[Immunity] David Kay - Ch17: TheFuneral

Instructions

A light drizzle was coming down at the cemetery, splattering on the row of black umbrellas and settling on Annie's casket. The sky was a dull gray, making everything feel muted, even the sounds around them seemed quieter out of respect. Deacon stood at the front, flanked by Lila on one side and Matthew on the other, cradling Victoria against his chest. His fingers were gripping the baby's blanket so tightly that they had turned white. He hadn't let anyone else take the baby since she was born—not even for a minute. Hondo stood a bit behind him, followed by the rest of the team—Street, Tan, Luca, Chris—ready and silent, a solid wall of support. No one needed to talk. Just their presence said it all. The pastor was speaking, but Deacon barely caught what he was saying. The words blurred together, like a background noise. All he could focus on was the casket. It felt too small, too still, way too real. Annie had always hated the cold. During the summer, she'd wear socks to bed, and he'd tease her about it every winter. Now she was out there in the damp ground, and there was nothing he could do to change that. Victoria squirmed slightly in his arms and let out a soft, confused sound. Deacon pressed a kiss into the baby's hair, inhaling the warm, familiar scent that barely kept him grounded. Lila reached for his free hand, and he held it tightly. Samuel was clinging to his pant leg, his eyes red and distant. The pastor invited anyone to speak. An awkward silence fell over the crowd. Then Hondo stepped up. He didn't have notes and didn't need any. He glanced at the Kay family, then at Annie's casket, and his usual firm voice softened. "I didn't have many examples of a good marriage growing up," he started. "But I learned a lot from these two." Deacon blinked, surprised. He hadn't seen that coming. "Annie had this way of lighting up any room she walked into," Hondo continued. "Some people brighten the world quietly, without needing to be the loudest. She was definitely one of them." A few sniffles floated through the air. "She loved her husband so fiercely and cared for her kids with her whole heart. And Deacon—" Hondo looked straight at him. "She made you better. You made her feel safe. It was obvious to everyone." Deacon swallowed hard, his chest tightening painfully. "And I want you to know," Hondo said, steady and strong, "that you're not alone. Not now, not tomorrow, not ever. We're are all here for you." He placed a reassuring hand on Deacon's shoulder as he walked down besides him. No squeeze was needed—the touch said everything that words couldn't. When the service wrapped up, people approached in soft waves—family friends, neighbors, fellow officers, Annie's coworkers from the bank. Their words blurred together. "I'm so sorry." "She was amazing." "We're here for you." Deacon nodded, thanked them, and tried to muster polite smiles that didn't feel genuine. The only things holding him up were the small hand in his, the warm weight of Matthew against his chest, and the quiet, solid presence of his team behind him. Eventually, the crowd faded. He wanted to leave, take the kids home, and pretend that everything wasn't different now—split into a before and an after. But when the funeral workers came to lower the casket, Lila let out a broken sound—somewhere between a gasp and a cry—and clung to his leg. "No," she whispered. "Daddy, no, don't let them." His heart shattered. He crouched down, wrapping both girls in his arms while still holding Victoria close. "They're just taking care of her," he murmured, his voice shaky despite his effort to keep it steady. "She's not alone. She'll always have us." "But we won't see her again," Lila sobbed. Deacon closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to hers. "I know," he whispered. "I know, baby." Samuel stayed quiet, trembling with his face buried in Deacon's chest, his small fists clutching the front of his suit jacket. The casket lowered slowly, the mechanism whining softly in the rain. Deacon didn't take his eyes off it. He owed Annie that—one last moment, one last act of strength for her. Only when the casket was out of sight did he finally lose his fight to keep his breath steady. Luca stepped up beside him without saying a word. Street rested a gentle hand on the girls' shoulders. Tan handed him an umbrella silently. Hondo stayed nearby. Always right there. When Deacon eventually looked up from the open grave, his voice barely made it out. "Let's go home."