Page 87 of Reckless

‘I know you’ve had a rough week.’ Her smile slips a little. ‘But today isn’t about you!’ She reminds me not so kindly, but I needed that kick in the butt.

My eyes wander toward the clubhouse. Fairy lights glow through the front windows even in the daylight, and I can picture Marley inside already fussing over flowers, ribbons, or whether the tables are sitting exactly where she wanted them. She’s spent weeks pouring herself into today, determined to make every tiny detail perfect, and suddenly all I can think about is the way her face lit up when she found the dress.

Piper follows my gaze before signing again. ‘She needs her best friend today.’

Not tomorrow.

Not after I’ve untangled the chaos in my head.

Today.

Piper is right.

Of course, she’s right.

Ghost, the photograph, the highway—none of it is going anywhere.

Marley’s wedding only happens once.

I look back at Piper and force a proper smile this time. Not the polite one I’ve been wearing all week. A real one.

She studies me for a second before pointing straight at my face. ‘There you are! Was worried I was going to have to get a padded cell and a white jacket.’

Heat creeps into my cheeks despite myself. ‘You’re a bitch.’

She laughs silently, looping her arm through mine as we head toward the clubhouse together. “Runs in the family,” she says out loud this time in her muted tone.

I lean my head against hers for half a second as we walk. “Yeah,” I mumble, smiling to myself. “It really does.”

The clubhouse has been transformed into something I would never have believed possible if I hadn’t watched Marley build it with her own two hands over the past three weeks. Fairy lights are strung from every beam, warm and golden, catching in strands of hair, the rims of champagne glasses, and the sparkle of Queenie’s purple dress. Fresh flowers spill from old whiskey bottles lining the tables, and lengths of soft white fabric have somehow found their way between the rafters, turning a room built for bikers and whiskey into something warm enough to hold a wedding.

Queenie is already dabbing enthusiastically at her eyes with a folded tissue she’d somehow managed to produce from her sleeve before a single vow has been spoken, which tells me everything I need to know about how today is going to unfold.

The brothers have made an effort, too, in their own way, even though some of them are still sporting their injuries from the incident on the highway. Deek has done something with his hair that I suspect took considerably longer than he’ll ever admit, and Koa is wearing a button-down shirt that still has the fold lines pressed into it from the packaging.

For the first time in six days, the knot sitting behind my ribs loosens, just a little.

Piper gives my arm a gentle squeeze before disappearing toward the bar where Jessa and Gia are already arranging bottles and trays of champagne flutes, laughing together as they try to keep ahead of the steady stream of brothers wandering over in search of an early drink.

I watch her go for a second, grateful to see her smiling again after everything the last week has dragged us through. Then I hear Marley’s laugh drift down the hallway that runs behind the Chapel, bright enough to lift the corner of my mouth before Ro’s voice immediately follows it. “If somebody touches those flowers one more time, I swear I’ll start biting people.”

A quiet laugh escapes me.

Some things really don’t change.

Leaving the growing crowd behind, I weave my way through the clubhouse, sidestepping brothers carrying folding chairs, women making last-minute adjustments to centerpieces, and Bear balancing what looks like far too many boxes of decorations at once. The closer I get to the back of the building, the louder the voices become until I reach one of the spare rooms that’s been completely taken over for the morning.

The door stands open. Ro is behind Marley with a fistful of hairpins caught between her lips while she concentrates on one stubborn curl that apparently refuses to stay exactly where she wants it. Victoria is crouched beside the dress, smoothing invisible wrinkles from the train, while Penny is on her knees collecting stray bobby pins into the palm of her hand before anyone accidentally stands on them.

Marley’s brother, Beck, is sprawled sideways across the arm of the loveseat by the window, camera already raised, snapping away as if he’s covering New York Fashion Week instead of one increasingly stressed bridal party.

“Don’t mind me,” he says without lowering the lens. “Just documenting history. Ro’s phone camera would’ve made this whole morning look like a Jackson Pollock fiasco.”

Ro doesn’t even look up. “Nobody asked you, Beckett.”

“Nobody has to, Roxanne.” He fires off three more snaps in quick succession. “Talent doesn’t wait for an invitation.”

Marley stands in front of the full-length mirror, so still she almost doesn’t look real. She catches my eye in the reflection, and the smile that spreads across her face is equal parts excitement, nerves, and complete disbelief. It is as though some part of her is still waiting for someone to tell her this is all an incredibly elaborate joke.