My face heats. “Wouldn’t you like to know . . .”
“Ooh, she’s blushing. Definitely got delayed by something fun.”
Bones just grins and pulls out a chair for me. “Play nice, Kya.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
I settle into the seat and immediately Poppy appears with a basket of fries and a Coke, Rose balanced expertly on her hip. “Thought you might need these. How’s the ankle?”
“Surviving.” I steal a fry, then make a face at Rose, who giggles. “How’s this little cutie?”
“Teething. And determined to grab everything she shouldn’t.” Poppy shifts Rose to her other hip. “But she’s perfect anyway.”
The conversation flows easily—talk of work, of the kids at the community center, of the hearing tonight. There’s an undercurrent of nervous energy, but it’s tempered by the solidarity of being together.
I watch as Josie explains something to Dad, her finger tapping a document, and he leans in to read it. Their heads are close together, his shoulder brushing hers, and I wonder, not for the first time recently, what it is that’s holding my dad back. It’s obvious they’re into each other. It’s mutual. But I guess even grownups have to find their way to happy endings at their own speed.
Bones and Lee start debating the merits of different axle ratios for towing, as if this is a topic with endless room for innovation. Andi laughs at something Kya says, and she throws her head back, that wild blonde hair bouncing. For a second, I just watch them—the patchwork family we’ve become.
I’ve spent the majority of my life chasing standing ovations from strangers. Turns out the applause I needed was always here, in a bar booth with mismatched chairs and people who’d burn down the world to keep each other safe.
After fries and beer and two whole cokes, the buzzing energy in the bar starts to shift. People are glancing at the clock, getting quieter. The hearing isn’t until eight, but Stone wants to get there early and scope out the crowd. So we’re making plans to leave.
Then Duck stands, tapping his glass with a fork until everyone quiets down.
“I want to say something before we head over to the hearing,” he begins, looking uncomfortable being the center of attention. “These past few weeks, people keep asking me to run for mayor. And I keep saying no, that I’m too old, that I’m just a mechanic, that someone else should do it.”
“But you’re considering it now?” someone calls out.
Duck nods slowly. “Yeah. I’m considering it. Because I’ve been thinking about what the MC stands for—about how we protect what’s ours. And Stoneheart is ours. All of ours. Not just the club, but everyone in this room, everyone at that hearing tonight, everyone who’s lived here and loved this town.”
He looks around the room, meeting eyes. “So yeah. If y’all really want an old mechanic running things, I’ll do it. I’ll run for mayor. And I’ll do my damnedest to make sure this town stays ours.”
The room erupts in cheers and applause. People are on their feet, clapping Duck on the back, telling him he’s got their vote.
Stone raises his glass. “To Duck. Stoneheart’s next mayor.”
“To Duck!” everyone echoes, and then there’s a chuckle when Poppy adds, “To spell check!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Duck grumbles. “I’ll make sure you’ve got a job proofreading my work, Poppy.”
“Sounds perfect to me,” she says, raising her glass again.
We toast Duck again, and for a minute, all the tension about the hearing and the new contract and whatever else is lurking in the dark corners of Stoneheart gets drowned out by the sound of our own optimism. Lee smears ketchup on a fry and holds it up like a pointer, launching into a campaign strategy as if he’s Duck’s official manager. Duck scowls and flicks a cocktail napkin at him, but I catch the flicker of pride that cracks his usual gruffness.
We roll out of the bar in a weirdly dignified group, with Lee leading, Poppy and Axel next, Kya and Andi flanking the rear, and Bones and I in the middle, holding hands like tourists on a field trip. Josie and Stone linger behind, making sure everyone’s out before they lock up Devil’s.
By the time we arrive at the municipal building, the parking lot is already packed, cars spilling onto the grass, bikes lined up along the fence.
Inside is worse. Every seat is taken, people standing three-deep along the walls, more clustering in the doorway. I recognize half the faces—Erica Olsen near the front, clutching her purse like a life raft. Mr. Rooney from the corner store. Mrs. Joy with what looks like half her book club. The local news crew has cameras set up in the back, and when their lights hit, the whole room washes out in harsh white.
“Christ,” Bones mutters, scanning the crowd. “This is a fire hazard.”
“Good thing Tank’s standing by the exit,” I say, spotting him near the back door, arms crossed, looking exactly like the kind of deterrent you want when things might get messy.
Bones somehow manages to find us seats in the third row. I settle in carefully, propping my boot on the chair rail in front of me while he takes the seat beside me, his hand immediately finding mine.
Stone’s a few rows over with Josie, both of them still reviewing documents. Duck and Maggie are closer to the front. The rest of the club is scattered throughout—not obvious, not coordinated, but definitely present. A wall of leather and loyalty.
