Page 13 of Tinsel & Chrome

He snorts. “Like hell. I ain’t missing free food, booze, and fireworks.”

That’s the thing about the club. It ain’t just about the money, the power, or the brotherhood. It’s about family. And family takes care of its own.

“Stop your bellyaching and let’s go get the shit we need.”

The clubhouse garage is packed to the damn ceiling with boxes labeled XMAS SHIT in Titan’s bold, no-nonsense handwriting. Every year we haul this crap out, and every year, I swear I ain’t doing it again. Yet here we are.

“Mad Dog, get your lazy ass over here and grab a box,” I bark, yanking the nearest one off the shelf and tossing it at him. He catches it with a grunt, muttering under his breath.

“This is ridiculous. Bikers don’t decorate for Christmas.”

Boone smirks, pulling out a string of lights. “Yeah? Tell that to the rugrats. Daisy’s already talkin’ about what she’s getting, and Walker said he wants to help hang the big-ass wreath this year.”

Mad Dog groans dramatically, throwing an arm over his face. “We’re raising a generation of softies.”

Bishop steps up, lifting a heavy crate with one arm like it’s nothing. “Nah, we’re raising kids who know they’re loved. Ain’t a damn thing wrong with that.”

That shuts Mad Dog up real quick.

Titan leans against the doorway, arms crossed, watching us like the goddamn overseer of a chain gang. “You gonna help or just supervise?” I challenge.

He huffs. “I’m making sure you idiots don’t break anything.”

I roll my eyes but let it slide. Titan takes Christmas in July as seriously as I do, not that he’ll ever admit it.

We haul the decorations outside, where the kids are already running around the yard, hyped up on sugar and excitement. Logan and Walker are wrestling near the firepit, while Wynn and Daisy are setting up plastic reindeer on the clubhouse steps.

“Hey!” I shout. “We decorating or throwing hands?”

Logan shoves Walker one last time before backing off, grinning. “Both.”

I shake my head, but inside, I’m grinning too.

Christmas in July might have started as a desperate move, but looking around at my kids, my club, my family, I know it’s the best damn decision I ever made.

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Decoration Day

Forge

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The garage is full of boxes, half of them labeled with Jingle Blaze decorations, the other half packed with club business, shit the kids don’t need to see. But today, this is about them, not the club.

I shake out a string of tangled lights, scowling at the mess. Titan packed this box like a goddamn savage. Across the garage, Alex and Bayou are already digging into the decorations. Alex, my fourteen-year-old, is trying to act like he’s too old for this. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching Bayou with thinly veiled amusement. He wants to help, but he’s at that age where he won’t admit it.

Bayou, my wild little six-year-old, is in the middle of the chaos, untangling garland like it’s a wrestling match he’s gotta win.

“Dad! Look!” Bayou holds up a fistful of ornaments, most of them scratched or cracked from years of getting tossed in a box. One of them is a tiny motorcycle with Santa on it.

I nod. “That one’s yours. You picked it out last year.”

Alex scoffs, grabbing another box. “You say that like it’s a big deal. You pick out a new one every year, Bay.”

Bayou frowns at him. “So do you!”

Alex rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. I know him too well—he gives Bayou shit, but he likes this tradition just as much.

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