Sinner's Creed (Sinner's Creed #1)(76)

He promised to make it up to her and has. Now, one of the days Carrie is here, she makes sure to spend with Saylor. I know it’s not out of pity. I can’t think of anyone who doesn’t want to spend time with Saylor, and considering Carrie blew off Rookie for a “girls’ day” two days in a row, I know she is one of those people. Rookie and Shady thought we should make a guys’ night, but to me, it sounded kinda lame.

Donnawayne and Jeffery have spent every weekend here since we left. This weekend, they would be with Donnawayne’s family and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved. It would be awkward having everyone in the same place at the same time. Jimbo had yet to run into them, but Shady and Rookie were unaffected by their homosexuality. Maybe the club wouldn’t be bothered, but it wasn’t a risk I was willing to take.

Saylor’s health is better than ever. She hasn’t had a cold, a migraine, or even a bad day since she had the fever. Looking at her, you couldn’t tell anything was wrong. But there wasn’t a night I didn’t go to sleep or a morning I didn’t wake up when I wondered if it would be my last with her. Some days we ride, some nights we go to the bar, and sometimes we don’t do anything. But everything we do makes her happy, and every time she smiles, I find myself smiling too.

—

Saylor yells for me and I drag myself out of bed and throw on some sweats before meeting her in the kitchen. I know she has plenty of shit she wants me to do. She went over the list about ten times last night, until I dove between her legs and made her forget everything that wasn’t me. After she came in my mouth, I made love to her until we both fell asleep from exhaustion. It was the only way to shut her up, and I hoped that she went to bed tonight as chatty as she did last night so I could do it all over again.

Saylor asked me where everyone would sit and when I told her “wherever,” she frowned at the thought. Her frown led me to asking what she wanted. Which was for everyone to sit down at a table and eat together. Now my living room furniture is under the carport, and in its place sits a table that can seat twelve—which sits next to another table that can seat twelve. We pushed them together, made room for twenty, and now Saylor is happy. And so am I.

I bring in the turkeys that have been on the smoker since yesterday, load, unload, and reload the oven racks at Saylor’s demand and help her set the table with real, matching dishes I was sent to buy last week, before I’m instructed to go get a shower.

As I let the water beat down on me, I wonder how in the hell I got here. My morning has flown by and Saylor has been so busy trying to make today perfect that I haven’t even gotten a chance to kiss her and tell her good morning. When she slips in behind me and wraps her arms around my waist, I know my little mind-reading witch is finally gonna shed some mercy on her man.

“Thank you for helping me make this happen, baby. You’ll never know how much it means to me.” Her words are forced and I know she is struggling to keep it together. It is no secret that this is the last Thanksgiving Saylor will ever have. I turn in her arms and wrap her in mine.

“You don’t have to thank me. It should be me thanking you for giving me my first ever real Thanksgiving dinner.” She knows it’s my first because we talked about it. But she also knows that this one would mean more even if there’d been years of them before it. I grab her hair in my hand and gently pull until she is looking up at me. “Don’t be sad. Today is gonna be perfect. Just like you.”

And then I kiss her. I kiss away her doubt and her thoughts and her worries. Because that’s what I do. I’m the man of Saylor Samson. And I will be for the rest of my life. No matter how long that is and no matter how long she’s in it.

—

My house is full, everyone is hungry, and Saylor is the most beautiful hostess I have ever seen. She wanted us to dress up so we could take a picture. My look told her I wasn’t. But her frown told me I was. She wanted me to wear something bright because she had never seen me in anything but black. So, I’m standing in the kitchen, daring someone to say something about the bright yellow collared shirt I’m wearing. I even tucked it in. And wore the new jeans Saylor bought me.

I look like an idiot, but nobody is noticing what I’m wearing ’cause they’re all looking at her. Saylor is wearing a yellow dress that wraps across her chest, showing perfect cleavage, and belts at her waist. The sleeves are long but the dress stops just above her knees. On her feet is a pair of shoes that she calls “wedges,” and they’re yellow too. She said we look like Skittles. Which reminded her to get onto me about leaving the empty packs on the nightstand by our bed.

When everyone is seated, ready to dive in, Saylor grabs my hand with one of hers, then offers the other to Carrie, who sits on the right of her and asks if anyone wants to say grace. My eyes dart around the room, wondering how the club would react to her request. I don’t know if this isn’t uncommon or if they’re so hungry they’ll do just about anything to eat, but they all hold hands and take off their hats. Rookie agrees to bless the food, and I watch as all my brothers bow their heads while he gives thanks. When the prayer is over, I realize I’m the only man who didn’t bow, and the only man who didn’t say amen.

Everyone eats, complimenting Saylor on how good everything is, and she smiles then tells them that I helped too. I’m trying to force myself to eat, but my appetite is gone. Here, in my house and at my table, are the men I call family and the woman I love. I look at each of them smiling, eating, and acting as if it’s just another Thanksgiving Day. But it’s not. It’s Saylor’s last Thanksgiving Day. And right now, I feel like I’m the only motherf*cker who cares about that.