Page 78 of The Heir

I gave a nod and set my coffee to cool on the table, keeping my hands on it so I could enjoy the warmth through the ceramic mug.

“I’m betting it was a proposal worth–”

“There was no proposal,” I cut her off, causing her to fix me with a gaze that begged to know, though she was kind enough not to ask.

After a while, I lifted the coffee and tested the heat again. I was able to sip a little more, but it was still too hot to properly drink.

“He was facing–” I held up two hands and juggled, “More charges than I can recall. Grandpa agreed to pull some strings, on the condition that he take me back to Georgia with him, but the judge insisted he stay a year for this stupid fucking court thing– And Grandpa insisted we marry.”

I struggled to expand my lungs.

“I don’t know what the fuck is going on now. My dad offered Blaze a patch, and he wants to take it. He’s talking about staying. He wants to be a Disciple.” I shook my head, unable to pinpoint exactly where the shit storm had gone wrong. “This whole thing is just– ridiculous. He probably doesn’t even care about me. Who wouldn’t move their lips to keep their ass out of prison? People do it every day, even when it gets them labeled as a snitch.”

I waved my hands and paused.

“I hate this.” I huffed.

“Well, shit, it just happened yesterday. If you mean it, go annul that shit,” Trista advised, without hesitation.

“What?” I blinked.

“Marchella, you are a grown-ass woman. If you have made a mistake and married some man you had no business marrying, go to the courthouse, and tell them so. File an annulment and be done with it, but don’t you ever let some fucking boy leave you sobbing on a goddamn steering wheel like that again, or I’ll put a bullet in his narrow ass myself, understand?”

My jaw dropped, and laughter trickled from me, but Aunt Trista didn’t laugh, her smile tightened, and she raised her coffee cup in a silent salute before calmly sipping.

Chapter Thirty-One

Blaze

We pulled in front of a hotel with a canopied loading area and parked across from it. Once we dismounted, I noticed Oak was sitting on a bench outside. His head was tipped back a little and he had sunglasses on, so I really couldn’t read his expression.

He didn’t bother stirring or rising to greet us when we neared, either.

“The fuck you doin?” Easy snorted.

Oak startled, grabbing the armrest, and abruptly hitching forward.

“Damn you, Eric.” He laughed, shaking his head.

He slid the glasses off and eyed me for a minute, not unkindly.

“You alright?” he asked, shocking the life out of me.

I was braced for a solid ‘talking to,’ as folks back in Georgia said. Oak was a southern man and he’d been married to my mother for eighteen years, I knew him as well as anyone knew their father.

“I’ll be alright. You?”

He gave a half-smile and tipped his head, squinting against the sun.

“I will be once I’m convinced that you’re gonna be solid.”

I nodded and lifted my gaze to the hotel, “And her?”

He smothered a laugh in his throat until it was little more than a rumble, “She’ll be your mother ‘til the day she dies. It’s what she was made to be, Blaze. Momma Bear, and boy does she roar when she perceives a threat.”

“Yeah, but there ain’t no threat, Oak. What’s the threat in me knowing my people? You said it yourself, back home…”

Oak flipped a finger up toward Easy.

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