Casey and Madison swept Marci into hugs that lifted her off her feet.Brothers clapped my shoulders hard enough to bruise, their gruff voices offering congratulations and crude jokes in equal measure.Someone thrust a beer into my hand.Someone else unwound the cord from our wrists carefully, Casey taking it to preserve for whatever came next -- framing, probably, or mounting somewhere visible in the house.
The party developed naturally around us.Food emerged from saddlebags and truck beds -- someone had coordinated this better than I’d realized.Coolers of beer appeared.A portable speaker replaced the bike’s tinny system.The clearing filled with celebration as brothers and sisters scattered across our property, claiming space, making it theirs through sheer presence.
I pulled Marci away from the center of attention, guiding her toward the eastern edge where the garden beds waited.The sun had started its descent toward the tree line, painting everything gold and orange.Music and laughter echoed behind us, but here we had relative quiet.
“You planned this,” she said, not quite accusing.
“Wanted it to be right.Wanted you to have what you deserved.”
“A surprise wedding?”
“A commitment ceremony.Different thing.”I wrapped my arms around her waist from behind, pulling her back against my chest.“No legal papers.No state involvement.Just us and the club and the promises we chose to make.”
She turned in my arms to face me, the keys catching dying sunlight.“For the first time, I actually believe I can stay, that I can have a real home.”She leaned into me, her head settling against my shoulder, her hands sliding over mine where they rested at her waist.We stayed locked together, watching the sun paint clouds in pink and orange while the celebration rumbled behind us in warm, familiar noise.
“I’m not scared,” she said after a long quiet stretch.“The thing I keep noticing -- standing here planning a future, no fear of anyone taking everything away.”
Behind us, someone cranked the music louder.Laughter rose in waves.A bottle smashed -- accidentally, judging by the cursing that followed -- and someone started singing off-key.
The half-built house stood sentinel behind the gathering.The old oak I’d mentioned rose against the darkening sky, its branches spreading wide like a blessing.
Everything here belonged to us now -- officially, ceremonially, witnessed by people who would stand between us and any danger.The future opened wide, not ruled by fear but by certainty: spring for planting, summer for tending, autumn for harvest, winter for planning whatever followed.
Marci pressed closer, her arms sliding around my waist.I held her while the party roared behind us, while the sun dropped below the tree line, while first stars began blinking into view.The woman I loved.The partner I chose.The life we would build on land bearing our name, protected by family willing to fight for our right to keep every piece of it.
A long road waited behind us -- far from that first morning when she’d asked for work through eyes full of fear.Fire, threats, brutal force designed to shatter us -- we’d gone through all of it.We didn’t just survive.We built something strong from ash and stubborn grit, proof that people once broken could grow whole again.
The revelry around us was a blessing for the future we’d chosen, turning everything solid and undeniable.I stood wrapped in her arms, family forming a circle around us.
We were home.Finally, completely, permanently home.
Chapter Fourteen
Marci
The third picnic table fought me from the first shove.I dragged the heavy thing across damp grass, boots sinking into soft earth smelling of fresh growth after last night’s rain.Legs caught on uneven ground near the garden beds -- my garden beds.A year ago I didn’t own a single patch of soil that could hold roots.Today I shoved the table the last few feet and straightened, breath rising in quiet satisfaction.
Six tables now formed a semicircle around the fire pit, red-checkered cloths snapping in the breeze rolling down from the woods.Coolers sat in shade waiting for the crowd.Behind everything, the house stood, half stucco and half siding and fully ours.I wiped my palms on my jeans, feeling steadiness still new enough to notice.No tremor.No bracing for impact.Just work.Just living.
Ace’s voice cut through the yard from the smoker.“Need help?”
“I’ve got it,” I called back.My hands stayed sure.I finished positioning the table and walked toward him, drawn by heat, by his presence, by the low rumble of contentment in the back of his throat as he checked the temperature gauge.
Smoke curled around him, the scent of hickory drifting through the air and blending into something my brain now labeled ashome.He’d been up since before sunrise, tending the meat and checking temperatures, and faint shadows under his eyes couldn’t hide the pride radiating from him as he prepared to host everyone.
“Worried?”I leaned into his side.
“About the brisket -- always.”His hand settled on my hip and pulled me closer.“About the party?No.These people would compliment charcoal if I served it.”
A smile tugged my mouth.“Your brisket is perfect.”
“Damn right.”His gaze held mine long enough to pull a flutter through my stomach.One quick kiss, beer and smoke and warmth, and he turned back to adjust vents.
I stood beside him, watching flame flicker through metal.Six months ago the crackle of fire sent every muscle in my body into lockdown.Now the same sound signaled safety instead.
Engines broke the silence of the woods.Low, powerful, familiar.My shoulders didn’t tense.I just turned to watch bikes emerge down the gravel drive, sunlight flashing over chrome.
“Here we go,” Ace murmured, and set his beer aside.
