Page 97 of Givin' Me Fitz!
Sawyer grinned and pulled the ponytail over his shoulder. “Yeah, it’s a pain in the ass anyway, getting all over everything. I’ll go tomorrow and do it. I can donate it to that cancer charity that makes wigs or something like that. Anyway, do you want to know the last one?”
I leaned forward and kissed his soft lips. “I love you. Save a little something for the honeymoon.”
Sawyer laughed so hard he fell off the picnic table, which had me laughing even harder. If this was my life with the president of a motorcycle club, I could handle it.
“That was some laughing fit,” I said, poking my finger into his side when he stood in front of me and pulled me closer.
“Promise you’ll always keep Givin’ Me Fitz?”
“For better or worse. Richer or poorer. Until the day I die.” We sealed my vow with a kiss.
Sometimes destiny knew what we needed and when it needed to show up. If I’d had my way, it could have come a lot sooner, but now that I had it, now that I had Sawyer, I wasn’t letting go.
Epilogue
Sawyer
December 1
I walked into the clubhouse and was surprised to see T-Roy on his hands and knees putting down a new subfloor in the common room. Rock music was blaring, and nobody else was around, so I had to wonder what the hell he was doing.
“Hey!” He didn’t even flinch.
I jerked the saw plug from the outlet but it took him a second to catch on. He glanced behind him and grinned. “Whoa, brother, where you been and what the hell happened to your hair?”
I smirked as I brushed my fingers through my short locks. I’d had it cut like a model I’d seen in one of the books at the salon that Monty Montgomery had recommended. Fitz and I had been fucking like rabbits and had spent the week holed up in the East Windmill house after we said goodbye to my parents, TJ, and Jim. My mother was pissed that we got married without her, but my father just nodded and winked.
“Going for a new look. My husband says it looks great. What the fuck are you doing?”
“Yeah, the wedding. Hobie told us about it. You’ve been gone for a week so I couldn’t congratulate you. You could have invited all of us, you know. Anyway, Hobie said we shouldn’t bother you.”
T-Roy took off his safety glasses and grabbed a towel from his back pocket, wiping his hands before we shared a backslapping hug. I was glad he wasn’t pissed about everything that had gone down. I’d heard some of the others weren’t thrilled that they weren’t invited, but I knew they’d get over it.
“We thought we’d have a big party after the first of the year. We’re going to Texas for me to meet my new in-laws at the end of the week. I just dropped by to talk to Hobie. Is he around?”
“Yeah. He’s over at your—I guess it’s his now—place. He said he was going to decorate. I can’t wait to see how that shit turns out.” We both laughed.
“Okay. Why are you taking up the floor?”
“Blood seeped through the old wooden one. I’m replacing all this and putting down a solid sheet of linoleum. It’ll take me about a week, but it’ll be fine. Hobie suggested it needed to be done when we had the emergency church meeting on Sunday evening, and I took on the project. I’ve been shorting the club on time, and I’m trying to make up for it.”
God knew; it wouldn’t hurt the look of the place. “Good call on his part. I’ll drop back by before I leave. Don’t cut off a finger.”
T-Roy snickered and went back to work.
I walked around the clubhouse and down the hill, seeing Hobie’s SUV and his bike parked in the garage. My stuff was already at Fitz’s house—what little there was. Hobie was moving out of the clubhouse and into my old place. It was only right since he was the new president of the club. I’d talked to him about things before Fitz and I took my bike for a ride.
Sunday, November 24
Fitz was on the phone talking to Sparky, so I pulled Hobie aside. “We need to talk. I’m stepping down as the president. I can’t do the job properly because the members won’t trust me after the shit that went down. I’m naming you acting president now, but call an emergency meeting of the executive committee, and get the vote to make it official.”
“What? No. No fucking way. The guys might be concerned for a while, but they’ll come around, Bones. You know that.” The expression on his face as he spoke told a different story.
“Look, Hobie. My life is going in a different direction now. We’re staying in Vegas because this is where Fitz’s job is, but I need to lie low for a while. I don’t want to bring additional heat to the club, so I’ll stay away.”
“Wait, are you quitting? Dude, you know what that looks like. We all witnessed what happened when Ferg wanted out. That blowtorch your dad took to his club tat had to hurt like a motherfucker.”
Ferguson Wright was the club secretary under Keller, and the guy had stolen money from the club. When Luke Gephardt, the former chaplain under Keller, discovered the discrepancy in the books from sales of pot and whatever else they were into back then, he reported it to my father, and after Keller got over being butt hurt that Ferg would steal from the club, he kicked him out and exacted club justice, burning off the cowboy skeleton on his back.
