Chapter 73 Clara #2
Oh, Walker. Overwhelmed, I lose my ability to speak, squeezing his hands as tightly as he’s held mine.
I nod frantically as he gets to his feet, freezing as he slides a ring onto my right ring finger.
It’s a swirling mass of ruby and onyx that hints at the branches of two trees entwined together.
“I love you,” he says, his lips pressing the back of my hand like an old-school gentleman.
“I love you, too,” I choke out. “And you’re always enough. Always worth it. Don’t ever think otherwise.” He nods, as overcome as I am, dragging me into his arms, his maple and pine scent surrounding me, comfort and security sinking into my skin.
He pulls back, but before we cut the cake, RJ steps into our orbit. “You’re the glue,” he says to Walker.
Walker’s brows crease in confusion, and then Jansen’s there, too. “He’s right. You’re more important than you let yourself believe, Walker. There’s no way we would have ended up here without you.”
RJ takes over. “Without you I would have worked myself into a hospital bed. I wouldn’t have remembered to eat or sleep, let alone focus on the parts of the plan that didn’t take place behind a screen.”
“And I would have lost it again. More than once,” Jansen adds. “You kept checking in, talking to me even when I could tell your mind was elsewhere. And it helped. More than you know.”
“You guys,” Walker says, only to be cut off by Trips.
“You’re one hell of an artist, Walker. And without you, correct me if I’m wrong Crash, Clara wouldn’t have found herself the way she has. We’ve all benefited from your relationship.” His eyes are dark with meaning and want.
I flush in understanding. “I have become more honest about my, um…wants, and that’s all you, Walker.
You’re the first person I trusted with my body again.
Because you’re worthy of that trust. And you’ve taught me more about taking time for the pleasurable things in life than I ever would have figured out by myself. ”
His gaze passes over all of us, a chagrined look on his face. “You know I have pride without all this,” he says.
Placing my hand to his chest, he drops his eyes to me. “You’re important. You’re enough,” I murmur.
The press of his chest under my palm is shaky as he takes a breath, his nod earnest. His lips fall to my forehead, his eyes glassy when he pulls back, another nod for all of us.
We cut his cake, one that’s as bougie as he is: lemon lavender with a subtle sweetness, tart and floral, something where a single bite satiates.
Which leaves only Trips.
He strides forward and takes my hand, tugging me a little too hard. I stumble into him. He catches me against his chest, and when I glance up, his smirk tells me he did it on purpose. “Asshole.”
Instead of answering, he kisses me, his hands flat against the bare skin on my back, heat scorching through me as his mouth demands my full attention. He hauls me closer until I’m surrounded by him, craned backwards in his arms, the only thing keeping me standing, my trust in his hold.
When he finally lets me come up for air, there’s silence where the guys had been whispering, one of his big hands coming to stroke my cheek, the other twirling the wedding band on my finger, like he has for months.
The gesture is so familiar that I can’t imagine wearing a ring without him toying with it.
“My wife,” he states. Then, he presses his forehead to mine. “My love,” he whispers against my lips.
I can’t say anything back, whatever smart retort I had disappearing as my throat constricts.
He takes a moment, too, and when he pulls back, I’m surprised his eyes are glassy.
“I’m an idiot. I’m a coward. But I’m yours.
You make me smart. You make me brave, and I promise to love you until my bloodied soul gets shuttled off to the afterlife.
” He kisses me again, softly, then glances down at the ring he slipped on my finger, the one that Walker designed and switched out at the wedding, spinning it again before he meets my watery gaze.
“I love you, Clara. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that you’re right to trust me. I promise.”
His lips meet mine again, like he’s sealing his promise with a kiss. But it’s my turn to make a promise.
“You told me you didn’t want to hear it, not there, not then.
So here, in front of everyone, I’ll make it clear.
I love you. I love how much you care, how you push me to be better, stronger, how you trust me even though it kills you sometimes.
And I promise that if I run toward danger, I’m inviting you to run beside me.
” I grin through my watery vision. “As long as you can keep up, Grumps.”
He shakes his head, tracing his palm down my cheek, not moving, just staring at me like I’m the most precious thing in his life. Then he kisses me again, letting his lips answer what his long worn silence can’t. He’s mine. I’m his. And we’re all each other’s.
Jansen’s catcall breaks the tension, Trips and I both huffing out a laugh.
I realize the guys haven’t seen this side of Trips. This version of him is a stranger, while he’s been my rock for months. Glancing at them, I know they needed that display—they needed to truly see that while he’s still an asshole, he’s also mine. Completely.
Sure, he’s dangerous. But not to me. Not anymore.
We’ll all need some professional help going forward, but he’s jumped the highest hurdle life put in front of him.
He has control of the beast that prowls under his skin.
He can finally trust himself enough to use it for exactly what he was born to do: to protect the people he cares about without losing himself.
His cake isn’t a cake at all, but is instead a giant cookie, with coconut and chocolate drizzle scattered across the top. “I spent all summer watching you enjoy those damn coconuts, and all I wanted was to take the place of a goddamn fruit,” he mutters as we cut into the cookie.
I laugh, breaking the slice in two with my hands, holding out my portion for him. He takes it, the tip of his tongue brushing my fingertips, before he feeds me my piece. The cookie is caramel chocolate chip, the mixture with the coconut nearly as complex as the man in front of me.
Then everyone gathers close, Jansen calling for a group hug, grumbles and laughter filling the air, as I’m surrounded by the men I’ve learned I can count on for anything. Men I’m going to spend the rest of my life learning and growing with, loving and living with.
Jansen pulls out one more gift, a thick, bound book of photos he’s collected over the last year, some I’ve known about, but many more I never realized he’d taken.
Shots of us laughing, cuddling, sleeping, racing, sparring. Moments where things were perfect, and moments where things were anything but.
But it’s us. All of us spread over page after page. Together. Bound in leather and ink and bonds deeper than blood.