Chapter 24
BEAR
Ididn’t go back to the cabin.
Couldn’t.
Not with the ghost of her still in every corner.
Her laughter echoing off the walls, her scent woven into my sheets, that damn coffee mug still sitting in the sink where she left it.
The one she used every morning like it was her own.
It was her own. Hell, the whole cabin felt like it belonged to her now.
So I holed up at the clubhouse.
Didn’t ride. Didn’t drink. Didn’t talk.
Jinx kept trying. Pico offered a bottle. Axel told me to man up. Even the boys were walking on eggshells, not because I was mad, but because I was hollow. Like a house someone moved out of in the dead of night.
I kept looking at my damn phone. Rereading every text she ever sent. The one where she told me she liked how I smelled. The one where she said she missed me. The photo of her in my flannel, frying bacon barefoot. Smiling like she belonged.
She did belong.
And I let her go.
I didn’t tell her the truth because I didn’t want to lose her. And now I’ve lost her anyway.
Jinx finally snapped. Threw a deck of cards at my head.
"You got the girl. You lost the girl. Now get off your ass and go win her back, Prez. I checked the Community Center’s Instagram. She’s at the town square. “
“Let’s go get my girl, then. You all in?”
One by one, my men suited up and we rolled out.
The snow started falling in thick, lazy flakes.
Downtown Pigeon Forge was glowing. Strings of lights stretched across the square. Carolers in Santa hats sang out of tune. Kids darted around holding hot cocoa. It was like stepping into a snow globe.
Snow blanketed the town like powdered sugar. Lights glowed in storefronts. Carolers sang off-key, bundled up and rosy-cheeked. Kids ran around with hot cocoa in mittened hands.
And there we were.
Rolling into town like a damn holiday parade.
Every bike was decked out—garlands wrapped around handlebars, LED lights blinking in sync to holiday music blasting from the wireless speakers Jinx strapped to the back of his ride. Bells jingled with every bump in the road. Tinsel fluttered in the wind.
My Escalade had a wreath on the grill and antlers coming from the windows.
We looked like Santa’s sleigh if he was an MC Prez and his reindeer were a leathered-out outlaw gang.
I was dressed for the occasion too.
Red flannel. Black boots. Santa hat slouched to the side.
Heart on my damn sleeve.
The crowd parted like the Red Sea when we pulled up near the square. Cameras flashed. Phones were out. Some folks laughed, others gasped. Kids cheered. A few of the local women fanned themselves.
But I only looked for one face.
Becca.
In a dark green coat with a fur-lined hood. Her hair fell in loose waves, her cheeks pink from the cold. She was helping with the crowd, clipboard in hand, directing volunteers like she was born to run the world.
Damn, she was beautiful.
And I’d broken her.
Jinx hopped off first, still jingling.
The sound of motorcycles cut through the holiday cheer.
Every head turned.
The rest of the Appalachian Outlaws rolled in, slow and smooth. Tires crunching on snow. Kuttes patched and glinting under the streetlamps. Some wore Santa hats. It was ridiculous. And perfect.
We parked in a line.
Pico handed me the box. A small gift, wrapped in deep green paper, tied with red velvet ribbon. I walked straight into the crowd, people parting like a tide.
She looked up.
Our eyes locked.
She didn’t smile.
Didn’t move.
I stopped in front of her, heart hammering.
"For you," I said quietly, holding out the box.
In my hands, a small wrapped gift.
I stopped in front of her and offered it, heart pounding like I’d just climbed a mountain.
She hesitated.
Then took it.
She peeled back the paper. Opened the lid.
Inside was a vintage compass. Brass, worn, beautiful.
And a note tucked inside.
Home isn’t a place. It’s a person. I’m yours if you’ll have me.
She looked up, eyes wide, lips parted.
“Come back to the cabin, Becca,” I said, voice rough and true. “Come back to me.”
Her eyes welled. But she didn’t say anything.
So I reached into my kutte. Pulled out the chipped coffee mug. The one she always used.
I got down on one knee.
Not with a diamond.
With that old, ugly, perfect mug.
"Come back to the cabin, Becca," I said, voice rough. "Come home for Christmas.”
The carolers went quiet. The crowd held its breath.
Her hands trembled.
And then she dropped to her knees, right in front of me, throwing her arms around my neck.
The crowd erupted.
She whispered against my cheek, "You idiot. Of course."
And just like that, I could breathe again.
The snow kept falling, soft and thick, like the world was giving us a private curtain.
I pulled Becca close, her body fitting against mine like it was made to, her breath warm against my neck.
The crowd’s cheers faded into a dull roar, and all I could hear was her heartbeat, fast and steady, matching mine.
Her green coat was dusted with snowflakes, her hair catching the glow of the Christmas lights.
I wanted to freeze this moment, keep her here forever, but I knew we had to move.
Had to get back to the cabin. Had to make this real.
“C’mon,” I murmured, standing and pulling her up with me, her hand small but strong in mine. The mug was still clutched in her other hand, like she was afraid to let it go. I didn’t care about the crowd, the bikes, or the boys hooting behind us. I only cared about her.
She didn’t say much as we walked to my Escalade, the compass box tucked into her coat pocket, the mug pressed against her chest. Jinx tossed me a grin, jingling like a damn elf as he waved us off. “Go get your Christmas miracle, Prez!” he shouted, and Pico laughed, slapping him on the back.
I felt her shiver, not from the cold but from something deeper, something that had been building since I’d been too damn stubborn to tell her the truth.
The ride back to the cabin was quiet, the rumble of the engine cutting through the snowy silence. Her hand in mine and every mile felt like a promise. I almost lost her. Almost let my own fears screw this up. Not tonight. Not ever again.
The cabin came into view, dark except for the porch light I’d left on.
Snow piled soft on the roof, the windows glowing faintly from the embers still burning in the fireplace.
I parked, killed the engine. Her eyes were bright, searching mine, like she was waiting for me to prove this wasn’t just a gesture, wasn’t just a moment.
Inside, the air was warm, smelling of pine and the faint trace of her perfume that still lingered.
I kicked the door shut behind us, and before I could say a word, she was on me.
Her hands fisted in my flannel, pulling me down, her lips crashing into mine.
It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, raw, like she’d been holding her breath as long as I had.
I kissed her back, hard, my hands finding her waist, pulling her flush against me.
The mug clattered to the floor, forgotten, as her fingers dug into my shoulders.
“Bear,” she gasped against my mouth, her voice trembling with need and something heavier—fear, maybe, or relief. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“Never,” I growled, my hands sliding under her coat, pushing it off her shoulders. It hit the floor with a soft thud. “You’re mine, Becca. Always were.”
Her eyes glistened, but she didn’t cry. Instead, she tugged at my kutte, her fingers fumbling with the leather like she couldn’t get close enough.
I helped her, shrugging it off, then yanking my flannel over my head.
Her hands were on me, tracing the ink on my chest, the scars, the places she’d memorized months ago.
Every touch burned, like she was branding me all over again.
I lifted her, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carried her to the bedroom.
The firelight flickered through the open door, casting shadows on the walls, on her skin as I peeled off her sweater, her jeans, every layer between us.
She was beautiful, all curves and soft skin, her breath hitching as I kissed down her neck, her collarbone, tasting the salt and sweetness of her.
“I almost lost you,” I murmured against her skin, my voice rough with the truth. “Never again.”
She arched under me, her hands in my hair, pulling me closer. “You have me,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You’ve always had me.”
I didn’t rush. Not tonight. Every kiss, every touch, was slow, deliberate, like I was memorizing her.
Her gasps filled the room, soft and needy, as I moved over her, inside her, our bodies finding that rhythm that was ours alone.
It was hot, tender, full of everything we hadn’t said—every fear, every hope, every damn second we’d spent apart.
Her nails bit into my back, her thighs trembling around me, and when she said my name, it wasn’t just a sound. It was a vow.
“I love you,” I said, my forehead pressed to hers, our breaths mingling. I’d never said it before, not like this, not with my whole soul laid bare. “I love you, Becca.”
Her eyes locked on mine, wide and fierce. “I love you too,” she whispered, and then she was kissing me again, pulling me under, like she was drowning and I was her air.
We moved together, slow at first, then faster, the heat building until it consumed us. The world outside didn’t exist—no snow, no club, no past mistakes. Just us, tangled in the sheets, her heart pounding against mine, her voice breaking on my name as we both fell apart.
After, we lay there, her head on my chest, my fingers tracing lazy circles on her back. The fire crackled in the next room, the only sound besides our breathing. She shifted, looking up at me, her eyes soft but serious.
“Don’t let me go again,” she said quietly.
I pulled her closer, my lips brushing her forehead. “Never,” I promised. And for the first time in weeks, I believed it.