Page 186 of Dagger

I smiled.

Perfect.

Chapter Thirty-Two

John

November 29th

Abe leaned forward and clinked his beer bottle against mine. “Happy Thanksgiving, John. Never in a million years did I ever think I’d spend one by a beach in goddamned California, but I gotta say, I don’t fuckin’ hate it.”

Lifting my bottle in a toast, I put it to my mouth and tipped it up, taking a long pull. “Happy Thanksgiving, Abe,” I parroted, smacking my lips. “Sit back, put your feet up, and enjoy the views, bud.”

We’d been here for three weeks, and I had to admit that Abe was right. I’d always been a man who loved the change of seasons, but it was nice not to be colder than a witch’s tit in Southern Wyoming when winter blew in.

I missed my boys, Freya and Sophie, and the grandkids even more, but not enough to head home just yet. After all, Leesy Stone and Iwereon honeymoon.

After staying at Niagara Falls for a few days, we headed to Kansas City with Abe and Iris to take in a game. While we were there, we applied for our marriage license, waited a week, then went to City Hall, and finally, I married Elise Bell.

Nobody knew about it yet; we reckoned we’d tell them when we went home for the holidays. For now, we wanted to enjoy being us, so that was exactly what we did.

We hit Sacramento toward the end of October, stayed a week while Duchess met with her therapist, and then drove down to San Diego.

Our rental backed onto the beach, and we loved it. There was plenty of room, so Abe and Iris did what they promised and came to visit before we were due to head back to Wyoming in a couple of weeks.

We spoke to the kids every day.

The club was ticking over nicely. The new Prez had already expanded the building firm. The Demons now had a yard in Mapletree, which was proving to be a little gold mine. They’d employed contractors from the town to cover the extra jobs coming in, and Cash was actively recruiting more men.

The women were doing well, too.

Layla—the only ol’ lady who had any interest in the kitchen—kept the men fed and watered with the help of Sera—who, by Sophie’s account, was a godsend with her baking skills. Cara, Kennedy, and Sophie all had their careers and businesses—and, of course, their kids—and their men wouldn’t have it any other way.

Bandit would have been rolling over in his grave, and personally, I couldn’t have cared less. I’d had a few remote sessions with Mitch, to work through my dad’s part in my childhood, and also his part in what happened to me and Leesy.

These days, I felt lighter, calmer, and, in Mason’s words, way more chill.

Life was good. Marriage and road trips suited my disposition. We missed the club, but our yearning for Hambleton was all about the people rather than the job. I’d done my time and lost blood, sweat, and tears to be able to pass down a legacy my kidscould be proud of. But one thing I didn’t miss was the drama… much.

Soft laughter hovered in the sea breeze, and I glanced over my shoulder to watch Elise and Iris walk toward us from the kitchen, carrying a tray for each of us.

My heart seized at the carefree look on Duchess’s face, and I couldn’t help deadpanning when she sassed, “It’s okay. You two sit there and relax. We’ll do all the heavy lifting.”

Easing myself out of my chair, I shot Abe a furtive glance before calling out, “Sorry, wifey,” as I moved to meet her.

Elise laughed softly, accepting my help. I took the tray from her and placed it gently on the table. She leaned up to kiss my cheek and whispered, “Thanks, Johnny.”

Grabbing her hand, I tugged her down to sit beside me on the wicker couch, splaying our fingers together the same way I always did when she was at my side. I still needed to touch my Duchess constantly. Maybe it was because something deep inside needed reassurance she was there with me, at last.

“You’re a lazy old bastard,” Iris muttered, thinning her lips at Abe, who was lounging casually across the garden furniture—not a care in the world. “You think you’re Diana Ross laying there letting me wait on you hand and foot.”

Abe waited for Iris to place the tray of beer bottles on the table before he tagged his wife’s waist and pulled her down onto his lap to lay a wet one on her mouth. “Woman,” he drawled. “Make me a sammich.”

Iris gazed up at her ol’ man through her lashes, giggling girlishly. At the same time, Abe stared lovingly into his wife’s face, his expression immediately softening.

Leaning forward, I nabbed a cheeseburger from the tray, sat back, and took a bite. My eyes rolled in the back of my head as the meaty cheesiness assaulted my taste buds.

“Who’d have thought last year that we’d spend our next Thanksgiving on a beach eating cheeseburgers for dinner?” Abe inquired, nodding at my wedding ring. “And that you’d be a married man?”

---