The sun hadn’t even risen when Scottie stood at the large window looking out into Gray’s garden with a coffee mug in hand. Messages had begun to come into his phone around three in the morning and hadn’t stopped. He’d given up on sleep around five, not seeing the point.

Should’ve just turned the thing off and been done with it.

In the beginning, all of the messages came from his father filled with vile words about his own son being gay. Scottie ignored the lot of them, eventually deleting the thread and blocking his old man’s number. Around four in the morning, his brother had texted him—followed shortly by a few of his other relatives.

It seemed that in a fit of temper, his father had managed to send himself into a heart attack, his body already weakened by cirrhosis and decades of poor living. Scottie knew he’d be judged harshly by some of his family for not immediately rushing to the hospital, but after thirty-plus years of abusive behaviour, he just felt numb to everything.

“What’s got you up so early?” Gray joined him in the kitchen, pouring coffee for himself and setting Scottie’s mobile on the counter. “Your damn phone keeps buzzing. Is everything okay?”

Scottie stretched his arm out to grab the phone. He scrolled through the messages from family members who’d never bothered to contact him before, and eventually found one from Silus. “My old man took a turn for the worse.”

Gray moved up beside him, looping an arm around Scottie’s back. “How bad is it?”

“He died an hour ago.” Scottie twisted his phone so they could both read the text from his younger brother. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“What do you need?”

“You to fuck me until I can’t remember any of this shit.” Scottie dropped his phone on the counter and downed the last of his now cold coffee. “This is such bullshit.”

Gray shook his head while keeping his arm firmly around him. “You can’t sex your way out of this, kitten. Let’s get showered and dressed. You might not give a shit about your old man, but Silus needs his big brother.”

With a frustrated grunt, Scottie tossed the mug into the sink, barely avoiding breaking it. He shrugged out from under Gray’s arm to trudge down the hall into the bedroom. His shower lasted long enough to soap up and rinse off—more perfunctory than anything else.

He found Gray had already showered in the en suite in his spare bedroom. They dressed in silence. His emotions were too chaotic and tense to make conversation a good idea.

The first cold snap of the winter season had hit Cardiff early. They both grabbed jackets and quickly got into the Jaguar. Gray took the keys out of his hand, likely worried Scottie might be too distracted to drive.

“You ready for this?”

Scottie jolted in his seat, taking a few minutes to realise they’d arrived at the hospital. “Fuck.”

Gray rested a hand on the back of Scottie’s neck to squeeze firmly. “Have you thought about the funeral?”

“Toss him in the sea and be done with it.” Scottie yanked the door open and stormed out of the vehicle. He didn’t want comfort; he wanted two bottles of scotch. “Do they still do burials at sea?”

“Not sure your dad would qualify.” Gray caught up with him as they walked into the hospital. “Did you text your brother?”

“Scottie.” Silus rushed over to them, interrupting before Scottie could answer. “Thank heavens. I can’t deal with all these Monks.”

Scottie smothered his inappropriate urge to laugh at the harried look on his brother’s face. “What the hell have I been telling you about them? You should be glad your mum kept you sheltered from the Monk madness.”

“They keep asking me if I’m paying for the funeral. How am I supposed to do that?” Silus grabbed Scottie by the shirt to start leading him down the hall past the receptionist’s desk. “I have duct tape on my car. I’m a university student—your marine feeds me half the time.”

“Retired marine,” Gray interjected.

“You’re not paying for a thing.” Scottie had been primed for an argument for days. He had no problems taking his entire family down a notch if it meant they’d leave his brother alone. “Fuckers.”

Silus rushed forward to step in front of him. “No screaming in the hospital.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Scottie rolled his eyes at his brother. “Don’t get shirty with me. I’ll pull the duct tape off your piece of shit car.”

“Arsehole.” Silus shoved Scottie, and the two devolved into a mock battle until Gray cleared his throat. “Right. Hospital. Sadness. No fun.”

“Scott.”

Scottie almost instinctually stepped between his brother and his uncle. He had few good memories of his father’s oldest sibling. “Bernie.”

“Show some respect.” His uncle Bernard had aged considerably since the last time they’d seen each other. “You were always a little piece of shit kid.”

“If you want me to pay for the funeral, you’ll show me some respect.” Scottie knew without asking that no one in his family could afford to pay for a single flower, let alone everything else. He pushed Silus towards Gray. His uncle seemed to be fighting with himself. “Where’s his doctor? Bernie?”

While Gray played guard for Silus, Scottie followed his uncle down the hall. His extended family cluttered the area around what had been his father’s room. Vultures. He hadn’t seen most of them in almost ten years; they’d all learned quickly that he wouldn’t play ATM for them.

When Scottie’s career took off, they’d all clamoured around him wanting to ride on his coattails. They’d wanted handouts constantly. He’d told them all to get stuffed, not that it completely stopped them from asking.

The only person in their family to receive any money from him was Silus. His younger brother deserved it. None of the other Monks deserved anything other than to be tossed into the rubbish.

And of all of their family, Silus had been the one to never once ask him for anything.

Several exhausting hours later, Scottie had the medical certificate from the doctor. He’d also convinced Silus to leave with him instead of staying with their toxic relatives. Gray drove them across the city to the nearest register office to get the documents filled out to apply for the Certificate for Burial.

A few days later, Scottie hired a funeral director to handle the arrangements. His initial thought to simply cremate his father and dump the ashes down the loo was overruled by Silus. The service would be small—but they’d have one at the church near the cemetery where the man would be buried.

Given his father had no earthly possessions worth anything; there’d been no fighting over a will. The rest of the family managed to behave with some semblance of decency, at least in his presence. Scottie hadn’t thought it possible.

All of his friends flew into Cardiff for the funeral. Scottie insisted he’d be fine. They ignored him.

“It’s okay to be angry, kitten.” Gray leaned against the side of the church. The priest had promised the service would be simple and respectful. “He was a bastard who did everything in his power to hurt you when he should’ve protected you.”

“Fucking arsehole.” Scottie knew his temper had gotten perilously close to erupting. He’d even snapped at several of his staff at the club until Taine insisted he take a few days off. “Why am I even here? The bastard wouldn’t have spit on me if I were on fire. He donated sperm, and that comprises his sole contribution to being a parent.”

To his credit, Gray didn’t offer pointless words of comfort. Scottie knew from past conversations that both of their childhoods hadn’t been ideal. Of everyone in his life, Gray likely understood more than anyone how conflicted he felt.

Scottie shoved his hands into his pockets—less chance of him taking a swing—and forced himself to enter the church. “Let’s get this shit over with.”

He made it through ten minutes of the whimpering, mournful tears from aunts and uncles who usually thought a family reunion meant screaming at each another. He found it hard to stomach their hypocrisy.

When the priest began going on about what a “good man Scott George Monk” had been, Scottie made for the door. He’d paid for the funeral and saw no reason to sit through an hour of lies. The door slammed shut behind him with a heavy thud.

So much for not making a scene.

Despite his best efforts, it was impossible to pretend his father had been anything other than a drunken, abusive man. Their entire family ignored what happened inside their home. Scottie couldn’t bring himself to be bothered if they thought the worst of him.

They hadn’t minded the bruises on his face as a child. Scottie remembered quite clearly wanting help. They’d all turned their backs on him.

The family code of silence.

It’s not our place to say anything. You just have to learn not to anger him, dearie. He’s a good man who’s had a hard life.

Fuck ’em if they want to get on their high horse.

“Why don’t we just leave?”

Scottie glanced up to find BC, Taine, Remi, Caddock, and their significant others had followed him out of the church. Gray followed a few seconds later with Silus behind him. “Anyone actually left inside?”

“Arseholes who don’t mind the lies.” BC shrugged. “The Sin Bin’s closed for the day. Why don’t we have our own service there?”

“Taine going to play priest?” Caddock suggested, only to be punched in the arm by the man in question. “What? You’re the adopted son of one—you’re more qualified than any of us heathens. We only darken the doors of a church for weddings, funerals, and Christmas celebrations.”

“You’re all heathens.” Remi drew his wife, Sarah, back into his arms, resting his chin on top of her bright red hair. “The club would provide a friendlier and more comfortable atmosphere for you to mourn however you wish.”

“Mourn?” Scottie scoffed, ignoring the glare from his brother. “I’ll grieve by taking a shit on his grave.”

“Scottie.”

“Sorry.” Scottie pulled Silus into a hug. He’d tried his hardest to avoid losing his temper in front of his brother. “We’ll be more comfortable at the club.”

And it has plenty of alcohol.

I could use a drink—or twenty.

Right. Not supposed to drink.

The past week had severely tested Scottie’s resolve to stay sober. He’d skipped his appointment with his therapist. None of it seemed to matter amidst all the upheaval after his father’s death.

They separated into their vehicles to head for the Sin Bin. Gray and Silus joined Scottie in his Jaguar. He’d promised himself to keep a close eye on his younger brother, who seemed affected by the loss.

And his mum’ll kick my arse all across the city if I don’t.

Silus leaned forward in the back seat to place a hand on Scottie’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“What do you have to be sorry about?” He fought to get the key in the ignition before finally getting the Jaguar started. “You hit your head on something?”

“Don’t be an arse.” Silus slapped him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry that you had to pay for the funeral. I know you did it for me. You’d have cremated him and thrown his ashes in the nearest rubbish bin. This is healthier for both of us. Maybe over time, you’ll realise it.”

Doubtful.

Scottie shrugged.

“Look at it this way.” Silus shifted back into his seat. “The grave gives you somewhere to go to yell at him.”

“Kid has a point,” Gray added. “Or, you might never visit it.”

“Would you?” Scottie asked after a few minutes’ silence.

“I don’t know.” Gray reached forward to adjust the temperature. “It’s easy for me to say I would, but some of those foster families—I’d never even go to their funeral, let alone their grave. Do what works for you. No one can tell you how to grieve or how to heal. Same goes for you, kid. You might both mourn in your own ways. It doesn’t make either one of you right or wrong.”

“He’s smart.” Silus gave Gray two thumbs up.

I’ll mourn with a bottle of the strongest liquor I can find.

Or five.

The atmosphere at the club stifled him almost as much as the church. Scottie had gone from being surrounded by the fake grief of his extended family to the sincere concern of his friends. None of them grasped how much he wanted space to simply forget.

His well-meaning friends had all, for the most part, enjoyed their childhoods. Maybe not idyllic, but certainly not as violently abusive as his own had been. Their parents supported them in their endeavours. Even Silus, his own brother, hadn’t truly known the depths of their father’s issues.

Sitting by himself at the bar, Scottie enjoyed a brief moment of not being asked how he felt. The question seemed to be on every single person’s lips. They didn’t bother with anything else.

How are you doing?

How are you feeling?

Telling himself they meant well didn’t really help. If they wanted to do him a good turn, a bottle of whisky and bit of privacy would be brilliant. He knew the odds of getting either were slim to none.

“Want to shoot something?” Gray took a seat beside him. He set a mug of tea in front of Scottie. “Drink up, kitten. Hamish swears this stuff makes everything better.”

Not without an entire bottle of scotch in it.

“Why would I want to shoot something?” Scottie ignored the tea for a moment. He wanted to chuck it at someone’s head. “Only person I’ve ever wanted to hurt is dead and buried.”

Gray placed a hand on his shoulder. “The anger fades.”

“Does it?”