Page 27 of Fire Me Up (Front Range Motorcycle Collective #2)

Gael

Dylan still had no idea what was coming—thought we were heading straight to the club after getting our license—but I’d been planning this for weeks, coordinating with everyone behind his back to make sure tonight was perfect.

The white veil tucked into my back pocket crinkled slightly as we walked, and I suppressed a grin thinking about how it would look paired with my ridiculous pink booty shorts.

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” Dylan said, squeezing my hand. “Where are we going now? The club’s in the opposite direction.”

I tugged him around a corner, catching sight of the glowing chapel sign ahead. “Liv found us the perfect place.”

“Seriously?”

“I texted them while we were waiting in line. Everyone’s waiting inside.”

The doors swung open, and Dylan stopped dead in his tracks.

The small chapel was packed with our friends and family, all dressed in various states of Vegas club-ready outfits.

Liv and Marisol beamed at us from the front row, with Bacon sitting regally on Liv’s lap, a tiny white top hat perched between his ears.

As we watched, he batted at it, knocking it sideways and immediately starting to chew on the brim.

Even his parents stood in front, dabbing their eyes.

“How—” Dylan’s grip on my hand tightened to the point of pain. “How did you do this?”

“Group text. Flights from Denver were quick for the people who weren’t already here. And that was a long-ass wait in line.” I winked at Silas, who had helped coordinate everyone’s arrival.

Dylan’s eyes scanned the room, landing on his brother Lucas standing awkwardly next to Lennox, both looking slightly uncomfortable but happy.

Before he could answer, Marisol approached, eyeing my outfit with a mixture of horror and amusement. “Really, Gael? Pink shorts and a veil?”

“He likes the shorts.” I turned, giving Dylan a perfect view of my ass in the tight fabric.

Dylan made a strangled noise, his cheeks flushing red. “Maybe we should have stopped to change

“Nope.” I popped the ‘p’ sound, feeling wildly, deliriously happy. “This is exactly how I want to get married. Looking hot as fuck, with you unable to keep your eyes off my ass.”

Aiden bounced over, dragging Cash by the hand. “These two understand! Look at Cash’s face every time I bend over in these.” He gestured to his own tight shorts, though his were a more reasonable denim compared to my neon pink.

Cash’s expression remained stoic, but his ears turned distinctly red.

“I can’t believe you’re all here,” Dylan said, his voice thick with emotion as Marcus and Silas approached.

Dylan’s mother approached with his father. Her eyes darted to my shorts, then quickly back to my face. “The important thing is that you boys are happy. Could your parents not make it, Gael?”

“They’re going to watch on video from their latest research location in South America,” Live called.

Dylan looked at me, his eyes swimming with tears. “I’ve never been happier.”

The chapel doors opened again, and an Elvis impersonator—our officiant—strolled in, his white jumpsuit gleaming under the tacky chandelier. “Is the couple ready to rock and roll into holy matrimony?”

I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. This was really happening.

We took our places at the front of the chapel, facing each other as Elvis launched into a speech about love being tender and never leaving each other at the Heartbreak Hotel.

I barely heard the words, too focused on Dylan’s face—the way his eyes never left mine, the slight tremble in his hands as he held mine.

When it came time for vows, I took a deep breath and spoke from memory, the words I’d practiced for days.

“Dylan Kim, from the moment you put me on the back of your motorcycle, I knew I was in trouble. You were loud and chaotic and so fucking beautiful it hurt to look at you. I tried to tell myself you were just helping me figure things out, but the truth is, you were helping me find myself. You see me—all of me—and somehow love me anyway. Your passion, your intensity, your heart... they’re not too much.

They’re exactly what I need. What I want forever. ”

I squeezed his hands, feeling them tremble in mine.

“I promise to be your safe place to land when the world gets too loud. To match your chaos with calm, your doubts with certainty. To never let you forget how perfect you are, exactly as you are. And to always wear ridiculous shorts that make your brain short-circuit when you need reminding that you’re it for me. Always.”

Dylan laughed through his tears, his whole body shaking. When it was his turn, he opened his mouth but nothing came out. He tried again, choking on a sob.

“Sorry,” he finally managed, wiping at his eyes. “I can’t—I can’t think straight.”

“Take your time, sweetie,” his mom said from the front row.

Dylan nodded, took a shuddering breath. “Gael. Fuck. I love you so much. You’re the sweetest guy I’ve ever met, and I still can’t believe you want me.

That you’re choosing me. And I, um. I don’t know.

I just want to have the happiest life together.

To make you smile every day, even when your work is hard or all-consuming. ”

He stopped, wiping more tears. “I promise to believe in you. To trust you. Forever.”

Elvis cleared his throat, clearly moved. “The rings?”

Cash stepped forward, pressing two bands into my palm.

We exchanged rings, my fingers clumsy with emotion. When Elvis pronounced us married, Dylan lunged forward, nearly knocking me off my feet as he kissed me. Our friends and family erupted in cheers and applause, and I wrapped my arms around my husband, lifting him slightly off the ground.

My husband. Dylan was my husband.

“I can’t believe you did all this,” he whispered against my lips.

“Believe it.” I set him down gently. “Now, about that club...”

Everyone except Dylan’s parents decided to join us, the whole group spilling out onto the strip and making our way to the club like some kind of parade. I kept my arm firmly around Dylan’s waist, unable to stop touching him, unable to believe this was real.

Inside the club, the music pulsed through us as we claimed a section of the dance floor. Dylan wrapped his arms around my neck, pressing close as we moved together.

“My husband,” he said, testing the word. “My fucking husband.”

“Sounds good, doesn’t it?” I spun him around, pulling his back against my chest as we danced.

The night blurred into a haze of music and laughter and stolen kisses. Hours later, sweaty and exhausted but too happy to care, I felt a tap on my shoulder. A tall guy with perfect teeth and expensive cologne leaned in.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he shouted over the music.

I grinned, wrapping my arm tighter around Dylan and holding up my left hand, the new ring catching the light. “Sorry, just got married. To this guy.”

The man’s face fell, but I barely noticed. I was too busy watching Dylan’s expression transform into pure, unguarded joy.

“That’s right,” Dylan said, grabbing my face and pulling me down for a kiss that left me breathless. “He’s officially mine now.”

I laughed against his lips, knowing I’d been his from the start.