I opened the passenger door, nudged Liam inside, then climbed in behind the wheel. Burke slid in behind me, Macon behind Liam, and as soon as the doors shut, the cabin filled with the smell of cold air, coffee, and adrenaline.
For a few seconds, nobody said anything. I put the truck in drive, eased off the brake, and turned us out onto the two-lane.
The snow had started up again, not a storm but the kind of slow, relentless fall that could erase a county in under a day if you let it. The highway stretched ahead, gray and empty, lines of fence posts marching off toward the butte. The heater roared, but it still couldn’t quite keep the cold off my ears.
Liam stared out the window, his hands braced on his knees, the tips of his ears going red. Burke made a show of checking the mirror, then muttered, “Nobody’s behind us.”
Macon just grunted, eyes scanning the ditch and the fence line, never still for more than a second.
It wasn’t until we hit the first rise past the town sign that Liam finally turned to me, his voice small and flat. “Where are we going?”
I kept my eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel. “We’re going to the courthouse.”
He blinked at me, as if I’d said we were going to the moon. “Why?”
“We’re getting married,” I said.
There was a silence in the cab, broken only by the heater and the engine. Then, from the back seat, a strangled sound, and Burke started laughing. Not loud, not rude, just the kind of laugh that meant someone had let go of a rope they’d been holding too long.
Macon didn’t laugh, but his mouth twitched at the corner.
I kept driving, and after a second, said, “Eleanor can’t claim you if you’re already claimed. She can’t take the baby if he’s gota legal parent and a home. She might make noise, but she won’t drag her name through the mud just to lose. This is how we win.”
Liam looked at me, his mouth open like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. He just stared at my face, then out the window, then back again, as if trying to see if this was a bit, a joke, a dare.
“It’s not permanent,” I said, “unless you want it to be. We just need enough time to get the lawyers to fuck off and get you safe.”
He took a breath, then another, then nodded. “Okay.”
I felt something unclench in my chest.
We drove the rest of the way in silence, except for Burke occasionally pointing out a car two miles ahead or a road sign bent by last year’s windstorm. The town was nothing, a strip of courthouse, bar, and three churches, all lined up like stages for the same bad play.
I parked in front of the courthouse, left the engine running, and turned to Liam. He was still pale, but his eyes were clear. I reached into my pocket, pulled out the black velvet bag, and handed it to him.
He took it, fingers shaking a little, and let the rings spill into his palm. He looked at them for a long second, then closed his hand around them and nodded, jaw set.
“We go together,” I said, and he nodded again.
Inside, the courthouse was warmer than the truck, but only by a few degrees. The clerk at the front desk gave us a look, then a smile that was half bored and half curious. I gave her the story—two parties, urgent situation, can we do this fast—and she didn’t even blink. Just handed over the paperwork and two pens.
Burke and Macon posted up by the doors, arms crossed, eyes scanning every person that came or went. I filled out the forms, then handed them to Liam, who signed with a signature so tight it looked like it hurt.
The judge was a beta in his sixties, sleepy-eyed and friendly, wearing a tie that had lost its color sometime during the Bush administration. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t even blink at the rings. Just called us to the front, read a few lines from a card, and told us to say I do.
I looked at Liam, saw the moment he realized it was real, and waited. He said it, soft but steady, then looked at me.
I said it, and meant it, every syllable.
The judge told us to exchange rings, so I took one and slid it onto his finger, the metal cold and tight. He did the same for me, his hands steadier than mine.
We signed the last line, and just like that, it was done.
On the way out, Burke clapped me on the shoulder, and Macon gave Liam a look that I couldn’t quite read—respect, maybe, or just relief. The wind had picked up, rattling the flagpole and sending gusts of powder across the courthouse steps.
He looked at me, eyes soft, and said, “Thank you.”
I squeezed his hand, just once.
