Undeniable (Undeniable, #1)(70)

I stayed a long time after the service ended and the crowd disbanded. I talked to Frankie for a while and cried for a while.

Before I left, I traced his name on his tombstone. “Sweet dreams, baby,” I whispered. “Always.”

Before we headed home, Kami and I visited Chase’s grave. Hand in hand, we sat down in the grass and leaned back against his tombstone. Sharing a $75,000 bottle of whiskey, we held each other and cried. We cried for very different reasons, but for Chase all the same. As f*cked-up as both our relationships with him were, he had been loved. He’d just been too f*cked-up to realize it.

Then Kami, Cox, Deuce, and I went home to our kids and our club, and the healing began.

Deuce was in a bad way. Worse off than anyone else. For a long time, he wouldn’t touch me—couldn’t touch me. He blamed himself for everything. It was his fault Frankie hadn’t been found. It was his fault Frankie had been able to break inside the club, his fault that Frankie had forced himself on me, and his fault that I’d been the one to kill him.

But it wasn’t. None of it was. It was Frankie’s fault—all of it. This I had a hard time accepting as well. At first, I placed blame on myself, for letting my relationship with Frankie get to the point it had.

But I got there…alongside my family and my friends and my club…I got there.

Getting Deuce there was another matter altogether.

But we got through it. Together. It didn’t happen overnight, and it wasn’t easy.

Nothing worth doing ever is.

And love is worth everything.





EPILOGUE


Deuce scowled at his father-in-law. “You’re older than me,” he grumbled.

Preacher snorted. “Both in our fifties. Only difference is you got yourself a beautiful younger woman to keep you young, and all I got is a club full of stupid shitheads who think bathing is optional and farting is an art form.”

They both looked to where Eva was standing and talking with Kami, a very pregnant Dorothy, Mick and his wife Adriana, and Danny and…ZZ, whose f*cking arm was slung over his daughter’s shoulders. His fists clenched, but he kept it reeled in. He promised Eva he wouldn’t kick the shit out of him again. Danny was twenty-one years old, and Eva had said ZZ was head over heels for her. She kept reminding him that ZZ had never fallen into the same patterns the rest of his boys had. He didn’t drink excessively, he didn’t have a quick temper, he never disrespected a woman, and he didn’t do whores.

Still…he really f*cking hated it. Really. Fucking really.

He gritted his teeth and looked back at his wife.

She was thirty-five and f*cking gorgeous. Her body was sleek and toned—thanks to yoga four times a week—but she still had her curves, so he was happy and didn’t give a shit if she felt the need to twist her body into a pretzel and look damn ridiculous doing it.

Her dark hair was newly cut and hung halfway down her back in soft waves; she had bangs now, long and swept to the side—Danny’s doing. She was wearing a pair of jeans he was sure were older than he was and looked it, and her old Led Zeppelin tee that showed her star-covered belly. No bra.

God, he loved her.

His tag around her neck was gleaming in the sunlight. Her iPod was shoved in her back pocket with her earbuds hanging halfway down her jeans. On her feet, pink Chucks. And even though he couldn’t see it from this distance, on her left ring finger was the ring he put on her the day he married her—a thin platinum band inscribed with their names.

Deuce & Foxy.

He watched her turn around and bend over to pick up Cox’s and Kami’s one-year-old son, Diesel, and saw his name—Deuce—tattooed right above her ass in large, scrolling script. It had been his birthday present last year, and he’d been f*cking her on her knees ever since.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

Preacher glanced at him.

“Just thankin’ God,” he said, shaking his head, “for that f*ckin’ woman.”

Preacher grinned.

“Never forget the day she came bouncin’ into my f*cked-up life, shakin’ pigtails, singin’ Janis, wearin’ Chucks, sharin’ peanuts, and straight up stole any decency I had left—which wasn’t a whole lot—but she f*ckin’ took it, and I’ve been hers ever since.”

Preacher’s eyes glossed over. “Good thing I went up the river same time as your old man,” he said, his voice breaking. “If you hadn’t…if Frankie woulda—”

He clapped Preacher on the back. “Fuckin’ yeah,” he said roughly. “Don’t I know it.”

“Hi, Daddy!” Ivy yelled, running past them. “Hi, Grandpa!”

“Hiya, beautiful girl,” Preacher said smiling.

“Get back here, you crazy little shit!” Cage bellowed, streaking across the lawn after her. “And give me my keys!”

Her blonde pigtails bouncing, her pink Chucks kicking up dirt, Ivy laughed her evil little laugh and kept running. Cage shot past her, circling around her. Ivy skidded to a stop; Cage faked right; Ivy whipped to her left, and Cage grabbed her. Swung her right off her feet and up through the air.

“Gotcha!” he said, tossing her up in the air and catching her. She shrieked and giggled and screamed until he set her down.

“Ivy Olivia West!” Eva yelled. “Give your brother his keys!”