Chapter Fourteen
Marci
The third picnic table fought me from the first shove.
I dragged the heavy thing across damp grass, boots sinking into soft earth smelling of fresh growth after last night’s rain.
Legs caught on uneven ground near the garden beds -- my garden beds.
A year ago I didn’t own a single patch of soil that could hold roots.
Today I shoved the table the last few feet and straightened, breath rising in quiet satisfaction.
Six tables now formed a semicircle around the fire pit, red-checkered cloths snapping in the breeze rolling down from the woods.
Coolers sat in shade waiting for the crowd.
Behind everything, the house stood, half stucco and half siding and fully ours.
I wiped my palms on my jeans, feeling steadiness still new enough to notice.
No tremor. No bracing for impact. Just work. Just living.
Ace’s voice cut through the yard from the smoker. “Need help?”
“I’ve got it,” I called back. My hands stayed sure. I finished positioning the table and walked toward him, drawn by heat, by his presence, by the low rumble of contentment in the back of his throat as he checked the temperature gauge.
Smoke curled around him, the scent of hickory drifting through the air and blending into something my brain now labeled as home.
He’d been up since before sunrise, tending the meat and checking temperatures, and faint shadows under his eyes couldn’t hide the pride radiating from him as he prepared to host everyone.
“Worried?” I leaned into his side.
“About the brisket -- always.” His hand settled on my hip and pulled me closer. “About the party? No. These people would compliment charcoal if I served it.”
A smile tugged my mouth. “Your brisket is perfect.”
“Damn right.” His gaze held mine long enough to pull a flutter through my stomach. One quick kiss, beer and smoke and warmth, and he turned back to adjust vents.
I stood beside him, watching flame flicker through metal. Six months ago the crackle of fire sent every muscle in my body into lockdown. Now the same sound signaled safety instead.
Engines broke the silence of the woods. Low, powerful, familiar. My shoulders didn’t tense. I just turned to watch bikes emerge down the gravel drive, sunlight flashing over chrome.
“Here we go,” Ace murmured, and set his beer aside.
Atilla arrived first, Solena holding his waist as she swung off the bike. I walked toward them without hesitation. The yard felt like mine the way skin belongs to a body. Solena hugged me like my preferences didn’t factor into the decision -- because she already knew I wanted the contact now.
“Everything looks beautiful,” she said. “Those roses took off.”
“They just needed patience.” I pointed toward the fence line where yellow and pink blooms opened toward the sun. “It finally paid off.”
Atilla surveyed the setup, his approval silent but obvious. “Good turnout expected?”
“Everyone on the list. Casey’s crew. Madison and Truth. Auxiliary. A full house.”
“As it should be,” he said, and that was all.
More engines approached. General. Spade. Truth. Soon the yard echoed under familiar voices and controlled chaos. I moved through arrivals greeting wives, partners, and kids, pointing people toward food tables and play spaces.
“Kids can run over there,” I told a Prospect’s wife, nodding toward the swing set Ace built. “Juice in the blue cooler, beer in the red.”
She thanked me and joined the other families already settling in. General approached next, studying me with eyes sharp enough to see things I didn’t say.
“You look steady,” he said.
“I feel steady.”
“It’s good to see.” A squeeze to my shoulder. Firm and brief. His version of affection. He walked off before I could answer.
The yard kept filling. Music played from someone’s portable speaker. Women laid out side dishes. Brothers traded jokes loud enough to bounce off the house. Ace opened the smoker again, and the scent made my stomach growl.
Casey’s truck appeared next, kids spilling out before Maui even finished parking. Three small bodies collided with me in a full-force hug.
“Aunt Marci! We brought sparklers!”
I laughed and smoothed hair away from excited faces. “Did your mom say you could have sparklers?”
The oldest nodded, eyes wide and knowing. “She said if you said okay.”
I gave Casey a look across the yard. She shrugged, a silent message saying guess who gets stuck playing the bad guy.
“We’ll see later,” I told the kids. “Go play for now.”
They sprinted for the swing set. Casey came over balancing two casserole dishes.
“You look happy.” She studied me in the way women do when they remember who you used to be.
“I am.”
“About damn time.” She hugged me long enough to prove she meant it. “You worked hard for peace.”
Madison arrived next carrying pies. “Made your favorite,” she sang, setting them down before signing family takes care of family.
I signed back thank-you, still clumsier than I wanted to be, and her smile widened anyway.
The yard had completely filled now. Leather and laughter. Food and children and sunlight warming the air. People who once intimidated me moved through my space as though they’d always belonged here.
Ace caught my eye from across the yard as he pulled the meat off the smoker. Pride lived in his expression. Love too. Look what we built, his gaze said. Look what you built.
I touched the keys at my throat. They bumped lightly together, worn smooth from months of being held every time doubt crept in.
Tables overflowed under dishes carried by the family we chose for ourselves.
Children ran fearless across land belonging to us alone.
The house we painted together stood steady behind everyone gathered.
Survival came first, then rebuilding, and eventually we learned how to live rather than merely exist.
Maui walked over and pressed a cold beer into my palm. “To Savage Hearts.”
“Savage Hearts?” I raised a brow.
“That’s what Atilla calls this place.” Maui motioned toward the house and the gardens and the people scattered across the yard. “Says you and Ace have the savage part locked down. The hearts are obvious.”
The name settled into place inside me, true in a way I felt more than understood. “I like it.”
“Thought you might.” He went to help Ace carry platters.
I stayed where I stood for a moment and let everything settle in around me. Laughter rolled across the yard. Sunlight warmed my face. Belonging wrapped around my ribs like something solid I could lean on.
Nothing about this life happened by accident. Board by board, we rebuilt. Day by day, we chose peace over survival mode. Fear got replaced by roses. Cookouts replaced hiding. Home became something we claimed instead of something we waited to lose.
The celebration was only beginning.
And I was ready for all of it.
* * *
The afternoon slipped into a soft rhythm after everyone ate.
Full stomachs, music humming low from portable speakers, kids running between tables.
I carried a stack of empty plates toward the serving table when the sharp tap of glass on glass cut through everything.
Atilla’s signal. Every conversation faltered without anyone being told to quiet down.
Plates settled from my hands to the closest table. Ace moved beside me before I even tracked him. His palm landed low on my back, warm and steady, a wordless I’m here.
Atilla stood by the fire pit holding a beer bottle in one hand.
His other hand motioned toward Spade, who stepped forward carrying a canvas-wrapped object long enough to capture everyone’s attention.
A strange shape. Too carefully protected to be casual.
My heartbeat crept higher without fear, only curiosity.
“Been working on somethin’.” Atilla’s gaze locked on mine. “This place needs a proper name.”
Spade kneeled and peeled back the canvas layer by layer. The fabric fell away to polished walnut carved deep and clean. Sunlight struck the letters and sent heat through my chest.
Savage Hearts.
“At the front gate.” Atilla ran a calloused hand across the carved letters.
“So every person coming up the road knows exactly who they’re approaching.
Not a random house. Not a place a biker built because he could.
” His gaze stayed on the sign as he spoke.
“This is where two people who’d been broken by life built something worth defending. ”
Murmurs rose around the circle. Ace’s hand pressed firmer against my back.
Atilla looked at me. Really looked. “You came to us running. Scared. Always braced for pain. Always expecting someone to take from you.” His voice roughened. “But you didn’t stay that way. You learned how to stand strong, not just survive. You showed every one of us what a savage heart looks like.”
Heat rushed behind my eyes. My throat tightened, but I held my ground.
Then he shifted focus. “And, Ace. You gave her a reason to stop running. You fought for her peace. You gave her a future instead of just safety. Takes a savage heart to protect someone that fiercely.”
He raised his bottle high. “To Savage Hearts.”
The crowd answered in one voice: “To Savage Hearts.”
Ace wrapped both arms around my waist and pulled me tight to his side. My fingers reached toward the sign without conscious thought, tracing the grooves of the carved letters. Smooth wood. Deep cuts. Someone spent hours on this. Someone cared enough to shape permanence from raw lumber.
Late-day sunlight painted everything gold, catching chrome along the driveway and flickering through glass bottles being lifted in toast. The whole scene looked like something out of a photograph. Except nothing here was staged. Nothing here was pretend.
Maui called out first. “You gonna cry? Because if Ace cries, I want proof.”
Ace answered without heat. “Keep talking and you’ll cry.”
Laughter broke across the group. Casey nudged Maui’s ribs. “Who built a chicken coop because his daughter wanted eggs?”