Page 41 of Crow’s Haven (Savage Legion MC #15)

Crow

T he mirror’s fogged just enough from my breath that I can barely see straight, but I don’t move. Just stare. My suit jacket’s unbuttoned, and I’m wearing my cut underneath. I’m glad Sharon didn’t demand I wear a tux. She valued my comfort over appearances, and I love her all the more for that.

Tusk stands behind me, lips pursed, smoothing down the wrinkles in the back of my jacket.

“Jesus, Crow,” he mutters, “We should have thought to iron your suit.”

I grunt. “It’s fine. The wrinkles aren’t noticeable, and they’ll fall out.”

He tugs at the bottom of my hem. I let him. Can’t focus anyway. My pulse is hammering in my chest and my hands haven’t stopped twitching since I got up this morning.

Then I hear two pairs of boots running down the hall, light and eager, followed by giggles and shushing that does the opposite of quieting anything.

The door cracks open and my boys charge in, both of ‘em in pressed black pants and matching baby vests, only they’ve got tiny silver safety pins holding a handmade prospect patch to each of their chests.

“We brought the thing!” Chase shouts, holding something behind his back like it’s a surprise.

Scout elbows him hard, whisper-yelling, “Wait for it! You’re ruining it!”

They fumble around for a minute and finally reveal a lopsided boutonnière, with feathers sticking out wild in every direction.

“Made it ourselves,” Scout says proudly, “the feathers are ‘cause you’re strong like an eagle. That’s what Rigs said.”

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.

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.

She looks up at me, smiling with puffy eyes.

“I got you a wedding gift,” she whispers.

I smile down at her. “You didn’t have to do that, but whatever you got for me, I’ll fucking cherish.”

Her hand comes down to cover mine and she slowly brings it down to cover her stomach. Her eyes flash with an emotion I can’t begin to name, and she murmurs, “I know that you will.”

That’s when I realize what she’s trying to tell me. I drop to my knees right there on the dance floor and splay my hands across her still-flat stomach. Then I press my ear to her stomach.

She gazes down at me, clearly amused. “Whatever are you doing, babe?”

“This one is a girl,” I tell her with confidence. “And she’ll wrap her big brothers around her little finger.”

She just cups my face and bends down to give me another kiss. This is everything any man could ever want and then some. When she pulls back from the kiss, I just stay on my knees and wrap my arms around her waist and hug her close.

THE END

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