I lean forward, elbows on the table. “Get the girls to help plan it. We’ll close the clubhouse Thursday night. Throw something casual together. Grill out, desserts, bring the kids. Keep it easy.”
“Why close the club?” James asks. “Let the neighborhood come too. Could be good for us. Show people we’re not just patched leather and loud engines. Might be nice to make it a regular thing. Once a month or every other.”
I nod slowly, arms folding across my chest. “Yeah. You’re right. It’s time we showed them the good we do. Make some memories.”
“That a vote?” Knox asks.
“Feels like one,” I say.
“Unanimous,” James says, lifting a hand. “Yay.”
“Yay,” Knox echoes.
“Yay,” Nash mumbles.
“Hell yes,” East throws in. “As long as I get a duet with Maggie.”
“You try to sing with my wife,” James warns, “I’ll show you what a broken heart really sounds like.”
The table bursts into laughter. Kyle nearly chokes on his water.
“Alright,” Knox says, still grinning. “That’s settled. But we do have one thing we actually do need to vote on.” He looks toward Kyle with a nod.
My smirk spreads slowly and deliberately. “Mm. I don’t know. Think he’s ready?”
Kyle stiffens the way someone does when they get called on in school. “Ready for what?”
Nash looks up then, one brow raised. “You’re sweating.”
“I’m not—” Kyle wipes his palms on his jeans. “Okay, maybe a little.”
“Stop yanking the kid’s balls,” East says. “He’s practically vibrating.”
James chuckles, warm and proud. “Let’s vote.” He raises his hand. “Yay.”
“Yay,” Knox says.
One by one, we all follow. Kyle’s blinking, struggling to believe what just happened. I grab the gavel, give it a sharp knock. “It’s official.”
Kyle’s mouth opens, then shuts. “Damn.”
“Frankie’ll be by soon to do your tattoo,” I tell him.
“You’re getting inked, baby boy!” East whoops, yanking Kyle into a headlock. “You ready to cry?”
“Get off me!” Kyle laughs, shoving at him.
I nod to a prospect near the door. He throws it open to let the old ladies know the meeting’s over.
Candace is the first one through, hoodie sleeves shoved up, damp hair twisted into a knot at the base of her neck. She scans the room, eyes sharp, checking for threats. Still waiting for someone to tell her she doesn’t belong.
I don’t give her the chance. I reach out, catch her wrist, and pull her into my lap.
She stiffens, tense and straight-backed, ready to bolt. But when I wrap an arm around her waist and don’t let go, she doesn’t move away. Knox glances over, smirking, but says nothing.
“We were just voting,” I murmur near her ear. “You just missed the fun part.”
“East got verbally destroyed,” Nash adds helpfully.
