Dad grins. “The most expensive one in town, no doubt.”
“You got it,” I confirm. “Nothing but the best for my girl.”
I might have thought us staying apart last night was ridiculous, but when it comes to Mellie, I can’t say no. Not only does she make it impossible, I don’t fucking want to. I’d give my life for her, so why not give her the world, too?
Fully expecting Rowdy to turn around and leave, I’m surprised when he pushes off the wall and steps closer to me.
“I’m proud of you, Lyric,” he says. “You know that, right?”
“Fucking hell, you’re just going across town,” I tease.
“I know, but…” He scratches his head.
“But what?”
“It’s your wedding day, Son. Feels like some profound shit should be said.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “Since when are either of us profound?”
“You know what I mean.”
Sobering, I nod. “Yeah, I do. And yes, Dad, I know you’re proud of me.”
He nods absently. “Good. That’s good.”
When he turns around to leave, I reach out and rest my hand on his shoulder to stop him. He glances over his shoulder, brows arched.
“What?”
That’s a good fucking question.
Rowdy and I have never been the type of father and son who go all emotional with each other, but when he gave me his back, a cold sense of dread washed over me, like someone was dancing on my grave.
The lyrics of “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper” by Blue Öyster Cult filter into my mind.
Here one minute, gone the next.
“Love you, old man,” I finally say, shaking off the negativity.
“You, too… Pres.”
2
MELLIE
“Hey, pretty girl.”
I toss my suitcase into the back seat of the Jeep and then climb into the passenger seat, smiling at Rowdy. He’s always been like a father to me, especially after the passing of my own parents two years after high school graduation, and today, he’ll legally be tied to me.
“Hi, Pop,” I reply, tugging on my wedding dress so it doesn’t get shut in the door. “Sorry about this.”
“No need to apologize,” he tells me. “Lyric shoulda fixed that junker of yours by now. Or, hell, gotten you a new fuckin’ ride.”
“He’s been busy with the club,” I remind him and immediately want to call the words back when his face falls. “Besides, I’m a big girl and can take care of myself.”
“Says thebig girlwho needs a ride to her own wedding,” he counters.
“Touché.” I put my seatbelt on, grateful that Lyric and the brothers are meticulous about keeping their Harleys and other vehicles clean because the last thing I need is dirt or grease on my dress. “So, on a scale of one to ten, how mad is he that my car wouldn’t start?”
