Page 84 of Burned in Stone
I run my fingers through his hair, knowing he needs the touch as much as the words I can never fully find. “You got me, didn’t you?”
He lifts his head, and his eye is still red, but he grins like sunrise. “Took a few detours to get there, but yeah. I got you.”
He kisses me, and the taste of salt and relief almost undoes me. I don’t want to let go, ever, not even to breathe.
Someone behind us shrieks, “Group shot!” and suddenly there’s a crush of bodies—Tank scoops Cash up like a rag doll and spins him, which makes him curse and laugh and then yelp about his ribs while Ginger and Kya mob me from both sides. For a wild moment, I’m at the dead center of a riot of found family, all sweat, leather and denim and noise.
The photographer—Mouse—calls out commands, and I end up wedged between Kya and Cash, our arms tangled into a knotty, inseparable mess. Lee and Tank take up the edges, and at the very front, grinning harder than I’ve ever seen, is Stone.
“Everyone say, ‘fuck Gabriel!’” Mouse calls out from behind his phone camera.
“FUCK GABRIEL!” we all shout in unison, and the photo captures us mid-yell, mouths open, arms raised, looking like the world’s most dysfunctional—and happiest—family portrait.
“I want that framed and up in the clubhouse by tomorrow,” Stone orders.
“On it, boss.”
The celebration moves inside. Someone cranks up the music. Ginger produces an alarming amount of food—wings, pizza, chips, the kind of spread that says this party was always going to happen, arrest or no arrest.
I find myself on the couch, Cash’s arm around my shoulders, surrounded by people who chose to protect me when they didn’t have to. Kya’s telling the story of Gabriel’s face when the cops showed up for the third time, adding dramatic flourishes. Lee keeps interjecting with corrections. Tank’s arguing with Nitro about whether Gabriel actually pissed himself—he didn’t, but Tank insists he saw it.
“You good?” Cash asks quietly, just for me.
I look around the room—at Ginger dancing with her drink, at Maggie fussing over Duck’s knuckles from his earlier ‘interrogation,’ at Stone actually laughing at something Josie said. At this family that took me in and made me one of their own.
A year ago, I didn’t believe I’d ever have this. Didn’t think I deserved it, honestly. Gabriel had me convinced that family was obligation, that love was conditional, that belonging meant making yourself smaller to fit someone else’s expectations.
But look at this. Kya telling inappropriate stories with her whole chest. Tank arguing about things that definitely didn’t happen. Maggie mothering everyone whether they want it or not. Stone—Stone who barely smiles—actually laughing.
Nobody here needs me to be perfect. Nobody’s keeping score. Nobody’s going to punish me for being too loud or too much or not enough. They just want me here, exactly as I am, chaos and sass and all.
“Yeah,” I say, and mean it. “I’m really good.”
He kisses my temple. “Told you we’d get him.”
“You did.”
“And you believed me?”
“Eventually.”
He laughs, then winces and holds his ribs. “Worth it.”
Bones appears with two plates loaded with food. “Eat. Both of you. You’ve been running on adrenaline and poor choices all weekend.”
“Poor choices?” Cash takes a plate. “I made excellent choices this weekend.”
“You got kidnapped and beaten.”
“But I looked good doing it.”
I snort-laugh into my pizza, and Bones just shakes his head before walking away, but I catch the smile on his face.
The party goes late into the night. At some point, someone starts karaoke, and it’s terrible in the best way. Tank murders ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart.’ Ginger does a duet with Lee that’s more screaming than singing. Even Stone gets dragged up for ‘Sweet Home Alabama,’ which he performs with the enthusiasm of a man at a funeral.
Around four in the morning, things start winding down. Brothers drifting off to beds or couches, old ladies claiming their men, the music getting softer.
Cash and I end up on the back porch, sharing the quiet. The December air is cold but not bitter, and the stars are out in force.
