“Only if you have a weak heart.” She smirks. “You’re going to lose your damn mind.”
Ten minutes feel like hours. I pace, adjusting my bandana, checking the small box in my cut pocket—the gift I’ve been holding for weeks.
Tonight, I’m claiming her officially. In front of everyone. Making her a real part of the club.
Before I tell her the truth that could destroy us.
The guilt gnaws at me, sharp-toothed and relentless. She deserves better than this. She deserves honesty. But I’m too fucking terrified of losing her to give it to her. Not yet. Not until she’s mine in a way that’s harder to walk away from.
The music shifts to Fleetwood Mac, and Marley emerges from the hallway.
She’s dressed as Stevie Nicks. Flowing cream layers that move like water, bell sleeves, and a neckline that shows just enough skin to make my mouth go dry. Her red hair cascades in wild waves with tiny gold ribbons woven through. Platform boots add inches, but she still barely reaches my chest.
Ethereal.
Beautiful.
Mine.
Her eyes find me, and her smile is the sun breaking through clouds. “Nitro,” she breathes out, reaching me. “You look—”
“Like an idiot,” I finish. “But you look like every fantasy I’ve ever had.”
She spins, the dress fanning around her. “Beck said I should be Stevie Nicks. I’ve always wanted to dress like her.”
“He chose well.” I catch her hand, pulling her close. “Happy birthday, Small Town.”
“This is incredible.” Her eyes sweep the room, the decorations, the costumes, all the people who showed up. “I can’t believe you did all this.”
“Beck and Sage helped. So did the club.” I wrap an arm around her waist. “But I wanted tonight to be perfect.”
She rises on her toes and kisses my jaw. “It already is.”
Before I can respond, I hear Queenie’s voice cutting through the music. “Well, are you going to introduce me to this beautiful girl, or are you just going to hog her all damn night?”
I turn to see Ro escorting Queenie closer, and my heart does something complicated in my chest because the two most important women in my life are about to meet for the first time.
Marley’s eyes widen as she takes in my grandmother, dressed in a vintage bell-bottom pantsuit with a paisley scarf around her neck, looking as if she stepped straight out of a seventies Woodstock documentary.
“Queenie,” I say, my voice rougher than I intend. “This is Marley. Marley, this is my grandmother, the woman who raised me.”
Marley’s hand flies to her chest, and I watch her eyes fill with tears. “Oh my God, I’ve been wanting to meet you for so long.”
“Have you now?” Queenie’s sharp eyes assess Marley, but there’s warmth there. Approval. “Come here, honey. Let me get a good look at you.”
Marley steps closer, lowering herself just a little so she’s not towering over Queenie, her hands gentle as she reaches for hers. It’s instinctive, respectful, and I fall even more in love with my woman for it.
“You’re the one who’s stolen my grandson’s heart,” Queenie says, reaching out to touch Marley’s face. “He talks about you constantly.‘Marley this, Marley that.’Thought I’d never hear the end of it.”
“Jesus, Queenie,” I mutter, but she waves me off.
“Hush, boy. I’m talking.” She studies Marley’s face, her expression softening. “You’re even prettier than he said. And he went on and on about your red hair and those curves.”
Marley blushes, glancing back at me with a smile that makes my chest ache. “He talks about you too. About how you worked three jobs to raise him. How you sacrificed everything for him.”
Queenie’s eyes glisten. “He told you that?”
“He tells me everything,” Marley says softly, and the words are a knife to my gut because she doesn’t know…everything.
