Page 33 of Chase's Kind of Trouble
Humboldt, California
The redwoods stand like sentries. Tall, ancient witnesses the trees have seen every kind of battle and blessed every kind of vow.
It’s just the way we wanted our wedding to be. No string quartets, or pianos for us. The wind provides natures music for our big day as it feathers through the trees.
Celeste walks toward me, her white gown brushing her ankles, hair braided, blue eyes full of light that hits harder than any wrecking ball.
Today she’s finally mine. In every sense of the word.
My pulse thuds with that one word. Over and over, day and night, any time she’s near.
I don’t possess Celeste, I worship her.
And today I’m in the redwood forest, nature’s altar, to promise my soul before our friends.
Her coworker, Lacy, from the restaurant dabs at her eyes as she moves in behind Celeste. Tice and Kane stand beside me, smug bastards who love giving me shit.
Their fiancées are smiling. They knew it from that night in the restaurant. This was destiny.
Stryker stands tall, arms folded, and GhostDog leans against a tree like he’s just passing through. Dark eyes hidden below a ball cap, unreadable face. But he’son.
Always on.
He doesn't miss a thing. Not a twitch, not a lie, not a fucking movement in the woods.
My fiancée stops in front of me. Looks up. Smiles that soft, trembly smile that is as effective as a knife to the heart.
“Hey, I rasp. “Ready to do this?”
“I told you I’m all in. I want a ring on your finger, handsome.”
I laugh, and draw her close. Who says I can’t be holding my girl while we say our vows.
We share our promises in hushed tones that melt away into the thick green, ancient forest.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Eagle, Kane’s fiancée says in a watery voice. “You may kiss the bride.”
I don’t kiss her at first. I just promise her with my eyes. I’m here. Always.
She sniffs, nods. Then I pick her up and kiss her like she loves it. Wild, hot and deep, with a growl in my chest.
The sun’s dropping behind the canopy. Light’s fading golden across the river when we find the party, much later, after we’ve consummated our vows in the back seat of my truck…
Because that’s how we roll. Whenever the need hits. Wherever my wife whispers, “Now, Daddy…” in my ear.
But now it’s time for a cold beer and a warm fire pit with the people we love.
Kane, Tice, Stryker, GhostDog and I stand on the bank of the river in rolled-up sleeves, our combat boots in the rocks.
“Quite a day,” Kane says, clinking his bottle against mine. “You went from lone wolf to domesticated grizzly in no time.”
“Domesticated my ass,” I grunt. “I’m still feral. Just...collared now.”
They laugh. Tice leans back, sipping his beer with a smirk. “She’s good for you, Crash. Brings out your...softer murder instincts.”
“Fuck off,” I mutter, but I’m smiling.
GhostDog hasn’t said a word. Not unusual. But now he’s tapping a beer bottle against his thigh. Almost restless, then he stills in a way that draws all of our attention.
