NOLA’s Junk was still drunk with the exception of Connor, who—along with our Da—stood proudly in his kilt and tartan.

Hundreds of white lawn chairs faced the river, and an old gazebo served as a speaking platform. A podium had been set up along with enormous pictures of X’s smiling face on easels. X’s family’s religious roots were Christian, so the pastor from the church they attended led the funeral.

Phil was forced to use his wheelchair. His father had had to help me lay down the law, and since Phil was drunk, it made the most sense. Jason was slipping him hits from a hip flask, and I was pretty sure he had more than one on him.

All the roadies were here. After the accident, they had taken a few days in Saskatoon to recuperate and get their bus in shape before making the long drive back to Louisiana with all the equipment. As the extended family of NOLA’s Junk, they mourned as the cousins of a fallen brother.

Friends, family, and fans came to pay tribute to a lost hero. There were plenty of photographers, journalists, and reporters, too. Security was on high alert.

“Fuckin’ vultures!” snarled Phil. “We’re mournin’. Can’t they show some respect?”

What? Like getting hammered and surly is showing X the respect he deserves?

It was hard for me to summon any sympathy for Phil when he was pissing me right the fuck off. Each time he took a swig off the flask, I’d want to slap the shit out of him. The same went for Jason and Flipper, too. Vivian looked worried that Flipper was going to start tearing his clothes off and streak.

Sheri, looking stunning in her black dress with short sleeves and empire waist, braved the multitudes to read the eulogy. Graceful, sleek, and classy, she made her way up the gazebo steps.

Placing her prepared papers before her on the podium, she cleared her throat and spoke clearly into the microphone, “Nearly seven years ago, I met a group of guys who were more like brothers than friends. Philip, Jason, Felix, and Xavier were the most wonderfully talented and amazing people I’d ever had the fortune to meet. How I got to be so lucky as to be brought into their family of misfits, I’m not even sure. But not a day goes by that I don’t thank whatever forces are out there for bringing us all together.

“Xavier—we all just called him X—was the strongest ingredient in the glue that held us all together, through thick and thin.

“Without X, none of us would be where we are today. It’s because of him that Phil shines as front man, and Flipper was stolen away from a band that fizzled out years ago. Without X, Jason wouldn’t have tried so hard to make it as a guitarist and would probably be mowing lawns still.”

“Thanks, babe!” Jason called out, raising the flask in the air.

This made just about everyone laugh, except for Phil. He had his face buried in his hands, his shoulders shaking with sobs. My heart breaking for him once more, I wrapped my arms around him, and in turn, he pulled me into his chest and sobbed wetly into my hair.

“After years of touring the world, it was X who held us solid. His humor, his love for the music he and his brothers made, and his love for us created what had once seemed endless into something timeless.

“Coming home meant so much to all of us even if it was for different reasons. For X, it meant beginning a new chapter for NOLA’s Junk. He was excited and ready for change. He pushed himself and the rest of the guys to make a sound that could only be considered magic.

“Along the way, X found his own bit of magic, too. He fell in love with a woman who lifted him up and brought him to his knees at the same time. Alys made him see life outside of the band. She made him put his life into perspective, made him want more. And he went after it. He made her his wife.

“And that’s why it’s such a shock to all of us that we have to say good-bye to the one person who was so full of life, who filled our lives with laughter and love and joy. Xavier was one in a million—a son who never failed to call his parents to tell them he loved them and that he was okay, an older brother who adored his baby sister and would send her a souvenir from every city he played in, a man who lived for his brothers and the music they made, and a husband who loved his wife more than anything else.

“X died in Saskatoon as he lived—with no regrets.”

My entire body erupted into goose bumps, and Phil went so still that I was afraid he might have stopped breathing.

Sheri heard X, too!

By the way Phil had reacted, he must’ve heard X say those words.

Glancing at Jason, Flipper, and Alys, I knew that, at some point, they had all heard him, and it was after he had died.

Connor took up a beat-up old acoustic guitar and started strumming “Over the Hills and Far Away.” He didn’t just play it. He sang it, and he nailed it. He and Alys started walking toward the river as she tightly held X to her chest with X’s family following.

I prodded Phil. “Come on,” I told him.

Before Tiny could push Phil, I slipped behind the chair and wheeled him out myself with Jason and Sheri, Flipper and Viv, and the roadies all tagging along.

Raising my voice, joining it with Connor’s, I sang. Smiling, my brother looked back at me over his shoulder and winked. Phil joined in, his voice still a piece of auditory heaven, even though he was piss drunk.

By the end, the entire mass was singing along. It was a beautiful way to send off our man and one he would have loved. Phil clutched tightly at my hand, and I had to squeeze back to keep him from breaking my bones.

Holding X’s urn with one hand, Alys grabbed Connor’s arm with the other to steady herself as she slipped her feet from her shoes and stood on the shore. Barefoot with her shoulders straight and head held high, X’s queen walked out into the muddy waters until it reached her thighs.

Turning to face downstream, Alys removed the top of the urn, looked into it, and whispered something none of us could hear. Tilting it, she started to pour the ashes into the water.

A heavy breeze swept up and dumped about half of the ashes all over her black dress along with coating her chest, neck, and face with a grimy layer of dead husband.

Stunned, she stared down at herself for a split second. “Damn it, X!” she screeched.

Jason roared with laughter. “He ain’t ever gonna leave you, Muffin!”

Flipper fell to the ground in hysterics, and Connor had his hand covering his mouth to stifle his own laughter. Lili’s face was horrified, and Phil…a glimmer sparkled in his bloodshot eyes, and his lips twitched.

“Aye, tha’s a soulless ginger fer ye!” Da’s voice rumbled out.

Bless it, Phil finally laughed.

For every drop of hope, there was a deluge of disappointment.

My days were spent providing rehabilitating therapy for Flipper and Phil, the latter becoming increasingly belligerent, cantankerous, and downright mean. During Phil’s sessions, which I made sure he had in the mornings just to get them over with, he would do what I asked and leave it at that. Usually, he was also hungover.

At least he had run out of Vicodin two days after the memorial service.

However, I soon realized that someone had been bringing Phil a bottle of booze every day.

Once we were finished with his therapy, I would make him food and then go give Flipper his therapy. By the time I came back, Phil would be three sheets to the wind.

After the first week of this, I was irate.

“You need to get a grip, Phil!” I snapped, finding him in bed in the living room, a bottle of Jack cradled in his crotch.

He lifted the bottle. “My grip is fine. See?”

Marching up to him, I snatched the bottle from his hand and stomped to the kitchen sink.