Page 85 of Crow's Haven
The moon rises slowly above the tree line, catching the river and making it gleam like the edge of a blade.
The cabin’s doors are flung wide, but the real celebration is outside under huge canopies, where candlelight flickers off every surface. There are tables scattered across the space. The sides soft with linen runners the color of worn bark and moss. The copper-rimmed glasses sparkle under the strings of Edison bulbs we rigged up last week.
Sharon’s bouquet sits dead center on our wedding table beside two fat candles and a plate of strawberries dipped in chocolate.
We’ve got two prospects manning the grill outside and the old ladies have brought salad and green shit to go with the meat.
And right in the middle, there’s the cake. It’s three tiers, rustic and naked, dotted with flowers and some spun sugar bullshit that looks like river reeds. It was a gift from Venom’s mother, Meli, who owns a fancy French restaurant.
Sharon is sitting beside me in her copper dress, a blanket around her shoulders now. Her cheeks are still flushed from my kiss, her hand with the wedding ring catching the light resting on my thigh like it’s always belonged there.
Her eyes catch mine. She smiles, lazy and radiant, and I immediately lean in and kiss her shoulder. “You happy with the way things turned out?” I murmur.
“Absolutely. Everything is magical.”
I pull her over to sit in my lap. “You’re not getting out of my lap the rest of the night, sweetheart. Sorry. New rule.”
Before she can respond to my gentle teasing, I hear the clink of silverware against glass.
Tusk rises from his seat, a beer in one hand, the other hand waving off someone’s joke. He clears his throat with the theatrical drama of a man who’s had too many bourbons and knows it. “So,” he starts. “Crow.”
I groan already. Sharon leans in. “Should I be nervous?”
“Oh yeah.” I’ve known this bastard long enough to anticipate he’s going to take full advantage of roasting me in his best man’s toast.
Tusk grins. “I’ve seen him take a punch to the jaw and spit teeth into his glove like it was nothing. I’ve seen him fight off three assholes with a tire iron and a boot knife.”
He pauses and takes a sip of his bourbon before continuing.
“But I ain’t never seen him cry like he did the night his woman said yes.”
Laughter. Loud.
“Man sobbed like someone kicked over his bike,” Tusk continues. “Snot and all. Thought we were gonna have to call in the paramedics. But then she kissed him, and he shut the hell up.”
Sharon’s hiding her face in my shoulder, laughing.
Tusk raises his glass. “You picked a good one, Sharon. He’s ugly and stubborn and grunts more than he speaks, but he’d burn the fucking world down to keep you warm. To the couple that were meant to fucking be together.”
Everyone lifts their glasses. And we do too, because what else are we gonna do?
Then her cousin Ronnie stands. “Sometimes,” she says, “we don’t get to pick the family we’re born into. But we get to choose the one we build. And you two… you’ve built something beautiful and fierce. And the rest of us are just lucky to witness it.”
Sharon’s crying now. Real quiet tears. I pull her into me and kiss the top of her head.
“To second chances,” her cousin says.
“To second chances,” the crowd echoes.
We all drink to that. Then I stand and hold my hand out. “Dance with me, Ladybug.”
She grins and takes my hand.
I pull her into my arms beneath the string lights. The fire crackles behind us and the river drifts lazily by in the background. The breeze is just enough to move stray strands of hair against my cheek. The music is nice and we move real slow, enjoying the moment.
Her hands are in mine, her body is flush against me. I whisper things I won’t ever say out loud in front of the club. Like how her heartbeat calms me. How I didn’t think I was built for forever until she came along and made me—now I crave it.
We sway together, lost in our little world until the song fades. Then we stay in each other’s arms until someone hollers for cake.
