Chapter Thirteen
~ Levi ~
There are mornings when you can smell the future coming, all ozone and static, even before you open your eyes.
This was one of those mornings. I woke up to the sound of the shower in the next room, hot water hissing against old pipes, and the scent of Ma’s biscuits leaking through the window from the main house.
The left side of the bed was already empty—Quiad had a habit of getting up early and then standing naked in the bathroom mirror for twenty minutes, as if he didn’t fully believe in his own body yet.
I lay there in the blue dawn, staring at the ceiling, running my thumb along the edge of my brand-new wedding band. It was silver and slim and smooth, and I kept checking it every few minutes like it might have vanished in the night.
A knock on the door. Not a normal knock—this was the kind that rattled hinges, followed by Bodean’s voice: “You guys decent in there or am I gonna need to bleach my retinas again?”
“Go away, Bo,” I yelled, but I was grinning already.
He didn’t leave. “We gotta roll in thirty. Ma says if you’re not dressed, she’s coming up here herself and she’s got the camera ready.” The threat hung there for a second. Then a muffled, “Congratulations, by the way.”
I heard the shower cut off, the thunk of the curtain rings, then Quiad’s low voice: “He gone yet?”
“Not even a little,” I said, pulling the sheets up to my neck for effect.
Quiad walked out, still wet, towel riding low on his hips and droplets streaking the hair on his chest. He looked at me, looked at the clock, and then at the ring on my finger.
“You really gonna wear that with jeans?” he said, one eyebrow up.
“You’re wearing jeans,” I shot back.
“I look good in anything,” he said, stone-faced, then winked. “You, not so much.”
He handed me the clothes he’d set out the night before: pressed white shirt from the feed store, tag still attached, dark jeans with no visible stains, and a pair of boots polished to the point where I could see my own face in the toes. I’d never worn anything so clean in my life.
He dressed in front of me, methodical as always—shirt tucked, cuffs rolled, beard combed, boots tied tight enough to cut off the circulation. I got up and tried to do the same, but the buttons on the shirt kept slipping out of my hands. My stomach was a knot, equal parts nerves and hunger.
Quiad caught me struggling, crossed the room, and buttoned me up himself, slow and deliberate. He didn’t say anything about the tremor in my hands, just straightened my collar and kissed the tip of my nose.
“You ready?” he asked.
I nodded, even though I wasn’t.
Not even close.
* * * *
The courthouse in McKenzie River looked like every other building in town—red brick, white trim, a flag flapping in the morning breeze. The inside was pure small-town minimalism: concrete floors, industrial carpet, and chairs hard enough to realign your spine.
We parked in the side lot, the engine still ticking when the rest of the clan rolled up behind us, five cars deep.
The moment we stepped out, the McKenzie horde descended. Ma and Pa were at the front, Ma in a blue dress and pearls, Pa in the same suit he’d worn to every wedding and funeral for the past thirty years.
Behind them came Knox, solemn and broad-shouldered, with Newt hanging off his arm; Harlow and Daniel, both in flannels and matching bolo ties; Bodean, loud as ever, in boots with hand-tooled flames on the sides.
Even Grandma Minnie and Gramps shuffled up the walk, moving slower, but more determined than anyone else.
Every single one of them wore clean jeans and a white button-down shirt.
The effect was less wedding party, more cult, but nobody in town seemed surprised. We herded into the lobby like cattle, taking up half the benches, the rest of the crowd made up of people waiting for traffic court or to pay parking tickets.
I felt their eyes on us—on me, specifically. The orphan, the stray, the one who didn’t quite match the rest of the set.
Quiad must’ve felt it too. He slid his arm around my waist and pulled me close, then whispered in my ear: “You’re gonna be fine, Sunshine. Nobody’s here but us.”
Bodean found us seats near the door to the main courtroom. He bounced on his heels, grinning like an idiot, and kept elbowing me in the ribs. “You nervous?” he asked.
“Nope,” I lied.
“Liar,” he said. “You look like you’re about to puke. Want a mint?”
I took the mint, because my mouth was dry as sand. “Aren’t you supposed to be my best man or something?”
He winked. “I brought the rings. Just try not to pass out before you need ’em.”
Across the aisle, I spotted Knox, who nodded at me in that solemn, old-west-lawman way, like he was already plotting which side to stand on if the vows turned into a gunfight. Newt gave me a little wave, then ducked his head, cheeks pink.
Ma flitted from person to person, dispensing hand sanitizer and Kleenex, while Pa sat rigid and silent, staring straight ahead. When he caught my eye, he gave me a thumb’s up, which was the emotional equivalent of a standing ovation from him.
The door opened, and a clerk called us in.
The courtroom was smaller than I’d imagined.
Instead of towering oak walls and polished marble, it was drywall and tired wood paneling, the judge’s bench decorated with a faded American flag and a potted fern that had seen better days.
The only other people there were the judge herself—mid-sixties, iron perm, reading glasses on a chain—a sleepy bailiff, and the clerk who’d buzzed us in.
We lined up in the front row—Quiad, me, Bodean, Knox. Everyone else packed in behind. It wasn’t lost on me that the witness box was empty. There was nobody from my old life here.
The judge looked us over, then smiled, her lips thin but kind. “I see we’ve got the whole family this morning.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ma replied, and a ripple of nervous laughter went through the room.
She banged her gavel—not to start the ceremony, but to get the McKenzies to quiet down. “Now, which one of you is Levi?” she asked.
I raised my hand, and she gave me a nod. “And you’re Quiad. You the one who sent me the blueprints for a porch swing last month?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Quiad said, his voice steady.
“Well, it’s a good design,” she said. “We’ll get through this quick so you can get back to building it.”
The clerk handed us a pair of forms to sign. Our names were already typed in: Levi Hardesty, Quiad McKenzie.
When we sat, the judge read us the legal stuff—“solemnize this union,” “for richer or poorer,” all that—but it felt like background noise. I watched the way Quiad’s hands didn’t shake, the way his jaw was set, and I felt the old fear drain away, replaced by something hotter and more dangerous.
“You ready for the vows?” the judge asked.
Quiad looked at me, and for a second, all the oxygen in the room disappeared. “I am,” he said.
She motioned us to stand. “You may exchange your own vows, if you like.”
I swallowed. My tongue felt three sizes too big for my mouth, but I said what I’d rehearsed in the mirror: “I, Levi, take you, Quiad, to be my partner, my family, my home. I promise to love you, even when you’re a pain in the ass, even when you wake up at five a.m. and ruin the best part of the bed.
I promise to build a life with you, to fight for you, to never let you go. I’m yours.”
My hands shook, but I made it through. I glanced over at Ma, who was already dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.
The judge looked at Quiad. “Your turn.”
He didn’t flinch. He just stared at me, brown eyes locked on like he could see down to my bones.
“Levi, you’re the reason I believe in second chances,” he said.
“I spent a long time thinking I’d always be alone, that nobody could see past what I’d become.
But you did. You saw the best in me when I didn’t know it was there.
I swear to keep you safe, to make you laugh, to never take you for granted.
You’re my family. My home. And you always will be. ”
The words hit me like a shovel to the chest. I tried to say “I love you” but it came out a wet, choked mess.
The judge smiled. “All right, Bodean, the rings?”
Bodean strutted up, holding a little velvet box like it was the Hope Diamond. He popped it open and revealed two platinum bands, gleaming in the fluorescent light.
I turned to Quiad, who looked as surprised as I was.
He leaned close and whispered, “Had ’em made at Roswell’s. Figured you deserved better than pawn shop silver.”
I took the bigger ring and slid it onto his finger. It fit perfectly, of course. He did the same to me, his hands big and careful, the metal cold at first but warming instantly against my skin.
The judge nodded. “By the power vested in me, by the great state of Oregon, I pronounce you husbands. You may kiss.”
We did.
It wasn’t delicate. It wasn’t even subtle. I heard someone in the back—probably Ransom—wolf whistle, and Ma let out a full-on sob. But I didn’t care. I wrapped my arms around Quiad’s neck and pulled him in, tasted the salt of my own tears on his lips, felt his beard scrape my cheek.
He kissed me like he was starving for it. Like he’d spent his whole life waiting for this.
When we finally broke apart, I saw the judge smiling, the bailiff grinning, and even the fern in the corner seemed to be standing a little straighter.
Quiad pressed his forehead to mine, his breath rough. He mouthed, “Mine,” so quiet only I could hear it.
“Yours,” I whispered, and meant it.
Behind us, the family exploded. Hugs, backslaps, Ma hugging me so hard she nearly broke a rib, Gramps shaking my hand like I’d just won the state fair. Even Knox cracked a smile and clapped me on the shoulder.
I turned to see Pa, who just stood there, arms folded. But his eyes were shining, and for the first time ever, he looked proud of me. Not just tolerant. Not just resigned. Proud.