A real wedding.
A real moment.
A real father walking her toward the man she loves.
I sigh and run a hand over the back of my neck.
“Alright,” I mutter.
Spike’s brow lifts.
“Alright?”
“You pay for the wedding,” I say.
A slow grin spreads across his face.
“But,” I add. “You try to make it some ridiculous three-hundred-thousand-dollar circus with doves and ice sculptures and a string quartet, and I’m eloping with your sister.”
Spike starts laughing.
He claps my shoulder hard.
“Fair enough,” he chuckles.
Then he tilts his head slightly.
“So… you got a ring yet?”
I smile.
“Have for a long while, brother,” I admit.
Spike nods once.
“Good.”
Then he smirks.
“I guess the next thing to do would be another tradition.”
“What tradition is that?” I ask, not entirely sure I want to know.
Spike straightens and steps forward until our boots touch.
The air between us shifts.
“If you ever hurt my sister again,” he says, all the playfulness gone from his voice, “not only will I strip you of your VP title, tear off your patches, and burn off your ink…brother or not…I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.”
My heart picks up speed, but not because of the threat.
If I ever hurt her again, I’d stand still and let him do exactly what he promised.
It’s because I already hurt her in the past. I’ll always have the taste of her pain in my soul until the day I die. A torment I’ll gladly carry with me. One I deserve.
“Understood,” I say quietly.
Spike studies my face for a long moment.
