56. Candy
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CANDY
W hen we planned our wedding vow renewal, I didn’t want to make it a big production. Contrary to what Butch thought I deserved for a wedding, I didn’t need a princess dress or the quartet of strings. All I wanted was for me and Butch to share the moment in front of our family and friends, as we should have the first time around.
Giving myself two weeks to plan the event—more for everyone else to plan to be present—Butch objected to the short deadline, claiming there was no rush. He wanted me to have time to make sure it was everything I deserved and more.
I disagreed with him wholeheartedly. One, neither of us had the memories we should’ve from being wed. If we were going to be husband and wife, I wanted a day to celebrate us with those happy memories tied to it. And two, we got married without our loved ones to share in the celebration. It needed to be corrected— pronto .
Butch graciously conceded to my shorter timeline before asking what he could do to help prepare for the day. Seriously, the man scored big brownie points for stepping up to assist. Between the two of us and the rest of the family, we knocked out the details.
For the special occasion, I wear a strapless tulle mid-calf dress, opting for bubble gum pink since it’s my color. It hugs my curves and will give Butch plenty to drool over. Heels are nice, but not right for the occasion. My scuffed up combat boots are way more me. Ebony did my makeup in an Old Hollywood type of glam way, Red painted my nails in clear gloss with sparkles, and Jo braided my hair into some elegant Nordic twist. I look fucking good, if I say so myself.
Mama Bear Holland squealed with delight when we broke the news to the crew we were married and renewing our vows to share the moment with our biker family. She insisted on making the meal for the occasion, something I was deeply grateful for not having to worry about. And of course, sugary sweet Opal made the cake—a tower of pink and black alternating tiers, representing me and Butch perfectly.
Papa Jim Holland and Jared decorated the main living area for the special occasion. They had taken Butch’s cell and enlarged a few of the nicer photos of us from our impromptu Las Vegas wedding where we’re embracing as newlyweds. It’s a beautiful way to incorporate our wedding with our renewal. They placed the photos around the perimeter of the room for the guests to enjoy.
The rest of our biker brothers hated not being involved in our special day aside from attending. Wanting to surprise me and Butch, they asked Jo what they could help with. Nothing makes Jo happier than pulling up her Pinterest boards. She had all the guys making floral arrangements. I’ve seen some shit in my day. But let me tell you, a bunch of big, burly bikers sitting around the massive dining table, arranging delicate flowers like it was a kids’ craft project, is comic gold. I had to swallow my giggles when I was presented with a lopsided bouquet of late fall flowers. It was a sweet gesture, one I hadn’t expected or would forget.
“Candy?”
My attention returning to the moment, I turn around, finding Atlas in the doorway—dressed in his cut with a black button-down underneath and black jeans.
“Red said you wanted to see me. ”
Smiling, I approach the MC president. I’d already asked Jo if she’d be okay with the arrangement. She smiled, giving me her blessing. All I had left to do was ask Atlas.
“Yes. I’ve something to ask of you.”
Atlas says nothing, looking at me with his normal unreadable, hard mug.
“Will you walk me down the aisle?”
The big, tough biker’s face contorts into a mixture of pride and delight. He yanks me in for a bear hug. “You sure?”
I hug him back. “You gave me a home, Atlas. If it weren’t for you taking me in and giving me countless chances, I may have never found my happily ever after. I wouldn’t have Butch.”
Atlas pulls away, wiping at his teary eyes. When he’s composed, he smiles. “I’d be honored.”
He gives me his arm and escorts me into the main room of headquarters, where the guests wait. Everyone stands once they spot us. Red walks ahead of us, dressed in a short black dress as my maid of honor, with Ebony walking ahead of her as my other bridesmaid in a matching black dress. Butch comes from the other end, wearing an outfit similar to Atlas with his biker cut. Ziggy, his best man, and Chase, the other groomsman, stand at his side in support.
As soon as Butch sees me, his normally composed demeanor transforms into his charming, dimpled smile.
As we walk to the center from opposite ends, Rhianna’s S&M starts blasting from a speaker.
Turning toward the source of the noise, Butch glares daggers at Punk. His biker brother holds a portable speaker in his hand and sporting a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Sorry,” Punk feigns innocence. “Wrong playlist.”
“I told you not to put Punk in charge of the music,” Ziggy chides Butch.
My biker’s nostrils flare with annoyance, looking like he’s ready to lay out both his brothers.
It’s too funny. Unable to help myself, I double over, laughing .
Butch relaxes and joins me in the laughter. Soon everyone is laughing. This is how it should be—lighthearted, sweet, and full of fun moments like this to smile back on.
Punk eventually switches the music to whatever mushy song we originally picked. It feels wrong in comparison, totally not us.
Possibly feeling the same as me, Butch rolls his eyes. “Put it back on Rhianna, Punk.”
Punk fist pumps the air before switching the music back.
We dance down the little aisle until we’re facing each other, giddy as teenagers. Atlas gives me a quick peck on the cheek and shakes Butch’s hand before taking a seat with Jo and their twins.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the renewed commitment of Butch and Candy,” Tank drawls in his deep voice as he officiates the renewal of our wedding vows—whatever the hell they may have been, since neither of us can recall.
Butch stands beside me, holding my hand, grinning like a fiend and bringing his dimples to the surface. We’re supposed to be paying attention to what Tank is saying, but Butch prefers to stare at me, his eyes glued to my face. I can’t help smiling back at him. His joy is contagious. When he catches me glancing back at him, his goofy smile grows bigger. He lifts our clasped hands to his mouth, kissing my knuckles, his soft lips sending tendrils of bliss along my skin.
Tank clears his throat to bring our focus back to him. Reluctantly, we both look away from each other to give Tank the attention he demands.
“Please face each other and share your vows with one another…”
We could have written our own vows, lengthy speeches to drone on about how we feel about each other. It wasn’t needed. We already know—saying it and showing it daily to each other. We opted for short and sweet, leaving the gritty details for us to share with each other later, when the evening ends.
Taking turns, we repeat after Tank. I slide a black gold wedding band onto Butch’s finger—the one he has my name tattooed on—loving the show of ownership I have on him. He slips a matching wedding band onto my finger, placing it right beside my pink diamond engagement ring. The way my biker beams at me once my wedding ring adorns my finger will forever stay ingrained in my mind.
Tank smiles at the two of us. “By the power vested in me, I pronounce you?—”
“Slave and master!” Punk shouts from the back of the room, interrupting Tank. Our biker family breaks out into laughter.
Butch reacts the way he always does when he feels I’m being disrespected—jaw clenched and tight fisted. Before he can run off to pummel Punk, I grab him by his leather cut.
“Come here and kiss what’s yours, Butch.”
His anger melting away and a smile replacing his scowl, Butch wraps his arms around me and brings his lips to mine in a scorching kiss, drowning out the cheers and whistles.
When we break the kiss, Butch gives me a lazy smile. “I love you, Goddess.”
“Love you, too, biker boy.”
“Can I beat Punk’s ass now?”
“Please do,” I say with a nod, patting him on his firm bottom to send him off.
Punk’s light blue eyes go wide when he sees Butch cracking his knuckles and looking at him like a bull about to charge.
“Oh, shit!” Punk dashes for the doors leading out to the slate patio with Butch hot on his heels. The crew laughs and runs outside to watch the show, taking bets on how long it will take for Butch to run Punk down. I laugh with the rest of the MC ladies, welcoming this new chapter in my life.
And together, the Quiet Biker Boy and his Authoritative Goddess lived happily ever after.