Property of motherfucking Knox.
Maren’s mine.
Her connection to her father is now utterly severed. I finished some repairs on my boat and took her out onto the water. We have no idea where, exactly, Caldwell left her mom’s body. But Maren made a little wreath and quietly said goodbye to her mom, then let me hold her while she cried.
The last few weeks have been a whirlwind of emotions. Maren’s had complicated feelings about the loss of her father, who, despite being the asshole who tried to kill her, was the only blood relative she had left. But she’s also had to deal with police reports and insurance claims and death certificates and the arrangement of a private funeral.
And in private, learning she had never been abandoned by her mom has been another visceral blow to her tender heart.
In spite of that, she’s got the bait store up and running, of a fashion. Because the modern storeroom, boat dock, and emergency apartment survived the fire, she’s been able to maintain her airboat business, and get in some basic and the most urgent bait and marine supplies that she’s selling from the storeroom space.
Locals are rolling with it; tourists think it’s charming.
But the best part is we’ve fallen into bed with each other every night. Alvarez has not made a move on us. I hope he never will. Although, if I were a gambling man, I’d guess we haven’t seen the last of him.
I know that’s not the end to her grief. That it’ll be a process. But I want something happy for us. I want to give her what I promised. And now, the time is right, and I can’t wait to see her in this. Can’t wait to walk into the clubhouse with her on my arm and show her off.
“Oof, big step, Prez,” Sunny says as he steps into church.
“Yeah. Just gotta get a vote from you guys, and then, convince her to wear it.”
“Thought you said you already asked her to be your old lady,” Sunny says.
I nod. “I did. But we didn’t vote. And I didn’t tell her she’d have to wear this.”
Havoc catches the tail end of what I’m saying. “You just praying she watched enough episodes ofSons of Anarchyto get the basic idea or something?”
I have no idea if Maren has or hasn’t watched any TV shows about bikers.
But what I do know is that she sets my world on fire. Shit, that’s a bad analogy, given her apartment just burned down.But I’m the lucky fuck who gets to wake up next to her every morning. That she’s the calm to my rough.
“When are you going to give it to her?”
I finish the final swig of the beer I’d brought in with me and toss the bottle in the garbage. “In the clubhouse, tonight.”
“Ballsy move, doing it in front of everyone,” Vandal says, barely moving his jaw as he walks gingerly into the room. His face is still a mess, but at least he’s mobile, and in his own words, no longer pissing blood. There’s a wide band of hair missing from ear to ear, and a grizzly scar that, up until recently, was held together with precision staples.
“She’s already said yes,” I remind them.
“To a lifetime with you, but a cut ain’t for everyone,” Havoc says.
“Woah, the bossman’s going all in,” Lock says as he joins us.
Reaper shrugs. “It’s about time. The guy’s older than Methuselah.”
“Who?” Sunny asks.
“Bible dude. Noah’s grandfather, or some shit. Lived for nearly a thousand years.”
“I call bullshit,” Sunny says.
Reaper raises an eyebrow. “Did you need to say that out loud, or could it just be assumed?”
Sunny flips him the bird.
Vandal is nursing a glass of whiskey and raises it in my direction. “Congrats, Prez.” But there’s no smile. There’s no cheesy song.
“Thanks.”
