My chest tightened. “Dutch gave me a heads up. And a warning to behave.”
“Indira told her she’d understand if it was too hard. She came anyway.”
I didn’t know what to do with that. That Bea had come for Indira, not despite me but separate from me — that she’d made the choice on its own terms.
“You gonna talk to her?”
“She doesn’t want to talk to me.”
Colt glanced over at Lilac, who was lowering herself into a chair with the careful precision of someone whose center of gravity had shifted. Knox was already in the seat beside her, tucked against her side. Something in Colt’s face softened — just for a second — before he turned back to me. “Maybe not. But you’re going to have to face her eventually.”
I looked at him — my brother, who’d had his family ripped away from him. Who’d spent years believing a lie, believing his wife had left him. Who’d found her again by accident and had to earn his way back into a life she didn’t even remember sharing with him.
“How’d you do it?” I asked. “Get Lilac back?”
He was quiet for a second, watching Lilac adjust Knox’s collar. “Time. And showing up every day until she believed I was safe.” He shrugged. “And luck. A lot of luck.”
“I don’t feel very lucky.”
“No. You wouldn’t.” He clapped my shoulder, squeezed once. “But you’re not dead, brother. That means there’s still a chance for you to fix the mess you created.”
He moved away to join his family — Luca finally in his seat, Knox leaning into Lilac’s side. Colt dropped into the chair beside Lilac and she leaned into him without looking, automatic, like breathing. I stayed where I was.
I turned in time to see King walk in — broad-shouldered, gray-bearded, sixty-eight years old and still moving like whatever room he entered should rearrange itself around him. He’d been president of this club for decades. That didn’t just go away because he’d handed over the gavel and moved to Florida. The instinct was still in him, the expectation still written in every line of his posture.
He scanned the room.
And the room stayed exactly as it was before he arrived.
Not disrespectfully. Brothers had nodded. Handful had lifted his chin. Glitch had given him a two-finger acknowledgment from across the space. But no one came to him. No one cleared a path. The conversation didn’t pause when he walked in the way it used to. These were men who knew exactly who King was and had decided, quietly, collectively, that whoever he’d been didn’t carry the weight it once had. Dutch ran things differently now. The club had moved on, and King could feel it in every handshake that was polite instead of deferential.
He’d taken that in. I’d seen the fury in his eyes before he’d gotten it under control. Then he’d found his way to a seat that gave him the best view of the room, and spent the minutes before the ceremony watching everyone else the way he used towatch church — looking for the thing that would tell him who was loyal and who was drifting.
Ellen had come in after him. Smaller, quieter, moving through the crowd without waiting for him to lead her anywhere. They hadn’t arrived together. Everyone knew they’d split — Ellen had moved out months ago — but King’s jaw was tight as he watched her settle into a seat that wasn’t next to his. Whatever he’d expected from today, that wasn’t it.
She’d chosen her own spot — left side, near the middle, a clean line of sight to the altar. She’d folded her hands in her lap and looked at her son with a smile.
I followed her gaze up to the front.
Dutch and Indira were already there. No groom standing around waiting for his bride to walk down the aisle — they’d come in together, side by side, the way they did everything. Indira was smiling at everyone, radiant, lifting a hand to wave at someone in the second row. Dutch had his arm around her waist and was glaring at any brother who dared holler or say anything inappropriate about his old lady, which only made them holler louder.
This was my prez — the man who’d taught me what it meant to be a brother, who’d pulled me back from the edge more times than I could count. He’d found his person. Despite everything, despite the violence and the danger and the life we lived — he’d found her.
When Dutch looked up and found Ellen in the crowd, something crossed his face. Brief, private. Like a man confirming something he’d needed to see. She’d nodded at him once. That was all.
I thought about Bea. About the future I’d destroyed in one blackout night.
Across the crowd, I caught a glimpse of her profile. She was watching the ceremony, her face carefully neutral. But I knewher tells, even now. The slight tension in her jaw. The way her hands were folded too tightly in her lap.
My body remembered her before my brain could stop it. The warmth of her, the weight of her head against my shoulder when she slept. Things I had no right to be thinking about in the middle of someone else’s wedding.
She was hurting. Because of me. I wanted to go to her. Wanted to push through the crowd, put myself in front of her, say something that would make any of this better.
But I didn’t move.
Because even that was the same play — forcing a moment, making her deal with me on my schedule instead of hers. That was the story, anyway. Three months and I hadn’t called. Hadn’t written. Standing still at a wedding wasn’t restraint — it was just where the silence had brought me.
Chapter 23
