“Yeah.Ours.”
We stayed locked together for a long moment, bodies wrapped in each other, spring breeze drifting through empty window frames and birds calling from deep inside the trees.The house skeleton rose around us -- incomplete yet forming a clear outline of everything we were creating.Not only walls and rooms, but a life.A future.A physical shape born from promises made in a warehouse and sealed by the key hanging at her throat.
“I keep expecting something to go wrong,” she said quietly.“Keep waiting for the moment when this gets taken away.”
“It won’t.”
“You can’t promise that.Life doesn’t work that way.”
“Maybe not.But I can promise I’ll fight like hell to keep it.To keep you.To make sure this future we’re building actually happens.”My hands tightened on her waist, pulling her closer.“You’re not losing this, Marci.You’re not losing me.We survived the worst already.Everything else is just details.”
She buried her face against my chest, arms locking around my waist in a fierce grip.A small tremor ran through her -- not fear, but a release of tension she’d carried for months without recognizing the weight.Anxiety had trained her to believe good things vanished, safety dissolved, and men who swore permanence eventually transformed into threats.
I held her while she shook, my chin resting on top of her head, my hands steady against her back.Around us, the house waited patiently.Garden beds I’d staked out along the eastern property line caught my eye through a window opening -- twenty of them, arranged exactly where morning sun would hit first, soil already turned and ready for planting.She hadn’t seen them yet from this angle, but she would.She would map every planting bed, nurture each seed through the hottest months, then gather vegetables and herbs raised by her own hands in soil tied to our future.
“Look,” I said, turning her slightly to face east.“Out there.”
She lifted her head, following my gesture, and went still when she saw the prepared beds.“You did those too?”
“Started them last week.Wanted to have them ready for planting season.”
“Ace.”My name came out choked.“You really built all of this.Not just the house.The whole dream.”
“Building it for both of us.”
She pulled back enough to look up at me, and the expression on her face made me want to promise her everything -- every good thing the world could offer, every safe morning and peaceful night, every garden bed and painted wall and year stretching ahead without fear.But before I could find words that matched what I was feeling, sound reached us from the access road.
Motorcycles.Multiple engines, heavy and powerful, the distinctive rumble of bikes I’d know anywhere.
Marci tensed against me, old instincts surfacing.I squeezed her waist once, steady and unhurried.“Sounds like the boys are here to help.”
“Help with what?”
“Construction, probably.They’ve been asking when I’d need hands.”The lie slipped out smooth and easy, practiced so many times I barely heard myself say the words.This moment needed room to happen, no suspicion, no shutdown before everything unfolded.
She eased a little, not fully relaxing, just enough to follow my lead.We walked side by side toward the front opening, stepping onto packed earth slated to become a porch.Engine noise rolled in from a distance, growing louder and closer -- multiple bikes taking the turn onto Old Miller Road in perfect formation, precision born from years of riding together.
Except something felt different.The engines sounded too synchronized.Which meant my plans were about to fall into place.
Full ceremonial cuts.Not work gear.
Marci’s hand found mine, her grip tightening with confusion.“Ace?What’s going on?”
I didn’t answer.I just watched the Savage Raptors form a semicircle in the clearing before our half-built house, bikes gleaming under afternoon sun, every face set in an expression unrelated to construction.Only one brother, and the Prospect, Kane, weren’t here.
Everything I’d planned pointed to this moment -- from the day I bought the land to the second I understood Marci needed more than protection or shelter.Making her mine in every way that mattered meant doing things the right way -- family present, ceremony intentional, commitment locked in stone, never subject to doubt.
She stood on the edge of understanding now, even though I wasn’t sure she’d quite pieced it together all the way.She was seconds from becoming mine in a slightly more formal way.Even if it wasn’t a legal ceremony, it would be a memory we could hold onto for years to come.
* * *
Atilla swung off his bike first, a rare smile softening weathered features and shaving years from his face despite the silver trailing through his long braid.Behind him, brothers dismounted in near-perfect unison -- General, Spade, Truth, Maui, Casey riding pillion.More bikes rolled in from other chapters, engines dropping to idle one by one.Every cut gleamed under afternoon sun, polished to a shine announcing this visit as anything but casual.Casey climbed off Maui’s bike holding something wrapped in dark leather, arms cradling the bundle like she carried something precious.
Marci dug her fingers into my hand hard enough to hurt.“Ace.What is this?”
“Trust me,” I said quietly.“Just trust me.”
Casey reached us first, Madison right beside her, signing something I couldn’t fully catch.Warmth shone in Casey’s expression, tempered by approval and a knowing look saying she understood exactly what Marci felt in this moment.She had once stood in the same place -- confused, overwhelmed, trying to accept the idea that belonging could look like this.
