Inside the clubhouse, the party’s already humming, music, laughter, the clink of bottles.Lil Nick’s Ol’ Lady wrangled half the town into showing up.Honey’s stirring something on the stove that smells like heaven and heartburn at once.
Humbug’s been different lately.Still scowls, still growls when someone gets smart, but he’s… lighter.When he thinks I’m not looking, he runs his hand over my belly and smiles like he can’t believe any of it’s real.
Tonight’s supposed to be the big one, the Executioners’ Christmas party.Used to be a whiskey-soaked brawl, but this year, Frost said we’re doing it “family style.”That means food, toasts, and, if Honey’s right, a surprise from Humbug.
She’s been smirking all damn day.
“You sure you’re okay with all this?”she asks while she curls my hair, pinning a sprig of holly behind my ear.
“I think so,” I say.“I don’t even own a dress anymore.”
She grins.“I’ve got a red maternity one.Made Nick forget how to breathe.”
When I put it on, I find out why.It’s as low cut as our sweaters from Sno-Globes.Seeing the girls on display, I kind of miss the place.
I walk downstairs wearing it, and the room goes quiet.
Frost whistles low.“Well, Merry damn Christmas.”
Humbug’s behind the bar, stringing up lights that don’t need adjusting.He looks up, and I swear he forgets where he is.His hands still.His mouth parts.
“Damn,” he murmurs.
“Language,” I tease, rubbing my huge belly.Like I could ever hope the bikers won’t curse around a baby.
He grins, slow, hungry.“That dress oughta be illegal in three counties.”
“Careful,” I say.“Santa’s watching.”
He laughs, shakes his head, and goes back to pretending he’s not watching me every time I move.
The brothers pass bottles.Someone cranks the jukebox.Then Frost bangs his glass with a spoon.“All right, settle down, boys.Humbug’s got somethin’ to say.”
Humbug shoots him a look but steps forward anyway.The room hushes.
He clears his throat.“I ain’t good at speeches,” he says.“But this club’s seen hell this year.We’ve lost brothers.Lost friends.But we’re still here.”
He regards me then, eyes steady, voice softer.“And somehow, I got back what I thought was gone for good.”
My heart starts pounding.
“Carol,” he starts.“You walked into my world with peppermint and light, and I tried like hell to push you out because I didn’t think I deserved you.I lied, I broke things, I almost let you burn because I was too damn proud to admit I was scared.”
The room’s quiet except for the crackle of the fire.
“But you…” He shakes his head.“You made me believe in something I never had use for.Magic.Hope.Christmas, even.You gave me a reason to be better.And tonight, I’m makin’ it right.”
He nods to Frost, who pulls something from behind the bar, a small cut, black leather, stitched neat and new.Humbug steps toward me.
The patch gleams in the light.PROPERTY OF HUMBUG.
My breath catches.
He holds it up, voice low.“Ain’t about ownership.It’s about promise.About every lie I’m done tellin’ and every truth I’ll fight to keep.You and the baby… you’re my family.And this is me ownin’ up to it.”
The brothers cheer.Someone hollers, “About damn time!”
Tears blur the lights.“You sure?”I whisper.
