Chapter Ten
Sage
“You alright?” Dex’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts as he stares down at me, brow furrowed.
“Yeah, Prez, I’m fine,” I reply with a tight smile.
Dex watches me a little, before sighing and taking a seat on the recliner next to the couch I’m on.
“Wanna try that again?” His brow kicks up and now I feel like a little kid being told off by the principal.
So I cross my arms and don’t say shit. He rolls his lips, then settles into the recliner a little deeper.
My eyes narrow at him, and he smiles back.
Ugh. “Fine. I just feel restless. The cabins have had their makeovers. They’re ready and waiting for guests but we aren’t any closer to shutting down Ashfall.
I haven't seen Nathaniel since that one time at the BBQ Shack. It’s been almost three weeks.
Damian is being super secretive about the meetings he’s been going to and I just want to get this all over with. ”
He nods. “I get it. It sucks. That is why I’ve asked Loyal and Joe to arrange a little bit of fun for you. Damian wasn't supposed to be involved, but when he heard what was going on he and Justice jumped on board. Just, don’t go buck wild.” He hits me with a stern look and I frown.
“Buck wild?”
“Buck wild,” he repeats, standing from his recliner and giving my shoulder a squeeze on his way past.
“Well, that was weird,” I mutter to myself.
I try to settle back into the funk I was in, but now I’m intrigued. If whatever is going on has Damian involved then it could be a good thing, or a very bad thing. Or it will be something doggy.
“Oh Sage,” Loyal sings as she walks through the clubhouse doors.
“Oh Loyal,” I sing back.
She has a wide smile on her face, and my eyes narrow when I read what’s written on the sparkly sash she’s wearing.
“Oh no. No, nope, hell no -”
“Stop being a party pooper, girl. We got balloons, we got these sash things, we got straws with teeny tiny peckers on ‘em,” Joe lists excitedly. “Look how red Justice gets when he drinks out of them!” She crows, pointing to Justice who rolls his eyes and then obligingly takes a sip to illustrate Joe’s point.
“It just feels so wrong,” he mumbles around the tiny peen.
“Look! I got two!” Loyal says, crossing her eyes so she can look down at the two dick straws she has on either side of her mouth. Nell stands there unsure whether to be amused or horrified.
“We also have Pin the penis on the Chef, a giant inflatable penis that we’re all going to ride like a bucking bronco-” Joe takes a deep breath, “and your mom is here!” She squeals and I jerk upright as the doors are pretty much kicked in.
“We’re heeeeere!”
“Mom!” I yell like a little kid, and run across the room into the arms of my mom.
She wraps me up so tight and all feels right in my world. “You think I’d miss your bachelorette party? Shit, you think we’d miss your wedding?”
“What are you talking about, we don’t even have a date for that.”
Mom pushes me to arms length, staring at me. “What the hell are you talking about? Your wedding is tomorrow. Chewy’s sent out the invites and everything.”
“What!?” I screech.
My mind is spinning. That can’t be right. I would have known if I was getting married tomorrow. Right? Wracking my brain, realization settles. I’ve been so busy plotting what I’m about to do, and working at the BBQ Shack, that I think I clean forgot what the date was.
“Chef!” Mom yells, clearly demanding an audience.
He strides strong and steady from wherever he’s been. He’s moving so much better now that his stitches are fully healed. “Hey Blanche, looking good,” he says. Ugh, he’s so smooth.
“You know you’re getting married tomorrow, right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies and my mom pulls her “ew” face. She hates being called ma’am.
“Don’t ma’am me, yuck. What do you think I am? 80 years old?”
“How could he think that when you still look twenty?” Tav asks, kissing mom on the temple, then turning me to and wagging his brows.
These two are ridiculous.
“Sorry, yes Blanche, I know we’re getting married tomorrow.”
“Then how come Sage didn't know?” Mom’s brow kicks up in question.
Chef turns his dark eyes to mine, questioning.
“I guess I just got sidetracked.” I shrug. I mean, I’m not lying. I was not focused on getting married.
After the initial shock of having to marry Chef, and then moving in together, for the plot, as Mira would say, we kinda slipped into a rhythm. Clearly one so good that I mighta kinda forgot there was a wedding to be had. Whoops.
“Chef!” Mom says, backhanding him in the stomach. I lurch forward to check he’s OK, but he just rolls his eyes and smiles down at my mom instead. “There are things you need to decide on! The food -”
“-Taken care of. TumTum and Damian have this all under control.”
“What about the groomsmen’s outfits? What about the bridesmaids?” Mom continues.
“Ugh, I haven’t actually thought about that,” I murmur, starting to feel unsettled at what appears to be the badass Blanche Landry panicking over wedding planning.
“Yeah, you have,” Chef rumbles. “Remember the other night I asked who you would trust to have your back? You said -”
“Loyal, Joe and Damian,” I whisper. I remember him asking the question and how little thought I put into the answer because I meant it. We’ve become really close friends since I’ve been here. Closer than anyone I’ve had at the DRMC.
Chef nods, his lush lips tipping up. “That’s right. And you wanted the Big Littles and Little Littles to all have jobs.” He turns back to my mom. “All the outfits have been arranged Blanche, no need to worry.”
Mom’s eyes narrow. “What about the dress?”
Chef clears his throat and shuffles a little. He rolls his shoulders inward, eyes on the floor.
“Oh this is good stuff,” Mira whispers, and it’s then I notice the rest of the DRMC, all standing staring in our direction.
“Well, spit it out!” Pops hollers from where he's bellied up to the bar.
“I know Sage doesn't want this wedding. I know it’s all fake so we can make Nathaniel Mercy all pissy and draw him out.” He rubs the back of his neck, eyes on the floor. “I know she doesn't want the big poofy dress and shit,” he mutters, “but, well, I might have kinda bought a dress.”
My eyes bug out of my head as Mira, Kaia and Ana make swooning noises.
“Why are you making that noise? The dress could be hideous.” Trust Chewy to bring everyone down to earth.
I don’t mind though, I barely hear her. My mind is full of Chef’s words and for the first time in a long time, I see him.
Him. The uncertainty that he’s somehow done something wrong.
The way he averts his gaze, or more often than not, hides in the shadow of his ever present baseball cap.
He may seem like all the other badass bikers in the DRMC, but he’s not.
Deep down he’s still that little boy trying not to disappoint anyone.
“Chef?” He avoids my gaze until I step up to him, searching for him under the peak of his cap. His chocolate brown gaze meets mine and I can’t help the soft smile that slips out of me. “Can I see it?”
His eyes widen in shock, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly. “Yeah, it’s ah, in my room here.”
Chef turns toward the hall of the clubhouse, waiting for me to move with him.
As per usual his hand hovers at my lower back as we walk together.
The warmth of that hand grounds me as we weave through the clubhouse through the smiling faces of our family and friends, and my cheeks heat at the attention we’re getting.
This is no big deal. Just a friend who knows me better than I thought he did.
He stops at the room he lived in before we moved to the little cottage next to Vex and Loyal.
He hesitates a moment before turning the doorknob and swinging the door open.
He flicks the lights on in the room, near empty save for a bed and a desk.
And a dress carefully wrapped in plastic and hanging from a hook on the wardrobe door.
“I would have gone for white, but I know that you’d worry you’d spill something,” he mutters, looking at his scuffed up boots.
He’s right. I never wear white. I don’t even wear light colors.
Firstly, with my pale skin and dark hair, light colors make me look like a sickly Victorian child.
And secondly, I’m a grub. Chef knows this and instead of a white wedding dress, hanging on the hook is a midnight blue dress.
The bottom is poofy and frilly and the right amount of girly, but the top?
The top is what has my breath hitching. It’s a deep V neckline, beaded and lacy with tiny little sparkles.
It’s everything a wedding dress shouldn't be, but I guess this wedding is also everything a wedding shouldn't be.
It shouldn't be rushed. It shouldn't be for safety from a monster.
It shouldn't be to someone you used to love until they broke your heart. And yet, at this moment, after these past few weeks, standing here with Chef in his empty room with nothing but a breathtakingly gorgeous dress he chose for me, I may not be in love with him like I once was, but I’m in something with him.
Something deeper. Quieter. More dangerous.
“Sage?”
“It’s perfect, Chef. It’s perfectly me.”
Chef
My breath whooshes out of me and my stomach contents settle back where they belong and not in the back of my throat ready to evacuate and hit the wood floors.
I definitely thought Sage would think I was overstepping and kick me in the balls, but instead she’s standing in front of the dress I bought, her long, slim fingers gently caressing at the deep V lace of the dress.
My eyes trace her small, curvy body. The gentle rise and fall of her shoulders when she takes a deep breath and then lets it out.
The way her silky hair slides across her back when her head tilts to take in some tiny detail on the hem of the dress.
The way she turns to me, all wide eyed, her dark eyes glistening in the low light.
“I knew as soon as I saw it, that it was the one,” I say roughly.
She gives me a shaky smile, stepping closer until her dusty cowgirl boots meet my beat up biker boots.
Her gaze searches mine, for what, I’m not sure.
It doesn’t matter anyway. Not when it seems like she’s gazing deep into my soul, seeing too damn much.
Her hand comes to rest on my cheek and my eyes roll closed at the first contact I have had with Sage for almost a year.
My head is heavy as I lean against her palm, my stomach dipping at the thought that any moment now she will take this away from me, reject me like I did her.
I would deserve it. Every minute, every second of rejection I would deserve.
I keep my eyes tightly shut, not wanting to open them and have this moment float away as if it were a dream.
My whole body jolts when I feel her sweet breath against me, a split second before her gentle lips touch mine.
Soft. Smooth. Plump. Sipping at mine before pulling away.
My knees almost fucking give out in relief and my hands find Sage’s neck, thumbs brushing her throat gently as I rest my forehead against hers, searching her gaze.
Swallowing, I feel the words written on my soul, burning my tongue to escape, “Sage, I’m sor-”
“I don’t want your words Chef.” She steps back, breaking the contact.
“I forgave you a long time ago,” she says softly and for one stupid fucking second, hope punches the air from my lungs.
“I just haven't figured out a way to forget just yet.” And there it is.
The bullet to my heart. The one that splits open my chest.
With that she gives me a tight smile and a nod, before turning on her heel and heading to the door.
Panic claws up my throat. I’d do anything to get her back.
Crawl across broken glass. Drop to my fucking knees.
Spend the rest of my life proving I can love her right this time.
I’d take a bullet for her over and over again if it meant feeling her soft palm against my face one more time.
“Sage -” I rasp out, the panic in my throat stealing my voice.
She freezes in the doorway, shoulders back, head held high like a fucking queen. She looks over her shoulder at me, dark eyes full of pain and a glimmer of hope.
“Just… keep doing what you’re doing.”
And there it is. Hope.