Beau, noticing me taking in their appearances, smirks. “I know, right? A lot to take in. But they are good people, trust me.”
I stand up straighter, brushing off the sudden nerves that rush through me. They’re both so different from Jackson and Beau in some ways, yet I can tell they all share the same fire, the same bond. They’re brothers, through and through.
I take a small step toward them. “It’s nice to meet you.” My voice comes out a little more nervous than I thought it would but they don't seem to notice. I extend my arm and make sure to meet both of their gazes as I shake their hands.
I step back and Beau rests his hand on my shoulder. “You good, babe?” His voice teasing but affectionate, which makes a nervous laugh slip out of me.
“Yeah, I'm great.” I reply, glancing between all four men.
Liam laughs, and it fills the room. “You’ll get used to the craziness we bring along with us. We’re like a damn tornado when we’re all together.”
Nolan grins, that sharp silver gaze softening. “Don’t worry. We don’t bite. At least not at first.” His voice is teasing, and somehow he makes it feel like a warning and an invitation all at once.
Jackson finally speaks up, “Now that we got that out of the way, what is the fucking surprise you were talking about?”
Nolan gives Jackson a quick, almost dramatic nod, and before anyone can say anything else, he turns and bolts for the door with a speed that I didn’t expect for someone his size.
“Oh, hell yes! You’re going to love this!” He yells, already halfway across the front porch.
Beau chuckles softly, shaking his head, while Jackson’s eyes follow Nolan with an unreadable expression, his lips curling into the faintest of smirks. “What the hell is he up to now?” Jackson mutters, but he’s clearly intrigued.
Liam’s already making himself at home, stretching his arms wide and cracking his knuckles.
A moment later, Nolan’s back in the doorway, holding something in his hands. He steps into the living room, the leather of the vests catching the light, and the room instantly quiets down as everyone’s attention snaps to him.
“Check these out,” Nolan says, his voice now deep with pride as he holds up two leather vests. The kind you’d expect to see on the back of a serious rider. They are both weathered, worn, but strong. The smell of leather fills the room as he hands one to Jackson, then tosses the other to Beau.
Beau catches his with a practiced motion, immediately pulling it on without hesitation. Jackson, however, takes his time. He runs his fingers over the stitching, feelingthe familiar weight of it, and his eyes narrow in a mix of disbelief and shock.
The logo on the back of both vests is clear. It is from their club back home. The words Vanguard Rebels MC are stitched in bold, black lettering. Miami, Florida curves along the bottom in the same sharp font. It’s their brotherhood mark, a part of their past they thought was gone forever.
Jackson’s eyes flick from the vest to Nolan, his voice rough with a mix of emotions. “I didn’t think you guys would keep these around after we left.”
Nolan just grins, leaning back against the door frame as if he’s already expecting the reaction.
There’s a heavy silence that fills the room, and I watch Jackson’s fingers tighten around the edges of the vest. His eyes darken with something I can’t quite place, something old, something raw.
I look toward Beau as he adjusts the leather and flattens it down over his chest. I see the way his face softens just a little as he runs his hand over the front, like he’s reacquainting himself with an old friend. The patch on the front of his vest catches the light, and I can’t help but read the words written there, S.O.A. No wonder he's so comfortable with weapons and fine with the possibility of violence coming our way.
Jackson’s slip of a grin disappears for a moment as he slowly pulls his own vest on. When he finishes, I see the patch on the front of his… Vice President… Holy shit. He looks at it for a second, taking in the weight of the words like they carry something heavier than just a title. There’s a shift in him, something quiet but undeniably present.
I watch them as they stand there, both of them now wearing the vests that mean so much to them. I feel my breath catch in my throat as I notice something scrawled along the bottom hem of Jackson’s vest. It’s a name, written in faded, slightly worn stitching…Sawyer.
My mind races, my heart thumping in my chest as I try to process it. I glance at Beau’s vest, my eyes falling to the side where I spot another name, stitched in the same place as Jackson’s. Wren…
I freeze, my thoughts racing. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks, and for a moment everything goes quiet. Those names, Sawyer and Wren, they’re not just random names. They’re…theirs. Their birth names. Before they were Jackson and Beau. Before they ran from the prison bus and disappeared. I can’t help it. I whisper it out loud, the names slipping from my lips before I realize I’ve spoken them at all.
“Sawyer…Wren…”
The room goes still around me. All four men stop talking and for a brief moment, I feel the weight of everyone’s gaze on me. My cheeks flush as I quickly look around, hoping I didn't just fuck up. Jackson speaks first, his voice soft but filled with that depth I’ve come to know so well. The warmth in his eyes making my heart flutter as he grabs my hands turning me to face him. “Say it again.” He says, his voice almost a plea, a quiet command wrapped in tenderness.
I swallow hard, feeling the pull of his gaze, and I whisper it again, “Sawyer…”
The second the name leaves my lips, Jackson leans down. He crashes his lips against mine in a kiss that takes me completely off guard. His claiming is rough and intense. It feels like he’s been waiting for those words to come from my lips for far too long. I can feel the heat of him, the fire that always burns beneath the surface, but there’s something different now. It's mixed with something vulnerable.
He rests his forehead against mine with his eyes closed. I can hear his breath come out in quick bursts as his hands slide to cup my face. He opens his eyes, and he looks on the edge of tears.
“The number of times I’ve wanted to tell you my name,” he says softly, his thumb brushing across my lips. “Just soI could hear you say it. Hear my name on your beautiful lips.”
