Chapter Nine #2
My room was what passed for home these days—a queen sized bed, a dresser scarred by fifty years of hard use, and a window that looked out over the fields to the highway beyond. The air was stale with yesterday’s sweat and this morning’s nerves.
I shrugged off my jacket and hung it on the hook behind the door, then went to the dresser.
The top drawer was a mess of socks and old receipts, but I knew exactly where to reach.
Underneath the stack of t-shirts, right where I’d left it: a cigar box, the lid sanded soft, a faded baseball sticker half-peeled from the top.
I set it on the dresser, turned the latch, and lifted the lid. The black velvet bag inside was still tied in a perfect knot, the way the jeweler had handed it off. I untied it, tipped the contents into my palm.
Two gold bands, heavy for their size, each engraved with a simple pattern on the inside. I didn’t read the inscription. I didn’t need to. They felt warm against my skin, warmer than the room, and for a second I just let them sit there, weighing the moment against what it meant.
Then I dropped them back into the bag, cinched it shut, and slid it into the inside pocket of my jacket. I shrugged the jacket back on, zipped up to the collar, and looked in the mirror over the dresser.
The face that looked back was tired, red at the nose and ears, the scar on my jaw gone white against the cold. I pressed two fingers to the pulse in my neck, felt it hammering away like a nail gun.
I took a breath, then turned for the stairs. The house was quiet except for the baby, still asleep in the bouncy seat, his hands curled into fists on either side of his head. I watched him for a second, then texted Jojo: Need you at house in 2 minutes. Bring bottle.
He replied before I’d even put the phone down: On my way.
I glanced out the window. The truck was already idling in the drive, exhaust curling in the hard light. Rawley must have called Burke before I even made it out of the barn.
I made a mental checklist: Baby with Jojo. Rings in jacket. Plan with Rawley set.
It wasn’t going to be a fair fight, but that was the only kind I’d ever won.
Jojo met me at the kitchen door, eyes already wide with question, but I cut him off by handing him the baby and launching into a checklist: “He just ate an hour ago. If he fusses, try a finger first, pacifier if that doesn’t work.
Change at ten and noon, and you gotta hold him at a slight angle or he’ll squawk like an air raid.
Rawley’ll be here in a minute if you need backup. ”
He took Emilio with both arms, adjusting his hold with a practiced twist that made the motion look as natural as folding bread dough.
Jojo made a face at him, then snuggled into the crook of his elbow, completely unaware that the axis of the universe had just shifted.
Jojo nodded once, solemn as a judge, and I knew he had it under control.
I found Liam still on the couch, exactly where I’d left him, the color of his knuckles just a shade brighter than the upholstery.
I didn’t bother with a speech. I just grabbed his arm and steered him into the mudroom, grabbed his jacket off the hook, and put it over his shoulders with the efficiency of a man suiting up for a jobsite.
He let himself be moved, moving stiff and uncertain, like he was waiting for the floor to fall out from under him. We stepped into the hard daylight together, the front porch slick and shining, and I kept my grip on his elbow as I led him out.
Burke and Macon were already waiting at the truck, the quad cab idling like an angry animal.
Macon leaned against the front fender, arms crossed, eyes flicking from us to the road and back.
Burke was in the bed of the truck, double-checking the tarp straps, but he hopped down as soon as he spotted us.
Both of them looked like they’d been awake for a week, but neither said a word about it.
I opened the passenger door, nudged Liam inside, then climbed in behind the wheel. Burke slid in behind me, Macon behind Liam, and as soon as the doors shut, the cabin filled with the smell of cold air, coffee, and adrenaline.
For a few seconds, nobody said anything. I put the truck in drive, eased off the brake, and turned us out onto the two-lane.
The snow had started up again, not a storm but the kind of slow, relentless fall that could erase a county in under a day if you let it.
The highway stretched ahead, gray and empty, lines of fence posts marching off toward the butte.
The heater roared, but it still couldn’t quite keep the cold off my ears.
Liam stared out the window, his hands braced on his knees, the tips of his ears going red. Burke made a show of checking the mirror, then muttered, “Nobody’s behind us.”
Macon just grunted, eyes scanning the ditch and the fence line, never still for more than a second.
It wasn’t until we hit the first rise past the town sign that Liam finally turned to me, his voice small and flat. “Where are we going?”
I kept my eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel. “We’re going to the courthouse.”
He blinked at me, as if I’d said we were going to the moon. “Why?”
“We’re getting married,” I said.
There was a silence in the cab, broken only by the heater and the engine. Then, from the back seat, a strangled sound, and Burke started laughing. Not loud, not rude, just the kind of laugh that meant someone had let go of a rope they’d been holding too long.
Macon didn’t laugh, but his mouth twitched at the corner.
I kept driving, and after a second, said, “Eleanor can’t claim you if you’re already claimed. She can’t take the baby if he’s got a legal parent and a home. She might make noise, but she won’t drag her name through the mud just to lose. This is how we win.”
Liam looked at me, his mouth open like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. He just stared at my face, then out the window, then back again, as if trying to see if this was a bit, a joke, a dare.
“It’s not permanent,” I said, “unless you want it to be. We just need enough time to get the lawyers to fuck off and get you safe.”
He took a breath, then another, then nodded. “Okay.”
I felt something unclench in my chest.
We drove the rest of the way in silence, except for Burke occasionally pointing out a car two miles ahead or a road sign bent by last year’s windstorm. The town was nothing, a strip of courthouse, bar, and three churches, all lined up like stages for the same bad play.
I parked in front of the courthouse, left the engine running, and turned to Liam. He was still pale, but his eyes were clear. I reached into my pocket, pulled out the black velvet bag, and handed it to him.
He took it, fingers shaking a little, and let the rings spill into his palm. He looked at them for a long second, then closed his hand around them and nodded, jaw set.
“We go together,” I said, and he nodded again.
Inside, the courthouse was warmer than the truck, but only by a few degrees.
The clerk at the front desk gave us a look, then a smile that was half bored and half curious.
I gave her the story—two parties, urgent situation, can we do this fast—and she didn’t even blink.
Just handed over the paperwork and two pens.
Burke and Macon posted up by the doors, arms crossed, eyes scanning every person that came or went. I filled out the forms, then handed them to Liam, who signed with a signature so tight it looked like it hurt.
The judge was a beta in his sixties, sleepy-eyed and friendly, wearing a tie that had lost its color sometime during the Bush administration. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t even blink at the rings. Just called us to the front, read a few lines from a card, and told us to say I do.
I looked at Liam, saw the moment he realized it was real, and waited. He said it, soft but steady, then looked at me.
I said it, and meant it, every syllable.
The judge told us to exchange rings, so I took one and slid it onto his finger, the metal cold and tight. He did the same for me, his hands steadier than mine.
We signed the last line, and just like that, it was done.
On the way out, Burke clapped me on the shoulder, and Macon gave Liam a look that I couldn’t quite read—respect, maybe, or just relief. The wind had picked up, rattling the flagpole and sending gusts of powder across the courthouse steps.
He looked at me, eyes soft, and said, “Thank you.”
I squeezed his hand, just once.
Outside, the snow kept falling, steady and relentless, burying everything that came before.
We let it.