Chapter 15 #2
The chapel room fills up quickly. Brothers settling into seats around the long table—Thunder, Blaze, Blight, Rogue, and a dozen other Shotgun Saints.
The Reapers Rejects brothers take seats along the wall as witnesses—Damon, Dixon, Shiver all here to see this moment.
I sit along the back wall with the other women.
Dad takes his place at the head of the table. Shadow stands near the door, uncertain where to position himself without his patch.
The room falls silent.
"Shadow," Dad says, his voice carrying authority and weight. "Step forward."
Shadow does, his posture straight, his face carefully neutral.
"You were exiled from this club," Dad begins, and the room is absolutely silent. "Stripped of your patch. Cast out for lying to me, to this club, about your relationship with my daughter."
I see Shadow's jaw tighten slightly, but he doesn't react otherwise.
"But you lied to protect her," Dad continues, his voice softening just slightly. "You chose her safety over your standing with the club. You gave up everything—your brothers, your patch, your home—to keep her safe from a threat you knew was coming."
Dad pauses, and I can see emotion flickering across his face despite his attempt to stay stoic.
"And then when she was taken, when Copperhead Kings took my daughter’s life into their hands, you didn't hesitate. You led the charge to get her back. You coordinated with multiple clubs. You went into enemy territory and killed the men who threatened her. You ended a war for our family."
His voice roughens with emotion he's trying to control. "I felt betrayed before. Was pissed you lied to me about your relationship. I thought it was betrayal, but that's loyalty. To family. To the woman you love. To what matters most in this life."
Dad reaches under the table and pulls out Shadow's cut—the leather vest with the Shotgun Saints patches, the Enforcer rocker on the bottom.
My throat gets tight. This is it.
"Shadow," Dad says firmly, holding up the cut for everyone to see. "You are reinstated. Full patch. Full standing. Enforcer. Welcome home, brother."
The room erupts.
Brothers pounding on the table with their fists, shouting, cheering. "Welcome home!"
"About fucking time!"
"Shotgun Saints!" The noise is deafening, joyful, celebratory.
Shadow's face—God, his face. Relief and gratitude and emotion he's desperately trying to hide but can't quite manage.
His eyes are wet, his jaw working as he tries to maintain control.
He steps forward and takes the cut from Dad with hands that aren't quite steady.
"Thank you, Prez," Shadow says, his voice rough and breaking slightly. "I—thank you."
Dad doesn't say anything for a moment.
Just looks at Shadow—really looks at him—and then pulls him into a brief, hard hug. The kind of hug men give when words aren't enough.
"Thank you for protecting my daughter," Dad says quietly, so only Shadow and I and the brothers closest can hear. "Welcome home, son."
Son.
Not enforcer. Not brother.
Son.
I'm crying now, tears streaming down my face as I watch Shadow put on the cut.
The leather settles on his shoulders like it was made for him—because it was.
This is who he is. This is where he belongs.
He's home. Really, truly home.
The brothers swarm him immediately—clapping him on the back, shaking his hand, pulling him into rough hugs.
Thunder's grinning wide.
Blaze punches his shoulder affectionately.
Rogue nods with genuine respect and pride.
Even the Reapers Rejects brothers join in—Damon shaking Shadow's hand, Dixon clapping him on the back, Shiver pulling him into a hug and saying something that makes Shadow laugh.
Then Dad raises his hand for silence, and the room settles down again.
"Banshee," Dad says. "Step forward."
Banshee looks surprised but stands from his seat and approaches the table, his expression guarded.
"You went with Shadow when he was exiled," Dad says, his voice firm. "You stayed loyal to your brother when he needed you most. You gave up your position, your comfort, everything—to stand by him."
Banshee's waiting, tense.
"That's what we do in this club," Dad continues. "We stand by our brothers. Loyalty isn't just a word we throw around—it's who we are. And you proved your loyalty a hundred times over these past weeks."
Dad's expression softens slightly. "You never lost your patch, Banshee. You're still Road Captain. You always were. I was angry at Shadow, not you. And even if I had been—you earned that patch back ten times over in Houston and before."
Banshee's relief is visible, his shoulders dropping slightly, his jaw unclenching. "Thank you, Prez."
"Don't thank me. You earned it." Dad looks around the room at all the assembled brothers. "We've been through hell these past weeks. We lost brothers temporarily to exile. We faced threats from Copperhead Kings. We went to war in Houston."
He pauses, his voice strengthening with pride. "But we came through it together. Stronger. United. And that's what our club is about—brotherhood, loyalty, family. We protect what's ours. We stand by our brothers. And we don't back down from threats."
The meeting officially ends, and the room erupts into celebration.
Brothers congratulating Shadow, welcoming him back, embracing Banshee, the tension that's been hanging over the club for weeks finally, completely breaking.
Shadow finds me immediately, cutting through the crowd of brothers to pull me into his arms.
"I'm back," he says against my hair. "I'm really back."
"I told you," I say, smiling through my tears. "I told you it would be okay."
"You were right." He kisses me, deep and claiming, not caring who's watching. "You're always right."
Dad approaches, and Shadow straightens slightly—still respectful of the hierarchy, of the chain of command, even now.
"Grace," Dad says, looking at me with warmth in his eyes. "Your mother's planning a celebration tonight. Here at the clubhouse. For both of you. A wedding party of sorts since you got married in Vegas."
"Dad, you don't have to—"
"We want to," he cuts me off gently. "You got married in a chapel with Elvis officiating the damn thing. You deserve better than that. The club wants to celebrate with you. Both of you."
I look at Shadow, who's watching me carefully, letting me decide. "What do you think?"
"If you want to," he says simply. "Whatever makes you happy."
"Then yes," I say to Dad, my heart full. "We'd love that. Thank you."
Dad nods, satisfied, a small smile playing on his lips. "Good. Seven o'clock. Don't be late to your own party." He pauses. "And Grace? I'm proud of you. For everything."
Then he walks away, leaving Shadow and me standing together in the middle of the celebrating brothers.
"Your father just called me son," Shadow says quietly, like he's still processing it.
"He did."
"And he's throwing us a wedding party."
"He is."
Shadow pulls me close again. "I think he's finally okay with us."
"More than okay," I say. "He's happy for us. Really, genuinely happy."
"Good," Shadow murmurs. "Because I'm not letting you go. Ever."
"Good," I echo. "Because I'm not going anywhere."
We have a few hours before the party, so we head home to change and freshen up.
Mom's already at the clubhouse coordinating everything—and I make a mental note that tomorrow, I'm having that conversation with her about how her being here all the time doesn’t make sense.
But tonight, I'll let her have this.
I’ll let her organize and help and feel useful.
At home, I shower and change into a simple white sundress that Dakota helped me pick out this afternoon when she swung by.
It's not a wedding gown—just a pretty dress—but it feels right. Shadow showers too and puts on dark jeans and a black button-down shirt with his Shotgun Saints cut over it.
"You look beautiful," he says when I emerge from the bathroom.
"You look pretty good yourself, Enforcer."
He grins. "Sounds good, doesn't it?"
"It sounds perfect."
We arrive at the clubhouse just before seven, and the transformation is incredible.
String lights hung across the outdoor space. Tables loaded with food—barbecue, sides, desserts.
Music playing from speakers. Brothers and ol’ ladies dressed up—well, as dressed up as bikers get.
And in the center of it all, a banner stretched across the clubhouse entrance: CONGRATULATIONS SHADOW & GRACE.
"Oh my God," I breathe.
"Your mom went all out," Shadow says, grinning.
Mom appears immediately, pulling me into a hug. "You look beautiful, baby."
"Mom, this is—it's too much—"
"Nonsense. You deserve this. Both of you do." She looks at Shadow with genuine warmth. "Welcome back, Shadow. Officially."
"Thank you, Jolene."
The party kicks into gear immediately.
Brothers congratulating us, ol’ ladies hugging me, stories being told about what went down in Houston and Shadow's reinstatement.
The food is incredible—someone must have barbecued all afternoon.
The music is loud and happy. The atmosphere is pure joy.
Shiver and Siren are there, having decided to stay an extra night for the celebration.
Siren pulls me aside at one point, grinning. "Pretty amazing, isn’t it? Your mom did a great job."
"Yeah, she did," I admit.
Banshee's standing off to the side, watching the celebration with a small smile.
I notice he's alone—no date, no partner.
Just him and that gold band still on his left ring finger, catching the light from the string lights overhead.
My heart aches for him. Whatever he lost, whoever he's grieving, it's still raw.
Shadow finds me as the sun fully sets and the string lights become the main illumination, casting everything in a warm, golden glow.
"Dance with me," he says.
"You don't dance."
"I'll dance with you."
He leads me to the cleared space that's serving as a dance floor, and we sway together to some country song I don't recognize.
His arms around me, my head on his chest, moving slowly.
Perfect.
We dance, and everyone is watching us—my father, my mother, my sister, the brothers.