Chapter Thirteen #2
I smiled, dazed and a little dizzy, the wedding band heavy and warm on my finger. It was official. I was a McKenzie now. And nothing in the world was going to change that.
Ma cried through most of the ceremony and kept at it all the way out the courthouse steps.
When we got to the sidewalk, she started fanning her face with the marriage certificate, declaring that she’d never been so proud of her boys—even if one of them was technically adopted by marriage and “raised up feral by a she-wolf in a trailer park.”
I was halfway to the truck when she hollered, “Family photo! Everyone, line up!”
We shuffled together in a row—Quiad and me in the middle, Bodean draping himself over both our shoulders, Harlow looming behind like a linebacker, Dan at his side, Ma and Pa flanking us in their best clothes.
Ransom took the first picture, then swapped with Floyd so he could stand next to Knox aand Newt, arms crossed and scowling for the camera like it owed him money.
Even Gramps and Grandma Minnie got in on the action, Minnie smoothing the flyaways in my hair and then declaring, “Now there’s a wedding picture I’ll keep above the mantle.”
The camera flash was so bright it took a second to get my vision back.
I blinked, and the world came back with extra saturation—blue sky, yellowing grass, the red of Bodean’s belt buckle, the shimmer of my ring in the sun.
I could feel every arm, every shoulder, the weight and heat of the whole clan pressed around me.
I was a stone dropped in the river, and the water wrapped tight.
* * * *
Ma and Pa drove the whole crew to the fanciest restaurant in McKenzie River: River’s Edge.
It was technically a diner, but today it was “an event venue” because Ma had called ahead and reserved the entire back room, which meant we got the good plates and the servers didn’t bother to hide their tattoos.
The owner, a guy who went to high school with all the McKenzies, came out to shake our hands and congratulate us, then winked at me and said, “You must be the reason Quiad’s been showing up with actual combed hair lately.”
“I’m a bad influence,” I said, and got a laugh from everyone.
They brought out trays of food—real food, nothing you had to stir out of a can.
Steak and eggs and salmon that flaked under your fork, salads with stuff I couldn’t pronounce, pies that looked like something from a cooking show.
I tried a little of everything, then gave up and just ate the bread and the pie, because it was my wedding day and there were no rules.
Someone ordered champagne, which was probably illegal in a diner, but nobody cared. The first toast was by Bodean, who stood on his chair and said, “To the only couple I know with matching tattoos and matching haircuts!”
The next toast was by Ma, who got choked up, dabbed her eyes with a napkin, and said, “I always wanted a big family. Thank you for making it happen.”
After that, the toasts got progressively worse.
Ransom’s involved a story about getting banned from a bowling alley; Harlow’s was just, “I love you guys” and a full-body hug that nearly broke my ribs.
Newt managed two sentences before crying, and Floyd said, “Don’t ever call me for bail money, I’ll be the one arresting you. ” That got a round of applause.
Quiad barely spoke the whole time—just sat next to me, hand on my knee, grinning every time I looked his way. He didn’t even flinch when Ma made us pose for more photos, this time with a glass of champagne and a giant slice of chocolate cake between us.
When the food was gone, and everyone had switched to coffee or beer, I leaned back in my chair and let the noise of the room wash over me.
I watched the way the light caught the sweat on Pa’s brow, the way Ma laughed with her whole body, the way Knox and Newt passed secret smiles across the table.
For once, I wasn’t on the outside looking in. I was right where I belonged.
I think I knew something was off the moment we stepped outside. The sky was bright and empty, but there was a chill in the air, the kind that prickled up the back of your neck before a thunderstorm.
We were halfway to the truck when I spotted her: Gloria, leaning against a silver sedan, sunglasses perched high on her nose.
She wore a new jacket—pink, shiny, so fake it hurt to look at—and next to her stood a man in a suit, one of those suits you rent for a funeral or a plea deal.
He was tall, taller than even Knox, with a face like a hatchet and eyes that never left me.
My feet stopped moving. My hands curled into fists before I even thought about it.
“Levi,” she called, voice sweet as poison. “Can I get just a minute of your time?”
My blood went hot—lava, napalm, something beyond rage. All the happiness of the last few hours curdled into something sharp. I saw red, and nothing else.
Quiad felt it. He went rigid beside me, his arm tightening around my waist, but he didn’t say a word.
Behind us, the rest of the clan slowed, the group splitting down the middle, a natural barrier between me and her. Knox was on my left, eyes fixed on the man with her. Bodean was already stepping forward, jaw tight, but Pa caught his arm and shook his head.
“Just a word, Levi,” Gloria purred, tilting her head, “for old times’ sake?”
I didn’t answer. I walked straight for the truck, cutting across the lot so I had to pass her. The man in the suit moved to block me, but Knox shouldered in between, all six foot four of him, and the guy suddenly had somewhere else to look.
I kept my head down, tunnel vision, every nerve ending raw.
“Levi,” Gloria said again, louder this time, “don’t you want to hear what I have to say?”
I brushed right past her, shoulder clipping hers on purpose.
She grabbed my arm. Time slowed. Her nails dug in, hard and desperate. “Levi, please, I just want to—”
I yanked my arm away, spun around, and hissed, “Don’t you EVER touch me.
” My voice was low, but it carried. Everyone heard it.
The whole family, the couple of restaurant workers on a smoke break, even the hatchet-faced guy.
I stepped in, nose to nose, and let the rage do the talking.
“You don’t get to ruin this day. You don’t get to ruin ANYTHING for me ever again. ”
Gloria recoiled like I’d slapped her. For a second, she looked her age—every crack and failure laid bare, nothing left but the old need to take, to wreck, to consume.
She tried again, softer this time. “Levi, honey, I just—”
I cut her off. “You lost your chance. I don’t owe you shit.”
She said nothing.
I turned and climbed into the truck, slamming the door hard enough to make the glass rattle. Inside, I shook. My hands, my knees, my whole body—tremors like aftershocks.
Quiad slid in next to me, took my hand, and laced our fingers together. He squeezed, gentle but firm, grounding me.
We watched the rest of the family close ranks, moving as a unit, ignoring Gloria and her hired goon.
Ma looked over her shoulder, eyes hard as stones, then wrapped an arm around Gramps and led the pack to their cars.
Even Bodean, who never let anything go, just flipped Gloria the bird and got in the back seat.
I sat there, breathing like I’d just run a marathon.
“I can’t believe she tried to ruin today,” I said, voice cracked. “Our wedding day, Quiad. She couldn’t even let me have this one perfect thing.”
He turned, tucked a hand behind my neck, and made me look at him.
“She didn’t ruin anything,” he said, quiet but sharp. “She can’t take this from you. Not now.”
I nodded, tears burning at the corners of my eyes. I stared at my ring, at the place where his name lived on my skin, and I let it settle. I was a McKenzie now. That meant something.
Quiad leaned in, kissed me—soft, slow, the opposite of the courthouse kiss. Then he pulled back and looked me straight in the eye. “You’re mine, Sunshine. Legally, officially, all the way. That’s what matters.”
He wasn’t smiling, not really, but the look on his face was better than any smile. It was promise. It was home.
I exhaled, slow and deep.
Outside, Gloria and the lawyer were still standing there, frozen, like maybe they’d finally realized there was nothing left to take.
Quiad started the truck, and we peeled out of the parking lot, gravel spitting in our wake. Behind us, a parade of McKenzie vehicles fell in line, headlights bright even in the daylight.
I looked at Quiad’s hand in mine, at our matching rings, and I knew: She’d never touch us again. Not if I had anything to say about it. Let her try. We’d burn her out, every damn time.
The parking lot confrontation played over in my head, on loop, the whole drive home. I kept seeing Gloria’s face—at first smug, then desperate, and then cracked right down the center when I told her she had no power left.
For the first mile I was too amped on adrenaline to feel anything, but hot, clean anger, but as the gravel turned to blacktop and the town faded behind us, it all drained out and left a hollow behind.
I gripped the door handle, my hand still shaking.
I watched our convoy in the side mirror, headlights stacked like a line of sentries.
Quiad drove with one hand, the other planted solid on my thigh.
He didn’t say anything, just radiated calm, steady and cold as river stone.
It was a comfort, and it pissed me off in the best possible way.
“Are you mad at me?” I asked, when I couldn’t take the silence anymore.
He cut a glance over, slow and deliberate. “Mad? No. Proud.”
I snorted, but it came out half-sob, half-laugh. “She looked at me like I’d set her on fire.”
“You did,” he said. “About damn time.”
We turned off the main road, down the drive to the shop.
The sun was setting, and the trees threw long shadows across the field.
In the rearview, I saw the other trucks slow, peeling off to the main house or the barn.
For a few hundred yards, it was just us and the creek, and the feeling of something huge and irreversible settling into place.
I let my head fall back against the seat. “She was going to say it again,” I said. “The thing about being my mom. Like I owed her the rest of my life because she showed up to ruin the first part.”
He nodded. “She’ll keep trying. That’s all she knows how to do.”
The truck idled in front of the shop, engine ticking as it cooled. For a long time neither of us moved. When I finally spoke, it was so quiet I almost didn’t hear it. “You think I was too hard on her?”
He shook his head. “You were perfect. She needed to hear it from you. And she’ll remember it, every time she tries to come back.”
I turned, and for the first time since the wedding, I let myself really look at him. The way the last light hit his face, painting the scar on his jaw gold. The way his eyes softened when he saw me, like I was the only thing in the world that made sense.
He reached for my hand, thumb brushing over the wedding band. “You did good, Sunshine.”
I looked down at our hands, at the rings, at the ink on my wrist, and felt the old fear slither up my spine—What if she came back with something worse? What if I didn’t have the words next time? What if I never really belonged, not even here, and everyone was just too polite to say it?
He must’ve seen it in my face, because he squeezed my hand, hard enough to anchor me. “She’s not coming back, Levi. Not in any way that matters. You closed the door on her.”
I nodded, but the fear didn’t go. It just changed shape, turned into something smaller and meaner—a voice in the dark that whispered, You’re not done yet.
We went inside, the shop smelling of cedar and lemon oil and a little leftover sweat from the morning.
I sat on the edge of the workbench, legs dangling, and let Quiad peel off his boots.
He crossed the room and crowded into my space, hands on either side of my hips, body heat drowning out the cold.
He didn’t ask if I wanted to talk. He just held me there, his presence a wall against everything outside.
I buried my face in his chest. “Sorry for making a scene.”
He grunted, not buying it. “Next time, set the whole place on fire. I’ll help.”
I snorted. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
“I’d love anything you do,” he said, the words simple and true. “You’re mine.”
I tilted my head, found his mouth, kissed him—quick and brutal, because I needed to remind myself that I could. He tasted like sweat and river water and the promise of more.
He leaned his forehead against mine. “You ready for the party tomorrow?”
I blinked. “Party?”
He smiled. “Ma’s planning a wedding cake big enough to crush a doghouse. Bodean’s got fireworks. Gramps might try to moonshine the punch again.”
I groaned. “Can we just stay here?”
He shrugged. “We could. But you gotta show off your ring. Let everyone know you survived the gauntlet.”
I laughed, the fear finally breaking loose, replaced by something brighter. “What if I just get drunk and pass out on the porch?”
He grinned, sharp and beautiful. “Then I’ll carry you inside. Like a real husband.”
The word hit me like a body blow—husband. My husband. Nobody could touch that. Not even Gloria.
I kissed him again, longer this time, until I forgot the world outside. I held on, tight as I could, and when he finally let go, I saw my whole future reflected in his eyes.
He wiped a thumb over my cheek. “You’re home, Levi. Nothing’s gonna take that away.”
I believed him. I really did. When we walked upstairs, hand in hand, I looked back once—just to make sure the door was still closed. It was. And for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like a stray looking for scraps. I was a McKenzie. I was wanted. And I was never, ever letting go.