Epilogue
Eli
Skip tells me to meet him behind the clubhouse after dinner.
Which, historically speaking, could mean anything from I wanna kiss you in the pool to help me move a suspicious box before Spike asks questions.
Don’t get me started on that last one. Let’s just say that the compound is now the home to two golden retrievers.
But tonight…Tonight feels strange.
When I turn the corner, I stop dead in my tracks.
Candles.
So many candles.
Like…a fire marshal’s personal nightmare.
They’re arranged in a big, uneven circle, flickering against the warm desert air.
Some are tall, some are half-melted, one looks like it’s shaped like a cat…
Sunny, definitely Sunny…and the whole area smells like lavender and something citrusy that I’m pretty sure is supposed to calm anxiety but is instead causing mine to amplify.
Skip stands in the middle of it.
Hands in his pockets. Head down.
Nervous. My Skip…nervous?
The apocalypse must be scheduled for tomorrow.
“Hey, pretty boy,” he says when he catches me staring. “Come to me.”
I step into the circle. “Skip…did someone die? Are we summoning a demon? Did Micah take up witchcraft? Because he was talking about it the other day.”
He huffs a laugh. “No one’s dying, and if there’s any demon I’m summoning, it’s the demon of love.”
“That was bad,” I laugh. “You need to up your flirting game.”
“So, I do.” He takes my hands. His palms are warm. His thumbs caress my skin. “Eli… baby… there’s something I need to say.”
Oh god.
He’s breaking up with me. This is a breakup circle. A ceremonial dumping pit. I’m going to throw myself into the candles.
“Stop panicking,” he says instantly, reading my mind. “I can literally feel you vibrating.”
“My bad.”
He takes a deep breath. Then another. And then…He kneels.
Skip. The giant, terrifying biker. On one knee before me.
My breath catches so hard I make a tiny squeak sound.
It’s embarrassing, but he smiles anyway.
He pulls a small velvet box from his pocket.
“I love you,” he says, voice steady. “I’ve loved you since the day you admitted you were jealous when people flirted with me.”
I choke on a laugh-sob. “That is not what I said.”
“Hush.” He squeezes my hands. “Eli, before you, I didn’t even think I deserved happiness. I didn’t think someone as good as you would even look at me. But you did. And somehow…you stayed.”
My vision is officially blurry.
“I want you for the rest of my life,” Skip says, opening the box.
Inside is a simple ring…silver, smooth, understated except for the small etched shadow emblem on the inside of the band.
My breath leaves me in a rush.
“Marry me, pretty boy,” he whispers. “Be my husband. My forever. My home.”
I try to answer. I swear I do.
But my whole soul launches out of my body, and I start crying. Full ugly cry. The kind where your shoulders shake, your face turns red, and snot drips down your nose.
Oh, no! Please don’t let me be dripping snot!
“Baby…hey…shit…are those good tears?” Skip panics. “Please be good tears. Because if you say no, I’m gonna pass out in this candle circle and you’re gonna have to hose me down.”
“Yes,” I sob, grabbing his face with trembling hands. “Yes, Skip. Of course I’ll marry you.”
His relief is so explosive he laughs, then stands, lifts me like I weigh nothing, and kisses me hard enough my knees forget how to function.
And that’s when the bushes explode.
I jump so hard I almost topple both of us to the ground.
“FINALLY!” Riley screams.
“About damn time!” Bones bellows, jogging toward his house. “I have to piss.”
Max whistles. Tank scowls like someone stole his beer. Abby cries immediately. Maverick grins like he’s known for weeks. Which, he probably has.
The entire Shadows family pours out from behind vehicles, from around the garage, from the literal dumpster (why was Patch hiding in the dumpster?), cheering, clapping, screaming, hooting.
Skip groans. “I told you assholes to stay hidden until after the kiss.”
“You took too long!” Sunny shouts.
Skip cups my cheeks, ignoring the heckling.
“You said yes,” he whispers, forehead against mine.
“I did.”
“Mine,” he breathes.
“Always,” I whisper back.
The family erupts again because, apparently, they’re feral.
And surrounded by candlelight, Skip’s shaking hands, and the loudest, most ridiculous cheering section in biker history, I know with perfect clarity that this is my forever.
“Got an early wedding gift for you,” Patch says, handing me a gift bag.
Skip looks over at me and smiles so wide you’d think Patch just handed him a lifetime supply of fireworks.
“Fuck, yeah!” he cheers. “Is that what I think it is?”
Max, Spike, and Bones all groan while everyone else laughs.
“What’s going on?” I ask, completely lost.
“Patch gave me, Sunny, and Lila a book when we got serious with our men,” Riley says. “I think they’re hilarious, but the guys never appreciate them. My book is called How to Survive Marriage to a Hardheaded Biker: A Guide for the Brave (or the Crazy).”
“Mine’s How to Survive Being Married to a Psycho Biker…A Field Guide for the Slightly Unhinged Bride,” Sunny snorts. “Bones burned it three times. Patch just keeps replacing it.”
Lila smiles. “Mine is Surviving the Silent Rider: A Guide for Women Who Fell for a Biker of Few Words and Too Many Muscles.”
Everyone laughs…well, almost everyone. There are a few sour faces among the crew.
“Skip LOVES teasing his brothers with these books,” Riley says. “Let’s see yours so we can watch your fiancé’s reaction.”
My fiancé.
Yeah. I like that. Maybe too much.
Reaching into the bag, I pull out the book and read the title aloud.
“How to Survive Being Claimed by a Menace on Two Wheels: A Practical Guide for Men Who Accidentally Fell for a Biker and Now Can’t Escape.”
Skip absolutely loses it.
Like…full body, hand-slapping-his-thigh, bent-at-the-waist laughter.
Bones groans. Max mutters a prayer. Spike pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s getting a migraine.
“Oh my FUCK,” Skip cackles. “Patch, you legend!”
Patch nods, satisfied. “I felt the genre needed expansion.”
I stare at the cover. “A menace on two wheels? Really?”
“You did fall for me,” Skip says, smug as sin. “Accidentally. And now? Can’t escape.”
“I don’t want to escape,” I mumble.
Skip wiggles his eyebrows and grabs the book from my hands. “See? Accurate.”
He flips the book open dramatically and reads, “‘Chapter One: Accepting Your Fate: He’s Going to Call You Pretty Boy Until You Die.’”
Everyone laughs again.
“I fucking knew you wrote these damn books,” Spike says.
“It has diagrams,” Patch adds proudly.
My head snaps up. “Diagrams?!”
Sunny claps. “Oh yeah. Mine had stickers.”
“Mine had a fold-out chart,” Riley says. “About emotional regulation for stubborn bikers.”
“Mine had a glossary,” Lila whispers. “Mostly…grunts translations.”
Skip flips further. “There’s a page called If Your Biker Gets Shot and Tries to Walk It Off: What Not to Do.”
He clears his throat…loud and dramatically…then reads:
“Section 4: If Your Biker Gets Shot and Tries to Walk It Off: A Step-By-Step Guide to Preventing a Near-Death Temper Tantrum.”
Bones groans. “Patch…come on.”
Skip’s grin only gets bigger. He keeps reading:
“Step 1: Ignore anything he says. Anything. If he claims the bullet ‘barely grazed’ him, understand he is lying. Bikers lie. About bullets.”
Max mutters, “This is personal.”
Skip continues:
“Step 2: If he stands up, sit his dumb ass back down. If he insists he’s fine, he is not fine. If he tries to ride his bike, call for backup. If he tries to win an argument while actively bleeding, slap him with a wet towel.”
Spike rubs his neck.
I can’t help but smile at the pure joy on Skip’s face.
“Step 3: If your biker attempts to escape medical care:
· Lasso him.
· Bribe him.
· Threaten to take away sex.
· Or run him over gently.
Pick whichever method causes the least property damage.”
Sunny chokes. “Really, Patch. Run him over gently?”
Patch shrugs. “It’s effective.”
Skip is doubled over, wheezing, tears in his eyes.
“Baby,” he gasps at me. “I am framing this page.”
“So,” I say sweetly, “you don’t mind if I use the ‘no sex’ threat when you’re being stubborn?”
Everything stops.
Skip’s laughter dies instantly.
His smile drops.
He glares at me.
Then at Patch.
Then back at me, eyes dark, dangerous, and way too amused.
“Oh, I think not, baby,” he says, taking one slow, predatory step toward me. “I enjoy sinking deep into the sexy ass and causing you to pass out.”
“Dude,” Foster laughs. “Way too much info, brother.”
Skip ignores him and slowly walks my way.
I know the pool is a few feet behind me…and I still can’t swim…so I immediately sidestep and duck behind the diving board like it can shield me from the predator coming my way.
Skip stalks closer, hands in his pockets like he has all day.
“If you think for one second,” he murmurs, voice dropping into that sinful growl, “that you're ever gonna withhold that sweet ass from me as punishment, there will be consequences.”
“That was Patch’s suggestion!” I squeak.
Patch winks at me. “Do not drag me into your bedroom politics.”
Skip doesn’t look away from me. He’s smiling now. That slow, wicked, I’m-going-to-ruin-you-in-a-fun-way smile.
“So,” I say, voice cracking. “What…what type of consequences?”
He reaches me and leans in, mouth practically brushing mine, and whispers low enough that only I hear it.
“The kind where you won’t be able to walk straight for a week, pretty boy. The kind where it will take you hours to reboot and not mere minutes.”
Bones groans loudly. “For the love of my sanity, get a room!”
Well, I guess Bones heard him.
And Skip?
Skip just smirks.
Because he knows damn well he won that round.
“I love you, baby,” he whispers against my lips.
I grip the front of his cut, grounding myself in the strength of him while he peppers kisses across my mouth, my cheeks, my forehead. Each one soft. Each one careful. Each one claiming without ever needing to say the words.
“Thank you for falling into my arms,” he murmurs.
I smile, pressing my face into his chest, breathing him in as his arms come around me…warm, strong…and very much home.
“Thank you for catching me,” I whisper back.
And just like that, the world settles. The noise fades. And I know, without a single doubt, that this is where I’m meant to be.
The End
(Can someone smack some sense into our VP?)