Chapter 38 #2
"Because I asked them to." Her expression changed. She didn't look frightened; she looked alert. I took both her hands. There were a dozen ways to make this sound like a proposal. It wasn't one. Not exactly. We had already chosen a future. This was about choosing what that future meant here.
"I know what you mean to me." The room had gone quiet enough that I could hear the old refrigerator behind the bar humming. Skye held my gaze. I continued.
"I know you're not moving here because I ask. I know Scotland stays yours, Thistle & Stone stays yours, Ireland stays part of whatever we build, and you're going to keep walking into buildings that make me want to lock you in a padded room." Several people laughed softly. Skye smiled.
"Good start."
"I'm trying."
"Continue." I squeezed her hands.
"This club has a name for the woman who stands beside a brother as family." She went very still. I saw understanding arrive.
"Old Lady."
"Aye." Her eyebrows lifted. I continued before she could decide whether to laugh at the phrase.
"It doesn't mean I own you."
"Good clarification."
"It doesn't mean the club gets to decide what you do, where you live, what work you take, or whether you spend half the year yelling at me from another country."
"Probably more than half."
"Skye." She smiled. I could breathe again.
"It means they know what I already know. You're family. You matter to me. You matter here." Her eyes softened. I looked around the room once before returning to her.
"But this club doesn't get to decide what I mean to you." The smile faded into something far more vulnerable. Neither did mine. I took one breath.
"Skye Fraser, if you want it, I'd be proud to have you stand beside me as my Old Lady."
Silence followed, not the dramatic kind but the patient quiet of people waiting for her choice exactly where it belonged.
Skye looked at me for several seconds before glancing around the clubhouse.
Sunshine's eyes were suspiciously bright.
Storm looked pleased. Raze was trying very hard not to grin like an idiot.
Toxic stood with his arms folded, expression neutral enough that only someone who knew him would recognize the approval beneath it. Skye looked back at me.
"So you're asking me to become an Old Lady."
"Aye."
"That is an objectively terrible title." Laughter broke across the room. I closed my eyes.
"Of course that's your first response."
"It's very possessive."
"Historically."
"And vaguely insulting."
"Probably."
"And everyone here expects me to answer while they're watching."
"No." That stopped her. I loosened my grip without releasing her entirely.
"You can answer tomorrow. Next week. Never. You can tell me the title sounds ridiculous and nothing changes." The room quieted again. Her gaze searched mine.
"Really?"
"Aye."
"You won't sulk?"
"Probably." She laughed.
"But it'll be my problem."
"Good answer." I waited. Skye looked down at our joined hands. When she raised her eyes again, something had settled in them.
"I spent most of my life believing belonging to someone meant eventually being expected to give something up." My chest tightened. She continued.
"My time. My work. My choices. Some part of myself that made the other person more comfortable." I said nothing. This was hers.
"You've spent the last few weeks proving that's not what you're asking." Her voice softened.
"You gave me a key without asking me to move.
You listened when I said Scotland stays home.
You walked away while I spoke to Isla because you understood Thistle & Stone belonged to us before it belonged anywhere else.
You let me go through that courtyard by myself when every instinct you had wanted to come get me.
" That one hurt. She saw it. Her thumb moved across my hand.
"And you came back to me anyway." I swallowed. Skye smiled.
"So yes." My heart kicked hard enough that I almost missed the rest.
"Yes?"
"Yes, Callum. I want it." The clubhouse exploded. Raze shouted something obscene. Storm punched him in the arm. Someone behind me whistled. Sunshine was laughing. Toxic shook his head like the entire club had temporarily embarrassed him. I barely heard any of it. Skye was still looking at me.
"You realize they're going to be unbearable."
"They already are."
"And there is absolutely no chance I'm wearing anything that says property of Irish." A roar of laughter came from behind us. I looked over her shoulder. Raze had the decency to look guilty.
"Who made something?" Nobody answered. I stared. Skye turned slowly.
"Did they make something?" Sunshine pointed toward Raze.
"Not me," he said immediately. Storm folded her arms.
"You literally asked what size jacket Skye wears yesterday." I closed my eyes.
"Raze."
"It was a vest."
"Destroy it." Skye was laughing hard enough that she had to lean into me. That saved his life. Probably. I wrapped one arm around her waist.
"You're enjoying this."
"Immensely."
"Of course." Toxic stepped forward once the room calmed. He held a folded piece of black leather, not a vest but a small patch. I stared at him.
"Thought we weren't doing property bullshit."
"We aren't." He handed it to Skye. She unfolded it. The patch was simple. FLAMING SKULLS FAMILY Nothing else. No Irish. No ownership language. No claim. Skye looked toward Toxic.
"This is optional too?"
"Everything about your place here is." Her expression softened.
"Then I'll keep it." Toxic nodded.
"Welcome to the family." Skye laughed softly.
"I thought I was already in it."
"You were."
That was the point. She looked at me. I touched her face.
Then kissed her in front of everyone. I kissed her in front of everyone because I wanted to, not because the club required some public claim.
Her arms came around my neck, and the room erupted again until I broke the kiss laughing against her mouth.
"This is why we should've done it privately."
"No," she murmured. "This is perfect." I looked at her.
"Terrible title and all?"
"Still terrible."
"You're impossible."
"You knew that."
"Aye."
I did. And I loved every bloody part of it.
Later, when the room had returned to noise and nobody was pretending the celebration hadn't been planned from the beginning, Skye sat beside me with the folded patch on the table and her hand resting loosely over mine.
She hadn't changed. That mattered most. She was still Skye Fraser.
Still Scottish. Still co-owner of Thistle & Stone.
Still building an American branch because she chose the work.
Still carrying a key to an Irish farmhouse without any promise that one country would replace another.
The club hadn't claimed her. Neither had I.
She had chosen us. There was a difference.
For most of my life, I'd believed family was something you either inherited or lost, and once it disappeared there was no replacement that didn't somehow insult what came before.
I knew better now. Family could survive oceans.
It could exist in more than one country.
It could include people who knew Rory before grief, people who met Callum on the road away from it, and brothers who called me Irish because that was the man I'd become when I finally found somewhere safe enough to stop running. Skye's fingers tightened around mine. I looked toward her.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"That answer has never convinced me." Her smile widened.
"I was thinking you're officially stuck with me now." I pulled her closer.
"That's not how choice works."
"No?"
"No." I kissed her temple.
"You get to choose me again tomorrow." Her expression softened.
"And the day after?"
"Aye."
"And when you're annoying?"
"Especially then."
"That seems optimistic."
"Probably."
She rested her head against my shoulder.
Around us, the Flaming Skulls continued doing what they did best—talking too loudly, insulting one another, eating everything in reach, and turning survival into something that looked suspiciously like celebration.
I looked across the room at the family I'd found after losing the first one.
Then at the woman beside me who had never asked me to choose between them.
For fifteen years, I had believed love became dangerous the moment it gave someone enough importance to hurt you.
Skye had taught me something better. Love wasn't safety.
It wasn't distance either. It was trust given with open eyes and the freedom to keep choosing what came next.
Tonight, she had chosen me publicly. Tomorrow, I'd choose her again.
And for once, forever didn't feel like a promise I was afraid to make.
It felt like a decision we could keep making together.