“Marley would love it,” I say slowly, the idea taking root, even though I personally hate it. I first made her smile because of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’.” “She’s got this record collection, all the classics. She plays them when she’s cooking, when she’s cleaning.”
I’ve caught her dancing in the apartment kitchen more times than I can count, wooden spoon as a microphone, hips swaying to “Livin’ on a Prayer” or “Sweet Child O’ Mine.” Each time, I stand in the doorway and watch, memorizing every detail. The way her red hair catches the light. The unselfconscious joy on her face. The curve of her hips as she moves.
She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“I see those wheels turning,” Beck says, pointing at me. “You’re already picturing her in some amazing eighties getup, aren’t you?”
“Shut up,” I mutter, but I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips.
“He totally is.” Sage laughs. “Okay, so eighties rock theme. What else?”
“Decorations,” Beck says, already typing notes into his phone. “I’m thinking records hanging from the ceiling, neon lights, maybe a photo booth with props. Wigs, sunglasses, inflatable guitars.”
“I can handle the music,” I say. “I’m sure Ro will perform. She’s got a killer voice, and she loves this kind of stuff.”
“You’re going to play, too, right?” Beck asks, eyebrows raised. “Please tell me you’re going to serenade your woman with your flute.”
The idea makes my stomach flip. Playing for Queenie is one thing. Playing for Marley, in front of everyone, declaring my feelings through music? That’s vulnerable in a way I’ve spent most of my life avoiding.
But for her?
I’d do anything.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I’ll play.”
Sage reaches over and squeezes my hand. “She’s going to love this, Nitro. All of it.”
“I want to invite Queenie,” I add. “Marley’s been asking about meeting her. I think it’s time.”
Beck and Sage exchange a look, and then Beck’s expression softens in a way I rarely see. “That’s huge, man. Queenie’s the most important person in your life.”
“She is,” I correct. “Marley is now too. But Queenie’s still…” I swallow hard. “She deserves to meet the woman who’s changed everything for me.”
“Jesus, Nitro.” Sage fans her face dramatically. “You’re going to make me cry, and I’m wearing mascara.”
“Don’t be a baby,” Beck teases, but his eyes look suspiciously shiny too.
We spend the next hour planning. Beck offers to make a photo montage of Marley, candid shots he’s been taking over the past few months that she doesn’t know about. Sage promises to help with food, coordinating with the club girls to make sure there’s enough to feed everyone. I make notes about decorations, music, and the guest list.
“What about the club brothers?” Sage asks. “Think they’ll actually dress up?”
I pull out my phone. “Let me handle that.”
I fire off a text to the club group chat.
Me:Church in thirty. Mandatory.
The responses come fast.
Ghost:*thumbs up emoji*
Koa:Right!
Bear:On my way.
Axel:Got it.
Mace:I’ll be there!
