Page 35 of Brazen Being It

The words hit harder than I expect.

A seat. Not a test. Not a favor. A real fucking seat.

After church, I step outside and light a smoke with shaking fingers.

Toon joins me a second later, slaps the back of my head just hard enough to sting. “You finally getting your shit together,” he says as I smirk. “About damn time.”

We share a grin.

But all I want to do is see her. Taste her once again.

When I get back to the trailer, Cambria’s barefoot in the grass, talking to Laura, Hawk’s ol’ lady, over coffee like she’s been doing it for years. She’s laughing—head back, mouth wide, that sound filling the air like a song I didn’t know I missed.

She sees me, and her smile changes—softer, private.

She walks up and presses a hand to my chest.

“You okay?” she asks, leaning in close.

I’m more than okay. I kiss her—full, slow, claiming. For the first time, I don’t care who’s watching, judging.

This lie?

It’s starting to feel a lot like the truth.

And I’m not sure I want to go back. I think I want to take her away and elope. No one has ever gotten me feeling these feelings and being accepted.

EIGHT

CAMBRIA

Everything begins with the first step.

It’sthe quiet that gets me.

Not the silence, exactly—there’s always noise in the compound. Engines roaring, boots crunching gravel, the occasional burst of laughter or shouting. But it’s not the kind of noise I grew up with. Not the kind that follows violence or screams through thin motel walls.

This is different. This is safety dressed up in chaos. And I’m starting to let myself believe it might last.

Little Foot’s different now. There’s a weight to him—like the club finally gave him permission to become who he always was. I see it in the way the guys look at him now. Not just as Shooter’s kid or Axel’s brother, but as someone who stands on his own.

He doesn’t say it out loud, but I know something shifted during that Memphis run. When he came home, there were shadows in his eyes, but also pride in his chest. A piece of him clicked into place that night.

And I felt it too.

He doesn’t call me his wife around the compound anymore like it’s part of the lie. He says it like it’s truth.

And I catch myself responding like it is.

Today I’m helping Yesnia, Laura, Caroline, and Tessie in the clubhouse kitchen. There’s a party tonight—one of the older members is retiring from their day jobs, and the Hellions don’t do anything halfway. There’s going to be meat, beer, and enough music to rattle the windows. Caroline’s elbow-deep in a tray of marinating ribs while I chop onions and try not to cry like a rookie.

“You’re getting better at this,” she says.

“At what? Crying?”

She smirks. “Fitting in. Feeling confident in being here with us”

I shrug. “Still feels like playing dress-up most days.”

---