Page 84 of Crow's Haven
My throat tightens. The damn thing looks like roadkill. But I’m gonna wear it anyways ‘cause my boys made it for me on my wedding day. I kneel down and let them pin it on. “Don’t stab me, alright?” I mutter.
Scout grins. “I won’t. Probably.”
Tusk laughs from behind me. “Famous last words before you see the bride.”
“Shut up,” I say, but I’m still smiling when I stand.
Across the yard outside, I can see the chairs are filling up fast. Club members are rolling in earing their leathers. . A few of Sharon’s nursing friends from Patch’s office are here as well. They’ve got a softer energy than the old ladies. Seeing their wide-eyed expressions when they see all the bikes and beards is amusing. Her cousin Ronnie is here too.
And there’s Rigs. Standing near the end of the aisle, one hand resting on the podium. He’s ready to officiate our wedding, like he does for most of the brothers.
When Tusk taps me on the shoulder, I turn to find my boys gone.
“It’s time to go, brother. You don’t want to be missing in action when your woman walks down the aisle to marry your crazy ass.”
Tusk likes to tease, and I don’t mind it because it lightens the mood. We rush out and take our places. By now all the seats are full and Evan is helping my grandmother to her seat. When she glances up, I smile at her because I truly didn’t know if she was going to make it. I’m so fucking happy she did.
And then I catch sight of her. Sharon steps out from the boathouse and the air leaves my lungs like someone punched me in the chest. She’s in a soft, satin gown the color of fire-kissed copper, the light catching the folds like molten metal every time she moves. The fitted bodice hugs her in all the right places, and the long skirt flows behind her for several feet.
Her hair is up, and delicate curls tuck up into a low twist. She’s so beautiful that it makes my chest hurt.
Scout and Chase have fallen into formation behind her like little honor guards, marching their absolute best, which means elbowing each other mid-step while trying to hold each side of the pillow and still look tough. Scout almost drops the pillow once and Chase gives him a look as if to say, ‘You had one job,’ but they make it.
When our eyes lock, everything else vanishes. When she smiles, my spirit soars. And this fucked up, rebuilt, overworked heart in my chest speeds up.
As she walks boldly down the aisle, my heart almost bursts. For a moment I think about what we’ve been through to get to this point and how close I came to losing her. But I put that out of my mind for the moment and just enjoy the sight of my woman walking down the aisle to marry me.
I’m standing at the end of the aisle. Jacket open to show my cut. My hands are clasped behind my back, and Tusk’s beside me, broad and stoic as hell. My throat’s dry. I can’t fucking swallow. Nor can I take my eyes off my Sharon.
Tusk leans in close and mutters under his breath, “Stop staring like you’re seeing Jesus.”
I don’t listen to him though. Because wild horses couldn’t drag me away from the loveliest sight I’ve ever seen.
Scout and Chase are gonna be a problem, I can see that by how they can’t stop whispering and hip-checking each other as they stomp down the aisle.
The pillow’s safe. Barely. By the time they reach the front, Chase’s smirking and Scout’s grinning like a devil. They hand the rings solemnly off to Tusk.
Then Sharon steps up in front of me. Up close, I can see her hands trembling. Her fingers twitch against her bouquet. Her breathing is shallow because she’s nervous, like me.
But when I reach out and take her hand, she steadies.
Rigs clears his throat.
“Love’s a fight,” he says, eyes scanning both of us. “Some people weren’t made to survive it. But lucky for you two that you were built for both war and healing. You’re each other’s bandage and blade.”
We repeat traditional vows word for word. I do and she does as well. Her voice shakes at first, but she doesn’t falter. Mine comes out low and gravelly, but I get every word out, with my hand tight around hers.
The boys are bouncing in place beside Tusk. One of ‘em whispers, “kiss her already,” and I damn near get tempted to.
Rigs announces loudly, “And now, by the power vested in me by the state of California, I pronounce you husband and wife. Crow, you may—”
I don’t wait. I’m on my old lady in an instant. Grabbing her by the waist, I pull her to me and kiss her like we’ve waited ten fucking lifetimes for this.
Her arms wind around my neck. I feel her sigh against my mouth. I taste the promise, the pain, the love, the future. All of it in one goddamn kiss.
My club brothers cheer. There are whistles, hollers, claps. But all I see is her. All I feel is her hand in mine as we turn and face our people.
We walk back down that aisle together, her dress sweeping leaves and petals off the rugs, my boys run ahead trying to high-five everyone they pass.
