We wipe away our tears once we're safely away from the edge of the cliff. I'm still freezing. I think my man nipples could cut glass right now, but my heart hurts too much to pay it any mind. I give the cliff one last look and head toward the fence that separates Forsaken's property from city land. The ocean side of the fence is covered in hundreds of white Christmas tree lights that are collectively bright enough so that we can be married by the ocean without any ugly barriers in the way. We didn't exactly get a permit for it--and by that I mean Alex asked me to, and I said I did even though I didn't because fuck the city and fuck that shit. Forsaken doesn't ask permission.
"You're late, fucker," Ian says as I rush past him and the rows of folding chairs that are filled with our family and friends. I give him the bird on my way to the altar but stop short. Off to the side, in a big, poofy white dress is my girl. She's huddled with her twin, Michael, and laughing about something. When he notices me watching, he gives her a nudge. My girl stands there in her wedding dress like it's no big deal. But it's a very big deal. She's gorgeous. I close the distance between us and cup her face in my hand. The rough skin of her scars reminds me of all she's endured and all that we've lost. With my other hand, I rub her still-flat belly to remind myself of all that we still have.
"Have you been crying?" she asks in a hushed tone.
"I miss my dad," I admit. I've been working on being more honest with her. It's not easy, and most days I don't even try, but it's our wedding day. I won't be pissing her off before this thing is legal.
"I miss him, too," she says with a sad smile. And then she kisses me. We're not married yet, but I'm happy to wait a few more minutes if it means I get to spend that time kissing my girl.
AND IT NEVER ENDS...
Ruby
And several years after that...
"Ma!" Ryan shouts through the open kitchen window. I huff and meet his eyes. He's no more than twenty feet from me, but he insists on yelling. Some things never change. My boy stands at the large stainless steel grill, flipping burgers and hot dogs. He's got the same loaded expression on his face that he did the day I met him. That was something like thirty years ago now. It's only in moments like these that I remember I didn't give birth to him. Growing frustrated, he shouts again. "Ma! Come on, I need the fucking patties."
Smiling smugly, I raise my glass of whiskey to him and mutter, "You can wait, you impatient little punk," and take a swig of the brown liquor.
Life is calmer now. Ryan's not. It's easy, or easier at least. But Ryan is less difficult. Having twins that act just like him has pretty much limited the energy he has to expel bitching at people for the most random of shit. That and the fact that now that bud's legal in California, he can pretty much just stay high. At least it mellows his ass out some. The club's had to find other ways to supplement the loss we've taken on our profits due to taxes. Still, we've fared better than other businesses, so we make due. The Fort Bragg charter is bigger now. With less violence and risk, our members have hung around longer than they used to. Slowly, we're becoming a retirement destination for aging Forsaken.
I think I knew I was officially old the day Wyatt and Amber's son, Zander, patched in. It doesn't matter that Zander is as big as his dad now--I'll still always see him as the smart-mouthed teenager he was when he first came into my life. Nowadays, he's more likely to be found eyeing Izzy Phillips than he is acting like a punk kid. Like he is now, I think with a smile out the window at Zander. The boy is almost thirty, so he's more man than anything. At twenty-four, Izzy is old enough to know what she's getting into with Zander. And judging by the looks she's giving him when she thinks he isn't looking, they're going to be getting into something soon. A few feet behind Izzy stands Elle, her older sister, and Amber, Zander's mom. Both women are staring the couple down, practically shooting daggers at the kids. I let out a soft sigh and snort.
"I know this is you," I say to an empty room. My eyes fall closed for a moment, and I let the silence surrounding me sink in. Jim's been gone for over ten years now, but I hear his voice just as clearly as I did the day he died. He laughs--at least in my head he does. And it's fucking beautiful. My life is busier than my kids think it should be, so I don't get to hear Jim's voice as much as I used to, so I relish these times of quiet. "You're getting those women back for being a pain in your ass when they were younger."
"Hey, Pop! You want to quit distracting Mom from making the hamburger patties so your son can chill out, please?" I turn in place to find Alex standing on the other side of the breakfast bar. Her brown eyes dance as she shakes her head at me. It's no secret that I talk to Jim. It's kind of a joke at this point. I just don't tell them that I know he can hear me. I don't know about God or church or any of that shit, but I know my man hasn't left me alone.