"That's it," I say. "That's the vow."
Judge looks at Harper. "Your turn."
She doesn't have paper. She just keeps holding my hands and looking at me like I'm the only person in the room.
"I came here running," she says quietly. "Looking for somewhere safe. Somewhere I could breathe." Her voice is steady even with tears on her face. "I found you instead. And you made me feel safer than any place ever could. You protected me. You saw me. You loved me without asking me to be smaller or quieter or less." She squeezes my hands. "I choose you. Every day. For the rest of my life. I choose you."
Judge's voice is rougher than usual when he speaks. "By the power vested in me by the state and the Iron Havoc Motorcycle Club, I now pronounce you husband and wife." He looks at me. "Kiss your bride before she changes her mind."
I pull Harper against me and kiss her.
The chapel erupts. Cheers, applause, Blaze whistling loud enough to wake the dead. But I don't hear any of it. Just her, just this, just the feeling of her mouth on mine and the knowledge that she's mine now, legally, officially, permanently.
When we break apart she's laughing.
"We're married," she says.
"Yeah, we are."
"Mrs. Ryder."
"Harper Ryder." I test it out. It fits.
"I love you," she says.
"I love you too."
Judge clears his throat. "If you two are done, we've got a reception to get to."
The clubhouse is packed.
Every member of Iron Havoc in full colors. Half the town showed up. Nell brought food. Gene brought Biscuit, who's fourteen now and mostly sleeps but made the trip anyway. Rosa is crying happy tears and taking approximately four hundred photos.
The bouquet lands right on Stone. He looks terrified. Blaze gives a speech that’s seventy percent inappropriate and thirty percent actually touching. Gear modified my Road King as a wedding gift—custom leather on the seat, extra padding for long rides, Harper’s initials tooled into the sissy bar beside mine.
And at midnight, when the party's still going strong, Harper and I slip out.
My bike is packed. Saddlebags full, tent and sleeping bags strapped down, everything we need for six months on the road. We've got no destination, no timeline, just west and north and wherever we feel like going. Judge is covering my shifts. Harper's clinic hired a temporary replacement.
We've got six months to be nowhere except together.
She's changed out of the white dress into jeans and boots and her property cut—PROPERTY OF SCAR across the back in bold letters that she wears with zero apologies. She looks at the bike, at the open road beyond the clubhouse, then at me.
"Ready?" I ask.
"I've been ready since you asked me to marry you."
I hand her the helmet. She puts it on, climbs on behind me, wraps her arms around my waist like she's done a hundred times before. But this time is different. This time she's my wife.
I start the engine.
The sound echoes off the clubhouse, off the mountains, loud and certain and ours.
Blaze appears in the doorway, beer in hand. "Six months, brother! Don't come back early!"
Stone nods once. Judge raises his glass.
And we ride.
