“Lindsey told us all about you,” Kelly explains.
Lucy gives Lindsey a look over Kelly’s shoulder.
Lindsey grins without shame.“Only the good stuff.”
Riot shakes my hand, then Lucy’s, and tips his chin toward her.
“Good to finally meet you.”
She smiles, still a little overwhelmed but handling it well.That’s the thing about Lucy.The more real a thing gets, the steadier she seems.The fear still lives in her.I know it does.But so does a kind of quiet backbone that only shows itself fully when she’s got no choice.
And right now?
She’s choosing to embrace the moment for what it is.
I see it in the way she takes another breath, squares her shoulders, and lets Lindsey pull her into the circle of women gathering near the coffee station.That’s when I know she’s going to be fine.
Better than fine.
She’s going to fit.
The ride out is easy.Long line of chrome and rumbling engines stretching along Alabama roads while the morning burns bright and clean around us.Lucy settles against my back quicker than she did the first time I took her out.Her hands stay firm at my waist.Comfortable.Trusting.
Every time we stop at a light or gas station, she leans closer to ask a question through my shoulder or taps my side just once to point at something—a field of wildflowers, an old red barn, a hand-painted produce stand.
She’s taking it all in.
Not just existing in it.
And that matters more than I can say.
When we meet the other chapters farther north, it’s the usual kind of chaos—engines, backslaps, noise, too many patches in one place and every man pretending he’s less happy to see old brothers than he actually is.
Lucy stays close to Lindsey at first, which is good.Smart.But by lunchtime she’s moving easier through the crowd.She’s met enough women now that names start sticking—Jolie from Montgomery, Shay from Huntsville, a quiet brunette named Wren who immediately decides she likes Lucy because Lucy tells one of the men to stop talking over her.
I watch it happen from across the pavilion where we’ve stopped to eat.I watch how she listens before speaking.How she smiles at the right moments.How she doesn’t fake confidence she doesn’t feel.That’s part of why people trust her fast.Nothing slippery in her.Nothing manipulative.
Just honesty and carefulness and warmth when it’s earned.
We all end up at long picnic tables under a covered pavilion near the lake, food spread end to end—barbecue, potato salad, baked beans, slaw, cornbread, pies.The women organize the plates because if left to the men we’d all eat meat off napkins and call it a buffet.
I’m halfway through a plate when Lucy leans in beside me and murmurs, “Your people are a lot.”
I glance down at her.“Scaring you off?”
Her mouth twitches.“Not exactly.”
I follow her gaze across the table.Chux has one arm braced over the back of Alaina’s chair while arguing with Stunt about fishing permits.Alaina’s plate is barely touched.
I know that look.So does he.Without even breaking his sentence, Chux tears off a piece of chicken, dips it lightly in sauce, and holds it to Alaina’s mouth.
She gives him a look.
He gives her one right back.
“Just taste it.”
She doesn’t waver in her gaze.“I’m not hungry.”
