“He said no talk of murder until the age of eighteen.” Fair, although I knew it wasn’t herdoctorwho said that. “I still can’t believe couples allow their sons to initiate...”
“All by choice. No one forces their kids, and neither will we. But if he wants to join, I’ll make sure he’s well prepared before the time comes.”
Where‘normal’parents would strive for their children to follow in their footsteps, we understand the cost of joining. So, generally, we don’t. To have a legacy initiated into the MUR is every father’s dream, but we aren’t heartless psychos. We all know the value of a life. Historically, it’s more common for themnotto join.
At eighteen, sons are given the choice to join the brotherhood, but even within families, our society remains a secret. Daughters would never be told what their parents or brothers do behind closed doors, unless they marry into it. To my knowledge, that’s only happened once.
“Aren’t you nervous about the kind of person he’d become?” Dakota had been concerned from the moment we found out we were having a boy, and I’d never dare to think about crossing a line that she’s drawn.
If she said no, then I wouldn’t question her decision. But I’ve also been doing my best to reassure her that if he did choose to follow in my footsteps, it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
“Rare as they are, I’ve met a few legacies. Dallas, for example, is more down-to-earth than you’d expect as the son of a formerrevue leader who’s now a leader himself. Granted, at times he can be a little…much, but the real unhinged members are the ones who come out of fuckin’ nowhere. Like literal bats outta hell. Like Nick, Nash…or Dane.”
“When will I get to meet them? The wives outside of Nashville...”
While she was fortunate to have her sister close by to confide in, Dakota did wonder what the wives in Vegas were like compared to the women here. From what I’ve heard, they’reexceptional.
“You’ll get to meet them all at the next Gala. Dustin hosts it every five years, and it’s an event to remember. It’s the one night where we all come together as one massive fucking family. The members are good people, Dakota. Some are even better than us.”
Being introduced as the newest revue to join the organization at our first Gala was nerve-racking. But when all fifteen of us Kerosene Cowboys arrived, we were welcomed with open arms. It gave us all a raw feeling of belonging, as if we’d been there from the beginning, and that was the definition of a brotherhood.
Seeing one of the large parlor rooms thriving with enthusiastic wives gave us hope at the possibility of a future we assumed wouldn’t be possible, regardless of what we’d been told. They were the reason why we established the buckle-branded–
“I almost forgot, I’ve got something for you.” I gently slid out from underneath my wife, lowering her back down on the daybed before darting inside to the bedroom where I’d hidden her gift for safekeeping.
Every cowboy receives a buckle specially designed and crafted for their future bride. I’d stored mine with a picture of Dakota that I’d taken on San Padre Island.
After grabbing the black box and photo from my top drawer, I brought them both outside and set them on the daybed beside her. Dakota quickly sat up, eager and curious about the gift, her eyes shifting from the box to the photo as she picked it up with shaky fingers.
“This… this was my trip with Tiff… the dress…” I could see the gears turning in her head as she remembered that trip, eventually connecting the dots as to why I’d chosen that exact outfit for our vows. “You were there?”
She wasn’t afraid. My wife looked up at me in awe, her eyes brimming with tears at the sentimental value that dress now held for us both.
Since I’d come clean about the stalking, Dakota wasn’t bothered by the fact that I’d always been in her shadow. She saw it for exactly what it was—obsessive love.
I nodded toward the black box, and she set the picture down, her fingertips brushing lightly across the matte velvet before reaching the seam and slowly prying it open.
Inside was her belt buckle forged to match mine; the one I’ve been wearing every night at Kerosene since the day she said yes. The buckle that represents my loyalty to her more than a ring ever could.
Cowboys wearing that specific buckle were deemed off-limits, and we made sure that the women who came to our shows respected that boundary. It was a line none of us would ever cross.
“Am I…?” Her sobs muffled her words, but it wasn’t hard to understand what she was trying to say.
“Officiallya buckle-branded? That you are, Darlin’, and you’ll wear that buckle with pride.” I couldn’t wait to see her wearing it every night when she stops by after work. I’ll gladly pull her up on the bar and show my girl off with every chance I get; light a few extra blowtorches in her honor.
As I bent down to go in for a kiss, my wife took the dark leather hat right off my head, placed it on hers, then pulled me in close by the collar of my T-shirt, our lips nearly touching.
“There’s just something about you, Cowboy.”
Epilogue
Dakota: Five Years Later
I’vealwayslovedspringtimebecause it’s filled with the scent of fresh rain from all the thunderstorms that we get in the south, especially in the month of May.
But summer…
Summer with family was on a whole different playing field—literally.
