Page 13 of Outlaw Heartstrings

Boots respectfully to one side of the plot, Irish stood and stared down at the last remaining reminder of the man he’d considered closer than a brother.

The granite stone was simple, just names and dates, with a small line of text underneath it all, which he assumed came with the design. Still, it resonated with him.

He was loved.

“I’m going to wander a bit. Give you some time, Liam. We’re not in a rush.”

Yanking his head up, he looked at Ellen, her gloved fingers squeezing his gently.

Her expression was softened with sadness for him and his grief, and he loved that about her.

Even without knowing Lyon, she felt the absence left behind because of his death.

Irish nodded jerkily and tightened his fingers on hers before she slipped away.

He watched her for a moment, her head angled down as she read inscriptions on gravestones along the row.

The mix of tall and short monuments stretched to the rise of the little hill they were on and beyond, one of the largest cemeteries in Bozeman.

She was moving slowly, giving each grave the same attentive consideration.

Fuck, I love her.

Pulling his gaze from Ellen, he directed it back to the grave in front of him.

“Lyon, brother. Miss you every fuckin’ day.

Your bullshit and shenanigans. You kept me hopping.

Wish I could have saved you, man. Follows me into my sleep, watching you die like that.

Not ever gonna forget you. Couldn’t, not when you helped make me the man I am.

” Irish sucked in a harsh breath, the back of his throat catching and choking him.

He swallowed hard, forcing down the sounds threatening to break free.

“You see that woman here with me? Her name’s Ellen.

She’s something else, man. Understands the brotherhood from the inside out.

One of the best ones. Sexy, smart, and confident, and she’s got this little girl, Lucy.

Kid’s a hoot, but such a good soul, just like her mother.

I like her a lot, Lyon. You’d fight me for her, I know.

I’d win, just so you know. I’ll always win when it comes to her. I love her.”

He glanced up again, finding Ellen now several rows away, but her gaze turned steadily on him.

Irish gave her a chin lift that she returned with a little wave and wide smile.

The wind threatened to lift one end of her scarf, and she tucked it inside her coat, hands rising to settle her hat on her head.

“If you were here, you’d demand some credit for all of this, I know.”

Ellen was making her way towards him, and as she got closer, he could hear she was humming, the song light and melodic.

“And I’d tell you thank you, brother. Thank you for bringing me to the love of my life.”

As she walked within touching distance, Irish reached for Ellen, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her tightly against him. He buried his face in the side of her neck, letting her scent and the feel of her in his arms pull him away from the edge of grief.

“You ready to go home, Karma?”