Chapter Twenty-Two
The pavilion had never looked like this.
Eddy stood at the edge of the crowd, watching brothers string lights through the rafters while their old ladies arranged tables with food and flowers.
The compound had transformed over the past three days—cleaned, decorated, prepared for the kind of celebration that only happened when a brother formally claimed his woman.
His woman.
The words still felt strange in his head. Not wrong—never wrong—but unfamiliar. Like a language he was still learning to speak.
"You nervous?" Limestone appeared beside him, beer in hand.
"No."
"Liar." The big man grinned. "I was nervous as hell when I claimed Jolene. Thought I'd forget the words, trip over my own feet, do something stupid in front of the whole club."
"Did you?"
"Forgot the words. Still got the woman." Limestone clapped him on the shoulder. "You'll be fine. Just look at her and say what you mean. That's all any of it takes."
He wandered off to help with the tables, leaving Eddy alone with his thoughts.
The sun was setting, painting the lake in shades of gold and pink. In an hour, maybe less, he'd stand in front of every brother who'd ever had his back and declare Penny Bradshaw his old lady. His partner. His forever.
The current beneath his surface ran warm for once. Not churning, not dangerous.
Just ready.
Penny arrived with the old ladies.
Eddy saw her before she saw him—walking between Maggie and Darcy, laughing at something Tessa had said. She wore a simple dress, dark blue, her hair loose around her shoulders. Nothing fancy. Nothing pretentious.
Just her.
She looked up and found his eyes across the pavilion.
The world went quiet.
Everything else—the brothers, the lights, the murmur of conversation—faded into background noise. There was only Penny, walking toward him through the golden evening light, her smile soft and certain.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey yourself."
"Big night."
"Biggest of my life." He reached out and took her hand, pulling her close. "You ready for this?"
"I've been ready since you told me your real name in the dark." She squeezed his fingers. "Everything since then has just been waiting for the world to catch up."
The ceremony began at sunset.
Brothers gathered in a loose circle around the pavilion's center, old ladies interspersed among them. Still stood at the front, wearing his president's expression—grave and proud, the weight of tradition evident in his posture.
Eddy led Penny to the center.
The crowd went silent.
"We're here tonight," Still said, his voice carrying across the gathering, "because a brother has found something worth claiming. Worth protecting. Worth standing in front of his family and declaring his intention to keep."
He turned to Eddy.
"Speak your piece."
Eddy had prepared words. Had practiced them in his head a dozen times, trying to find the right phrases, the perfect way to express what Penny meant to him.
Now, looking at her face in the fading light, all those careful preparations evaporated.
He spoke from the current instead.
"I spent most of my life keeping things underwater," he said quietly. "Holding everything beneath the surface where nobody could see it. I thought that's what strength looked like. I thought that's what it cost to be steady."
His hands tightened on hers.
"Then I met a woman who saw through all of it. Who looked at the currents running underneath and didn't run. Who stood in a destroyed kennel with red eyes and a spine that wouldn't break and told me she'd fight for what was hers."
His voice strengthened.
"Penny Bradshaw saved animals nobody else wanted. Built a business from nothing. Held her ground against men who should have terrified her. And somewhere along the way, she saved me too."
He lifted their joined hands.
"In front of my brothers. In front of my club. I claim this woman as mine. My old lady. My partner. The reason I come home."
Silence hung over the gathering.
Then Still spoke. "Penny. You got anything to say?"
She'd been watching Eddy with tears streaming down her face. Now she laughed—wet and bright—and gripped his hands tighter.
"I spent my whole life looking for something real," she said. "Something that wouldn't fall apart the moment things got hard. I found it here. With him. With all of you."
She looked around at the gathered brotherhood.
"You took me in when I had nowhere to go. Protected me when I couldn't protect myself. Rebuilt my business like it mattered, because it did." Her voice cracked. "I've never had a family. Not really. Not one that stayed."
Her eyes found Eddy's.
"Now I do."
Still nodded slowly. "Then it's done. In front of the club, witnessed by your brothers, Eddy claims Penny as his old lady." He raised his voice. "Anyone who threatens her threatens us. Anyone who crosses her crosses the Ridgerunners. She's family now."
A cheer erupted.
Brothers surged forward, clapping Eddy on the back, shouting congratulations. The old ladies surrounded Penny, pulling her into hugs, welcoming her with warmth reserved for women who'd proven themselves worthy.
Eddy stood in the center of the chaos, watching his woman laugh with the women who'd become her sisters, and felt something settle in his chest.
The current was still there. Would always be there.
But for the first time in years, holding it steady didn't cost him anything.
The celebration lasted for hours.
Beer flowed. Music played. Brothers told stories about their own claiming ceremonies—the fumbled words, the nervous sweating, the moments that had become legend. Penny danced with Maggie and Darcy, her blue dress swirling, her laughter bright against the night.
Eddy watched her.
He'd spent so long keeping the surface calm. Holding everything under control. Fighting the currents that wanted to pull him in directions he couldn't predict.
Tonight, he let himself feel it all.
The pride of seeing his brothers accept her. The warmth of watching her laugh with women who'd become her family. The deep, bone-level satisfaction of knowing she was his—officially, permanently, in front of everyone who mattered.
Around midnight, she found him at the edge of the gathering.
"Take me home," she said.
He didn't need to be asked twice.
The cabin was dark when they arrived.
Eddy kicked the door closed behind them and pulled her against him in the same motion. She came willingly, arms wrapping around his neck, mouth finding his in the darkness.
"Wife," he said against her lips.
"Old lady," she corrected.
"Same thing."
"Better." She smiled against his mouth. "Old ladies are earned. Wives are just paperwork."
He laughed—actually laughed, the sound strange and wonderful in his own throat—and lifted her off her feet.
She wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her to the bed. The same bed where they'd first come together. Where they'd crashed into each other after battles. Where they'd held each other through nightmares and mornings and everything in between.
Tonight felt different.
Not desperate. Not adrenaline-fueled. Not the slow discovery of two people learning each other's bodies.
This was celebration. Triumph. Joy made physical.
He set her on the bed and stepped back, drinking in the sight of her. Moonlight through the window painted silver across her face, her hair, the blue dress that had driven him crazy all evening.
"I've been waiting to do this for hours," he said, reaching for the zipper at her back.
"Then stop talking and do it."
The dress fell away. The rest followed quickly—his clothes, hers, everything that separated them until they were skin to skin, breath to breath, heartbeat to heartbeat.
"Corbyn," she whispered.
His name on her lips still undid him. Would always undo him.
"Say it again."
"Corbyn." She pulled him down to her. "My Corbyn."
He showed her what those words did to him.
Showed her with his hands, his mouth, his body. Took his time even though urgency burned through his veins, because tonight was about savoring, about celebrating, about making her feel every inch of what she meant to him.
She rose to meet him at every turn. Matched his intensity with her own. Claimed him back with teeth and nails and sounds that drove him wild.
"Yours," she gasped against his throat. "I'm yours, I'm—"
"Mine." He thrust deeper, harder. "My old lady. My woman. Mine."
"Yes—"
The word shattered into something wordless as they both fell over the edge.
Afterward, they lay tangled together in the dark.
River had materialized at some point—probably when they'd stopped making sounds that concerned him—and was curled at the foot of the bed, a warm and steady presence. Penny's breath had evened into sleep, her head on his chest, her hand curled over his heart.
Eddy watched the moonlight shift across the ceiling.
He'd spent so long holding the surface still. Fighting the currents underneath. Carrying the weight of everything he couldn't show, couldn't feel, couldn't let break free.
Now, lying in the dark with his claimed woman in his arms, he understood something he'd been too afraid to admit.
The surface didn't have to be a prison.
It could be a choice. A strength. Something he maintained not because he had to, but because it was part of who he was.
And underneath it—the currents, the depth, the parts of himself he'd been terrified would drown him—those could be gifts too. Things to share with someone who wasn't afraid of deep water.
Penny stirred against his chest, mumbling something he couldn't quite hear. He pressed a kiss to her hair and felt her settle.
His woman. His old lady. His reason for everything.
River sighed at the foot of the bed, content and at peace.
Eddy closed his eyes.
The surface settled into something that didn't cost him to hold. Not because he was fighting it. Not because he was forcing it.
Because for the first time in his life, the calm was real.