I finish my beer before he looks up.
Then he holds out his hand.
“You’ve got a deal.”
I shake it. With my free hand under the table, I give Crash’s leg a squeeze and end up squeezing it so tight I can see him grimace out of the corner of my eye.
“Thank you, Stone,” I say. I force myself to keep it just to that, though so much of me wants to get up, to celebrate, to drag Crash to the spot in front of the jukebox and force him to dance with me, to drink and cheer with him and every other member of the club until the sun sets and rises again.
But I settle for ‘thank you’ and a handshake.
Then Crash puts his arm around me. “Come on, let’s go get another drink.”
“Wait. I’ve got something else,” I say, suddenly remembering the something extra that I packed away in my bag — something I packed in anticipation of Stone agreeing to the business venture, but which also would work well as consolation if he turned me down. I reach into the bag and set a bottle of something very special out on the table. “I think it’s time.”
Stone picks up the bottle, turns it in his grip, and lets out a long whistle. “Violet, if you would’ve told me from the outset that you’d be popping this open if I agreed to your terms, there would’ve been no need for any of this paperwork.”
“Are you sure?” Crash says. “I know what this means to you. We’ve got plenty of good booze behind the counter. I’m sure Stone wouldn’t mind getting down some top-shelf stuff for the occasion.”
I shake my head, take the bottle, and open it. Then I wave to Tricia and hold up three fingers to call for three glasses. When they arrive, I pour out three generous pours.
“Crash, I got this bottle as a reward to myself for starting a new life. For being brave in chasing after my dreams. And I was going to open it when I felt like I’ve made it. Right here, right now, I think I finally have. I’m living my dream. With you.”
Crash looks like he’s about to say something more, but Stone cuts him off.
“Crash, let your old lady have her celebration. And I swear, if you try to get between me and that bourbon, you will have one hell of a problem.”
“Fine, fine,” he says, nodding. “Then let’s raise a glass to her.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “To family.”
“To family,” they both repeat.
We tap glasses and I take my first sip of the bourbon I’ve been saving all these years for just this very moment. It goes down sweet, smooth, smells like vanilla buttercream and tastes like ripe orange with a hint of chili pepper. It’s perfect, and as I take that first swallow, I break out into a grin I fear might split my face. I couldn’t ask for better company to share this moment with, and I couldn’t be more excited to be building a future with the man that I love.
Epilogue – Crash
Crash
Sweat drips from my brow, beads on my forearms, soaks through my t-shirt. It must be a million degrees out, and it feels even hotter in this concrete and steel building out behind the MC’s clubhouse. Just a quick walk away, there’s ice cold beer and air conditioning, both of which sound all kinds of tempting, but I wouldn’t miss a minute of this heat for anything.
Because, right in the thick of this fiery mess is my old lady, Violet. She’s directing Snake, Rusty, and Blaze in the very sweaty work of lifting and setting up one of the several stills that’ll soon be making liquor for sale and distribution in the whole So Cal area.
This is the kind of job that leaves me with a lasting sense of pride. My Violet’s putting together a business that, when operational, will not only put out some damn fine liquor, but will bring money in to the club.
It’s the perfect mix of business and pleasure. And I feel damn proud to be a part of it.
“Blaze, I need you to lift and hold that still right there. Right there. Not an inch lower. Keep it there until Snake’s got it secured to the boiler, OK?” Violet says, circling around the group while they maneuver the still into position. “Now, Rusty, you need to get the condenser hooked up and situated. Don’t start slacking, we need to do this careful and we need to do this right. This is some expensive equipment, you got it?”
She moves like a drill sergeant around the men, directing them with sharpness and expertise.
“She’s sure getting into it, isn’t she?”
I turn and see Adella. She’s holding a big frosty pitcher of margaritas on a tray, along with six empty glasses.
“She is. It will sure be something once she’s got it up and running.”
“I brought you guys some refreshments since it’s so hot out and it’s such sweaty work,” she says. She’s talking to me, but I can see her eyes are elsewhere and, as I follow her vision, I spot Snake. His shirt’s soaked from the hard work and sticking to his lean, muscular body.
“Your dad know, Adella?”
“Know what?”
“About you and Snake.”
Her cheeks go bright red. “What are you talking about, Crash?”
“You’re looking at him with a kind of thirst that has nothing to do with how hot it is
