Page 158 of Kneeling to Candy

We dance down the little aisle until we’re facing each other, giddy as teenagers. Atlas gives me a quick peck on the cheek and shakes Butch’s hand before taking a seat with Jo and their twins.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the renewed commitment of Butch and Candy,” Tank drawls in his deep voice as he officiates the renewal of our wedding vows—whatever the hell they may have been, since neither of us can recall.

Butch stands beside me, holding my hand, grinning like a fiend and bringing his dimples to the surface. We’re supposed to be paying attention to what Tank is saying, but Butch prefers to stare at me, his eyes glued to my face. I can’t help smiling back at him. His joy is contagious. When he catches me glancing back at him, his goofy smile grows bigger. He lifts our clasped hands to his mouth, kissing my knuckles, his soft lips sending tendrils of bliss along my skin.

Tank clears his throat to bring our focus back to him. Reluctantly, we both look away from each other to give Tank the attention he demands.

“Please face each other and share your vows with one another…”

We could have written our own vows, lengthy speeches to drone on about how we feel about each other. It wasn’t needed. We already know—saying it and showing it daily to each other. We opted for short and sweet, leaving the gritty details for us to share with each other later, when the evening ends.

Taking turns, we repeat after Tank. I slide a black gold wedding band onto Butch’s finger—the one he has my name tattooed on—loving the show of ownership I have on him. He slips a matching wedding band onto my finger, placing it right beside my pink diamond engagement ring. The way my biker beams at me once my wedding ring adorns my finger will forever stay ingrained in my mind.

Tank smiles at the two of us. “By the power vested in me, I pronounce you?—”

“Slave and master!” Punk shouts from the back of the room, interrupting Tank. Our biker family breaks out into laughter.

Butch reacts the way he always does when he feels I’m being disrespected—jaw clenched and tight fisted. Before he can run off to pummel Punk, I grab him by his leather cut.

“Come here and kiss what’s yours, Butch.”

His anger melting away and a smile replacing his scowl, Butch wraps his arms around me and brings his lips to mine in a scorching kiss, drowning out the cheers and whistles.

When we break the kiss, Butch gives me a lazy smile. “I love you, Goddess.”

“Love you, too, biker boy.”

“Can I beat Punk’s ass now?”

“Please do,” I say with a nod, patting him on his firm bottom to send him off.

Punk’s light blue eyes go wide when he sees Butch cracking his knuckles and looking at him like a bull about to charge.

“Oh, shit!” Punk dashes for the doors leading out to the slate patio with Butch hot on his heels. The crew laughs and runs outside to watch the show, taking bets on how long it will take for Butch to run Punk down. I laugh with the rest of the MC ladies, welcoming this new chapter in my life.

And together, the Quiet Biker Boy and his Authoritative Goddess lived happily ever after.

EPILOGUE

PUNK

As I ride along on my hog, The Killers come on the radio. My fingers swiftly snap out to switch the station. Too many memories are tied to the group’s music, memories I’ve been trying to outrun for a long time. Used to love the band. Knew every song by heart. Now, I can hardly stand listening to them without a flood of emotion hitting me like a tidal wave in the chest, sending me crashing into depression.

Secret time: Even though I can’t listen to the music, I still have every song of theirs downloaded on my phone.

Every. Fucking. One.

We’re talking about music that released after my heart was ripped out. Never heard most of it. It’s too painful to listen to. Yet still, I downloaded it.

Why?

A part of me wants to say it’s because I plan on listening to it someday, but that’s a lie.

The truth?

It’s how I stay connected to her.

Every guy has that one girl, that one girl they never forget. She’s the one who has you in the palm of her hand. She could be the one who got away because you didn’t have the balls to ask her out. She could be the one who gave you a shot, but you epically screwed it. She could be the girl you met in passing on a trail who steals your breath with a single look.

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