“No, I don’t guess it is.” He saw no reason to beat around the bush, pretend to be something he wasn’t. A stupid decision, maybe, but he was too damn tired to put up pretenses. At least she didn’t seem to know how his situation had changed with the Diamonds. “Things have been awfully quiet from your neck of the woods. I’d have expected a little more murder and mischief. Seems like Christmas is the perfect time for some crazy asshole dressed in all red to be breaking into people’s houses.” He glanced at her sideways, brow arched. Of course he suspected that tradition was long gone, but he didn’t press the point for now. “I can’t decide if this or drinking alone at home is a worse way to spend Christmas.”
Quiet. Her heart hadn’t been in it since Matt’s death. The Hearts had been something they had built together. It had been Matt making the tough decisions. But now she was saddled with a toddler and an organisation that murdered people. It wasn’t exactly an easy role to juggle. Nodding towards the bartender as he refilled her drink, she swung her glance back towards Alex. “Oh come on Cole, I’m the best company you could ask for right now.”
Christmas this year and Christmas last year felt like they were worlds apart from each other. Last year, he’d been in a good place, all things considered. Things with Tessa had been good. He’d been happy - working the odd hit for Wren and keeping that secret had been stressful, but beyond that, it had been a good time. But that was before - before breakups and babies and bullets, among other disasters the past year had handed him.
So was it really any wonder that Alex Cole, the king of terrible coping skills, had dropped off presents outside of his ex-girlfriend’s apartment and immediately gone searching for solace in the bottom of a bottle? Merry Christmas, shithead.
None of it was doing his mood any particular favors, so the appearance of Rosalie Marx (he still called her Hartwell in his head) was just the icing on the proverbial cake. He glanced at her as she - of course - approached him and sat down nearby, arching a brow at her, holding his beer bottle up in a mock toast. “I see you’re enjoying the holiday just as much as I am.”
Bars. Places where one came to drown their sorrows. Or maybe that was just her. Whenever she was at her lowest, she ended up in a dive bar where the floor was stickier than anything a toddler could ever come up with. But as she stepped inside this particular bar, she spotted a familiar face drinking at the bar. She sat, automatically ordering a whiskey as her gaze turned to Alexander Cole. “And here I thought I was the only Grinch this year.” She tipped her glass in his direction, draining the contents before motioning for another. “Let me guess, murder and mayhem isn’t all its cracked up to be when everyone is dressed like Santa?”
Left outside the front of Rosalie’s door Christmas morning is a card and small gift. Inside the card reads ‘merry Christmas mommy, love Gabby xxx’ - Matt may be gone, but he organised Christmas, Mother’s Day and birthday gifts for Rosalie from Gabby for years.
Rosalie had been holding it together. There hadn’t been tears. There hadn’t been any ugliness that tainted the morning as Shilo ripped into brightly coloured presents. But when she had Shilo bundled up in her new coat, her hand in her own as they headed over to Matt’s parents for Christmas dinner her gaze fell to the present at the doorstep. Shilo had tugged on her hand, unsure why Rosalie had stopped as she bent to touch the card reverently. It was only then that the tears came. The knowledge that this had been something Matt had done before his death slamming into her. Picking up the present, she couldn’t tear her gaze from the brightly coloured ribbon as Shilo babbled beside her.
Amy had always been able to get along with Rosalie. She wasn’t just her brother’s wife to her but she had always been someone that Amy could turn too for advice, especially if it was something she didn’t want to discuss with her brother.
She had no idea how her sister was feeling and she never would. The pain they where feeling right now was the same but different at the same time. She liked Rosalie, she never pushed Amy to talk about the things she didn’t want to even when her previous drug habit came to light.
“Sorry. Everyone has been wanting to talk,”
“Believe me, I know.” Between random check ins and conversations with people who barely knew Matt, Rosalie felt like she had sat through unnecessary conversation she could endure. Pouring another glass, Rosalie rubbed her forehead where her headache had bloomed once more. “The one thing you don’t have to worry about? Me wanting to talk about it.”
Carl was perhaps one of the very few members of the Hearts that barely blinked at the news of Matthew’s death. It wasn’t that he was a cruel and heartless man, but the two had never been on the same page, and what had started as minor conflicts had long since simmered into bitterness distaste on the Texan’s end, and when he’d heard that the man was no longer with them? Well he wasn’t surprised - at least by that fact. The innocent way in which he’d went,…now that had been slightly odd, but the general end in which he faced? Not at all. He’d expected it sooner honestly.
However the Texan couldn’t pretend he didn’t feel empathy for those who were heavily affected by the man’s death; one person standing out more than the rest on that front. Rosie had never had it easy. When she finally found happiness it seemed like it was stripped away from her relatively quickly, and the man knew she’d be hurting right now, and he had an idea of where to go to look for her. Gently pressing the door to Matt’s old office open, blue eyes quickly landing on the tear stained expression Rosalie held, as his lips were quick to press into a tight frown. Studying the photo the woman referenced, Carl felt his shoulders go up in an uncertain shrug as he offered half a smile. “It’s a photo of you…. ‘course he kept it.” Even if the pairs relationship was rocky at best… it didn’t mean that Carl didn’t think that Matt loved Rosie in the best way that he could. “…It’s that mug we made for him with those terrible pictures that he probably didn’t keep, y’know…”
It felt like coming full circle. Carl standing in his own silent vigil while her world fell apart. The last time they had been here, Carl had helped her work through her anger but somehow she didn’t think he could help her figure out the cacophony of emotions that she was currently working through. There was grief, of course. Tinged with so much anger that she couldn’t figure out how she had ended up here.
“It’s from before.” Rosalie answered Carl as she glanced back down at it once more. Stacking the photo away in the box to stop herself from trying to overthink it. She’d been in here when he was married to Nora. She’d seen how the photos of the two of them had vanished suddenly, replaced by memories of their life together. It had stung. Much like everything Matt had done back then, but this stupid photo had been tucked away at the back of his desk. Untouched by Nora’s obliteration of Rosalie from her new husband’s life. At the mention of the mug, Rosalie snatched it up from the box and set it on the desk for Carl to see. “You underestimate just how much of a hoarder Matt was.”
Hallie felt a little bit like she had no right to be here. It was a foreign place to her. She’d known the way things were meant to work, how the Hearts were so separate from Matt’s work. But these days, lines seemed to be blurring all over the place. Very little even seemed real anymore. The Kings knew she worked for a gang, Matt was dead, Wren Diamond in jail.
What did seem certain was that Rosalie needed her right now, as her text had suggested - a request for help from a woman who normally never asked for anything, someone to help her sort through Matt’s things. So she went, pausing in the doorway with a box in hand to help her pack, chest tight when she noticed Rosalie’s tear-stained cheeks.
Setting the empty box aside, she came around the desk, a hand light on Rosie’s shoulder. “It’s a nice picture,” she offered. It was a lot to reconcile. Some part of her had never really forgiven Matt for the mistakes he’d made, how he’d hurt Rosalie - but he had made her friend happy too. She paused a moment, just stroking back a few loose strands of hair, taking a deep breath. “Where do you want me to start?”
Scrubbing a hand across her cheeks, Rosalie tried to compose herself to face Hallie. The last thing she needed was to be a blubbering mess right now. Shoving the photo back in the open box in front of her, Rosalie stood glancing around the office to try and figure out where Hallie could start. Motioning towards his bookshelf, she cleared her throat.
“Most of that can just go into storage. I think Matt’s mum wants to go through some of it, see what she can salvage and what she can donate.”
James hadn’t rushed her. He hadn’t wanted to step on toes when it came to Matt’s office but it was time. They couldn’t leave it as some sort of shrine to the man that was now gone. They had to move on. It was the only way to honour his memory. To file away all of the moments to pull out when times were tough. But the material things? His memorabilia and his files? They needed to be packed away. Even if with every single object it felt like another part of her heart withered before her very eyes.
She was seated behind Matt’s desk in Hartwell Industries, sifting through the knick knacks and horde of paper clips in his desk when she came upon a photo she had forgot even existed. It was this goofy photo of the two of them, baseball caps on and a beer in each hand. They looked happy. Happier than she ever remembered being. A fresh wave of tears sprung to her eyes even as the door swung open, signalling another helper for this deluge of never ending tasks. “I didn’t even realise he had kept this.”
Amy sat alone at the bar, a bottle of opened vodka sat in front of her. She had barely slept since the news of her brother’s death had broken. She felt sick, her heart broken. “If you’re here to talk then please move along, I have nothing to say. ”
Maybe it was just that misery loved company. Or maybe it was Rosalie’s way of checking in with the girl she had always considered her sister. Nodding at the bartender, she motioned for him to bring her another glass. “Never said I wanted to talk, Ames. I came here to drink and if that just so happens to be next to you... then so be it.” As the glass was shoved in front of her, she snagged up the bottle, tipping a generous amount into the glass before she raised it to her lips. “Here’s to drowning whatever feeling I have left.”
He Isn’t Coming Home // Matthew Hartwell’s Funeral
Rosalie had thought she had reached her lowest point when she buried Shaun. She was just a dumb kid. Naive and full of the dream of a future. She had stood at a door and had her best friend deliver the fatal blow. She had crumbled. She wasn't the strong woman she had thought she was. She was just fragile. Incapable of moving on. Matt was the only thing that had kept her going. He had been there, mourning their best friend and holding her hand when things got tough.
He had been there when they buried their daughter. He was right beside her, holding her together even as her heart fell apart. Matt was the only person in the world who knew what she was going through. He might have coped differently but in the end, that hadn’t mattered. That fissure that had been created was mended and became something more. Something new. Something she had never wanted to take for granted. He had always been there for all of those pivotal moments. He was her rock. Even when Rosalie cursed his name and threatened to do him bodily harm.
But today? Today he wasn't there. Today it was his turn to be lowered into the ground. In the spot beside their daughter. This wasn't part of the plan. He was supposed to be at home. She was supposed to be yelling at him for not picking up his dirty clothes, while he attempted to chase after Shilo. Not here.
A part of her had always knew this day would come. They didn't get a free pass, especially with what they had been doing for the better part of a decade. Matt had been pushing the boundaries as Sixes for years. A bullet from one of Wren Diamond’s goons would be an easy hit. But it hadn't been that complicated. A drunk driver running a red light. All it took was a split second to take her best friend away from her. He wasn't supposed to go, not like this. Not in some freak accident that had torn him out of her life.
It seemed almost fitting that the clouds had opened up, a drizzle settling into her bones as she stood at the gravesite. Familiar faces dotted around the grass like flowers, all with the same melancholy expression falling across their features. The sympathetic glances sent in her direction, the empty words and apologies that couldn’t change the reason why she was standing here today.
Glancing up, she spotted Matt’s mother. She had been devastated when the news broke. Inconsolable. Rosalie had lost her partner, but she had lost her son. What could she say? What could she do? She was so close to falling apart, so how could she ever hold someone else together. The words that were spoken over the coffin seemed to go on in a blur. Rosalie wasn't even sure what was being said, her gaze never wavering from the goofy portrait that was standing across from her ringed in flowers. He'd hate that photo. He'd complain that his nose looked crooked or that his tie was askew.
Once the service ended, Rosalie remained stock still as they lowered his body beneath the earth. Fresh tears springing to her eyes as she cursed herself for the last couple of months. Things hadn't been perfect. There had been animosity and jealousy, suspicion and so much anger. But it didn't change the fact that she had loved him so fiercely that she couldn't imagine a life without Matthew Hartwell in it. She wanted to take all of it back. To have him here, to repeat their last conversation to make sure he knew just how much she loved him. She could see that morning vividly in her mind. Their normal routine of coffee and breakfast before he was bending to press a kiss to Shiloh’s forehead and swooping in for a kiss that lingered far too long with a toddler in the house. He had promised to be home for dinner, telling her he loved her as he snagged his briefcase and left in a whirlwind. She hadn't said she loved him that morning. Just her simple knowing “I know” which was met with his chuckle. But maybe now that she knew she what she did, she would have gone back and begged him to stay home. To forgo the office for just one more day. Funny how it's always those little moments that you wish you could do over.
Long after the funeral ended, Rosalie stood by the grave. Flowers were stacked all around the little gold plaque, his headstone would arrive soon enough but right now if she squinted she could almost imagine this was another life. Someone else she mourned. But there were other reminders that called to her even now.
“Dada.” Came the tiny voice to her right, the blonde curls bouncing as she came bundling up to Rosalie’s legs. Her arms wrapped around her as she asked the same question over and over again. How could she tell his daughter that he wasn’t coming back? That no matter how many nights she begged for him there wouldn't be the goofy bedtime stories, or Matt rubbing his stubble against her cheeks until she was a giggling mess.
Nora's family had wanted her. They had been fighting for her. But Matt’s will was clear. His daughter wouldn't be leaving New York for the backward small town that Nora had called home. She was staying here, surrounded by the family that wanted her and being told about every amazing thing her father had ever done.
Swiping at her cheeks, Rosalie bent down to pick Shiloh up. Her rosy little cheeks burrowing into the crook of her neck as Rosalie looked down at the cold hard ground once more. “Your Dad’s not coming back, bug.” Rosalie whispered against the blonde curls that tickled her nose. One lone tear rolling down her cheek as she forced herself to look away from the upturned earth. The next words stuttered out as a sob caught in her throat. “He isn't coming back.”
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