I take a pull from my beer. “Fine.”
“Bullshit.”
I glance at him, but his eyes are still on the stars. Duck’s been with the MC since before I was born. He’s seen presidents come and go, watched brothers live and die, weathered every storm that’s hit Stoneheart. Nothing gets past him.
“Just tired,” I say finally. “Been a long six months.”
“Mmm.” Duck takes a sip of his whiskey. “You heard from her?”
“Who?”
“Don’t play dumb. The girl you’ve been moping over all this time. The princess.”
I take a long drink instead of answering.
“That’s a no, then.”
“She’s living her life. I’m living mine.”
“And you’re just gonna wait?”
“Swans mate for life.” The words come out before I can stop them.
Duck looks at me for a long moment, something like recognition in his old eyes. Then he nods slowly.
“Yeah. They do.” He takes another sip of whiskey. “Maggie made me wait four years, you know. Said she wasn’t ready to be an old lady.”
“What changed her mind?”
“Nothing. She just got ready.” He shrugs. “Some things can’t be rushed, son. You just gotta be there when they figure it out.”
“Bones!” Ginger waves me over to where she and Tank are standing with some of the construction crew. “Get over here. We’re settling a bet.”
I head over, grateful for the distraction.
The next hour passes in a blur of conversations and congratulations and brothers razzing each other about various construction mishaps from the rebuild. Someone convinced Miguel to open the kitchen even though we’re not officially serving food tonight, so now we’re inside again and there are burgers and fries making the rounds. I’m several drinks in, the music is loud, the energy is high, and for the first time in months, I feel . . . OK.
Not thinking about Emma.
Not wondering what she’s doing.
Not wishing things were different.
But then my eyes do that drift toward the door.
And I have to blink them several times to be sure. But . . . there she is.
Emma.
Standing in the entrance of Devil’s Bar like she just materialized out of thin air, wearing dark jeans and a leather jacket that looks brand new, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, scanning the crowd.
She’s here.
She’s actually here.
Our eyes meet across the crowded room, and everything else—the music, the conversations, the celebration—fades into white noise.
Six months of waiting—ofyearning—and she’s just walked right through that door.
