He cleared his throat. I stepped closer and set my hand encouragingly at his lower back. Priest nodded, listening patiently with something soft and open in his wise eyes.
“So I wanted to do something that would show that,” Dawson said. “I wanted to show everybody”—he cast his eyes meaningfully around the group—“how grateful I am. So I thought doing something for the heart of the club would be the best way to do that.”
Priest opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Joker called out, “Nope! It’s true!”
Grinning at his feet, Priest shook his head bashfully, but didn’t deny it.
“So thanks,” Dawson said. “For everything.”
The rest of the guys started applauding and whooping, and Dawson broke into a big smile. When he’d suggested adding the garage, I’d told him it was a great idea, not just for Priest, but to really thaw out any remaining bad feelings among the group. And from the cheers and laughter, I knew that I’d been right.
“Go ahead,” Dawson said. “Check it out.”
He pulled the garage door opener from his pocket and tossed it to Priest, who caught it instinctively in one hand. Then, beaming, he pushed the button.
“Good Lord, Dawson,” he said as the door silently rolled open. The garage was big enough for a car and a bike, with shelves already mounted and a small workbench at the back. It opened directly into the laundry room that led into cabin itself. It was gorgeous, clean concrete floors and pale blue walls and soft recessed lighting.
And in the center of it all, a bike.
A Fat Boy, this year’s model, with a navy body—just like the Sportster had had—and supple black leather seats. The chrome engine was shined to gleaming.
I’d been saving for last year’s model. And here was the newest one.
Confusion roiled in my gut. Priest already had a bike he adored, and he didn’t like the handlebar shape of the Fat Boy. Hurt his shoulders, he said. So why was this…
Suddenly, I turned and stared at Dawson.
No way. It couldn’t be.
From the center of the garage, Priest caught Dawson’s eye and winked. “Going above and beyond to get me a new bike, huh?”
Dawson laughed, and then there were titters of knowing laughter from my brothers, as well.
“Oh, no,” I said. “Dawson, what’d you do?”
He finally turned to face me and drew his lower lip between his teeth. “It’s for you.”
Now it was my turn to stare slack-jawed at him. “Dawson, what the hell?”
Dawson laughed. “Well, it’s my fault that you lost the Sportster,” he said sheepishly. “And you’d mentioned the Fat Boy before… But Mav handled the ordering, so he said if it wasn’t the one you wanted, don’t worry about it and you can trade it in for—”
“It’s perfect,” I interjected. “But… Dawson, you didn’t have to do this.”
“I know,” he said casually, like he’d done something as simple as planning a birthday party instead of replacing my motorcycle with a top-of-the-line model.
“It’s too much,” I said, feeling a little frantic. “It’s so expensive. Dawson, how did you afford this? It’s not—”
“Nix,” Dawson said with a smile. He took both my hands in his. “Calm down.”
“This is crazy,” I said. “You’re crazy.”
“Am not,” he said with a laugh. “You save a lot of money when you quit drinking. And I’ve got good credit, and a lot of savings, so. I wanted to do this. For you.”
“Dawson,” I said, gazing at his face in disbelief.
“What better way to spend it?” Dawson asked. “It’s a gorgeous bike. It suits you.”
Gratitude, relief, and love bloomed warm in my chest. I pulled my hands from his, but only so I could wrap him in a crushing hug, burying my face in his shoulder.
“Thank you,” I murmured, muffled into the fabric of his flannel shirt. “Really, thank you so much.”
Dawson hugged me back just as hard. Then he carded one hand through my hair and guided my mouth to his, into a kiss. I melted against him, kissing him back deeply and adoringly, ignoring the hoots and wolf-whistles sounding around us.
“Go take a closer look,” Dawson murmured against my lips. “Make sure you like it.”
I grinned, kissed him once again, and then rushed over to the bike. God, it was even more gorgeous than I’d imagined—gleaming chrome, cast aluminum wheels, and a powerful V-twin engine I couldn’t wait to feel rumble between my legs.
“She’s amazing,” I said as I ran my hand over the soft leather of the saddle. “You must really love me to do something like this.”
Then I froze.
Of course, I knew I loved him. And he expressed his love constantly—with his actions. I didn’t doubt our relationship, but we’d never said the words. They’d been on the tip of my tongue so many times, but I didn’t want to be first—I thought he deserved to set the pace.
The rest of the club members were no longer paying me any attention—they were back to bothering Priest about the cabin and laughing among each other. Dawson stepped into the garage with a smile on his face, then smoothed his hand over the width of my shoulders where I was leaning over the bike.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I do. I really do.”
I straightened up. My heart pounded hard in my chest.
“I love you,” Dawson said. “God, Nix, I love you.”
I laughed and looped my arms around his neck. Joy blossomed in my chest, feeling like fireworks. “I love you too,” I said. “So much.”
Dawson kissed me again, and it felt like coming home.
When I pulled away, he was flushed and smiling. “Well?”
“Well, what?” I asked with a tilt of my head.
“Gonna take me for a ride, or what?” He raised his eyebrows at the bike.
“Say the word,” I said. “Anywhere you want to go.”
I climbed onto the bike, tugged on my helmet, and offered the spare to Dawson. He tugged it on, masking his big smile behind the visor, and then straddled the bike behind me.
He wrapped his arms around my waist, hitching close. I gunned the engine and my bike roared to life beneath me.
“Where to?” I asked over the familiar rumble.
“Don’t care,” Dawson said. “As long as I’m with you.”
It was a beautiful spring day, I had a gorgeous bike, and the man I loved was wrapped around me. The open road—and our future—had never looked so inviting.
27
Priest
Standing in the center of my new home, it still didn’t feel real. I kept waiting to wake up from this dream. I’d never doubted the kindness and the generosity of my brothers in the club, but I’d never expected any of that attention to land on me. Because, all things considered, I’d been fine living in the clubhouse.
I guessed I’d gotten so used to ‘fine’ being enough, I’d stopped considering anything else.
After I’d lost Ankh, it’d been far too painful to continue living in the president’s home on the club premises. It was full of reminders of him, of us, from the fancy coffeemaker he never figured out how to work to the shoe rack he complained I ignored to the hearth we’d curled up in front of hundreds of times. Just being in the house ached.