved them was going to make sure they returned and got the help they needed.
The preacher stood up and opened the service, but then it changed. Andrew Howser rose and gave a speech detailing the first time he’d met Justin. Justin had thrown a whole cup of coffee over him. There were titters amongst those watching. With a bitter smile, Andrew complained about the outrageous ties Justin would wear just to piss him off and the neon socks. He spoke about how much Justin had been the ideal officer and law enforcer.
As Andrew sat down, Dylan Hawthorne rose. His voice wobbled as he explained that one drunken night, Nando and Justin had written eulogies for each other. With tight control, Dylan read Nando’s words about his partner, his love and respect for him, and the funny shit they’d found themselves in sometimes. Nando’s feelings were obvious for the man. They were brothers and not just brothers in blue.
Phoe couldn’t hold back her tears now as she curled at my side and wept quietly. For a moment, I envied women’s ability to be able to cry while we men kept a stiff upper lip. What a load of bull. Inside, I wept as freely as Phoe did.
Bobby Lucas with Dan Horton went on to give their own speeches, followed surprisingly by Artemis, who celebrated Justin’s life with her own stories. For the next two hours, we listened to his friends, colleagues, and those he’d helped as we celebrated Justin’s life and mourned his loss. The preacher ended with a last prayer, and with Justin’s parents and son leading the way, we pallbearers picked Justin back up and carried him out.
As we loaded him into the hearse, around us, silence ruled. Motorbikes mixed with cop cars lined the streets as a piper began walking, and the hearse pulled out behind him. Two funeral vehicles fell in behind, and then other vehicles before I pulled out with Rage behind me. Behind us came Hellfire and other allies. It was heartbreaking as those lining the roads to pay respects threw flowers in front of the hearse as the piper played his way to the cemetery.
Nobody rushed about, shops shut, people watched quietly, occasionally a child’s voice rose, but people kept throwing their flowers and bowing their heads. RC had lost a real-life hero. Justin had reported in the papers like Nando for his various arrests, and everybody knew and respected them. The outpouring of grief touched the entire city. This was everyone’s son, brother, dad, partner, and Justin wouldn’t be forgotten for a long time, maybe never.
As we approached the cemetery, we saw the city’s fire engines and ambulances standing guard with our other rescue vehicles. Justin was getting a funeral, no less worthy of the man he had been. As we parked and stepped into the cemetery, I heard a boy crying and guessed it was Justin’s son. How could he understand at six that his hero dad was not coming back?
Justin’s parents took their place at the graveside as we pallbearers walked him to his final resting place. It was that last act of putting the coffin on the stand that broke me, and I couldn’t stop the sob from escaping.
Dylan’s hand landed heavily on my shoulder as I looked up and saw his silent tears falling. I met a pair of wet eyes and noticed Axel wipe his own away. With the big guy crying, it was okay. We were allowed to feel our grief. For several minutes, everyone stood silent as our grief swept across the cemetery, touching all of us. More than one man wiped tears from their face; more than one Rage let grief show. And then, finally, someone laughed.
Shocked, I turned and saw Justin’s mother smiling as she controlled her laugh.
“My boy wouldn’t want this shit. Man up, all of you,” she said as she stepped forward towards the preacher.
“My turn to speak about my son,” she announced, straightening her shoulders. It was there and then that I saw where Justin earned his strength. It flowed from his mom like it had flowed from him.
