Jesus Christ.

The Fallen Crusties were out and in full force. I watched them from my front porch again. The cigarette in one hand, the lighter in the other, and a 40-ouncer between my legs. I was as white-trash as possible. Again.

Sunglasses over my eyes.

My top was low, my shorts tight and high, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I even had my hair all blowing in the wind, because I didn’t give a shit.

That asshole.

Like I didn’t know what he was doing.

He went off, saying he’d fix everything, and it had been three days of silence.

Three. Fucking. Days.

Not a goddamn word.

“Hey.”

And just like that, now he’s here?

I looked up, saw him standing on the sidewalk, looking all hot and shit. He wore frayed jeans that slid down his hips and a white T-shirt. That shirt—I hated those shirts. They weren’t supposed to look good. They’re basic shirts. Basic. That should mean they’d look basic on everyone, but nope. Not this asshole who’s graced with some of the best genes I’ve known.

Fucker.

All calm-like, I lit my cigarette.

“Heather.”

Staring him down, I flicked it at him.

He batted it away, hissing. When it fell on the ground, he ground it out. “Are you serious?”

I grunted, not answering, and pulled the ouncer from between my legs. It’d been there so long it was warm, but I didn’t care. I’d had two others before grabbing this one. I took another healthy swig.

Three. Days.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Fuck you.”

He sighed, coming up the two steps to my porch. “You’re pissed.”

“And you’re smart.”

My throat burned. I needed to finish the ouncer.

“It’s six in the evening.”

Which meant I needed to catch up. I was behind. I finished my ouncer and held it out.

Channing took it. “Can we talk now—”

I reached down and grabbed another one from beneath my chair.

“Oh God.”

I opened the can, giving him a bright, wide smile at the sound of it without looking at him. To be honest, I wasn’t seeing much of anything. If I focused on one thing, it started swimming around and my head got all fuzzy.

Channing leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He caught his head in his hands, raking his fingers through his hair.

I ignored how his shirt tightened over his back.

I ignored how his back was tight and corded with muscles, and how it was making me ache in a few places, and—I needed to drink. Heavily.

“Everything’s worked out with the Demons.”

I grunted. “Good for you.” I needed pizza. Swinging my legs down from the railing, I almost clipped Channing in the head.

Almost.

Too bad.

“Where are you going?”

He had no right to sound wary and defeated. That fucker let me hang for three days. Waiting. Worrying. I’d called. He didn’t answer. I’d texted. He didn’t respond.

Fucker.

FUCKER!

“Heather.” He grabbed for my hand.

I held it up. “No.” A step forward. The porch was tipping. Nope. I caught him on the head, righting myself. I could do this. I could go inside and make a pizza. My stomach was growling, and fuck it all, I was going to eat the greasiest pizza ever.

Or whatever was in the freezer.

Wobbling inside, I felt like I was walking on a slant, but I made it. The screen door slammed shut behind me. I needed to grab the counter. Using it as a base, I maneuvered myself around it and into the kitchen.

I had to use the counter all the way past the microwave, sink, coffeepot, stove, and then the fridge. Aha. At last. Touchdown.

I opened the freezer door with a burst of energy.

Fumbling through the cartons, I pulled out one of the pizzas. I didn’t care which one. I just grabbed the first round thing and dropped it on the stove.

“You’re going to make pizza? In your condition?”

The—I couldn’t…why wouldn’t it open? I stuck it in my mouth and tried to bite the wrapping. There. It tore open. I flung an arm backward, my middle finger in the air.

“You,” I barked, letting the pizza drop on the stove again. “You don’t start. I’m still deciding if I want to talk to you.”

He let out a sigh.

I fumbled around, grabbing a pan and putting the pizza on it. I was putting it in the oven, feeling pretty proud of myself, when Channing walked up behind me. He reached over and took the pizza out.

“Hey—” My voice died as he turned the oven on. “Oh.”

His hand went to my hip. He turned me around gently. “Go and sit down. I’ll make it for you.”

“I like it extra crispy.”

“I know.”

“I like it with just cheese.”

“I know.” He was picking something off it. I focused and saw I’d grabbed the sausage one. He was taking all of them off.

“I—”

“Go and sit.”

He abandoned the pizza, settling both his hands on my hips, and he walked me backward until I felt one of the chairs behind me. I sat, and he leaned down, his face close to mine.

He stared hard at me, his forehead almost touching mine. “I know what pizza you like, how you like it, how you want it cut. I know how you like to eat it on a paper towel, how you’ll want a beer with it, but I’m really only going to give you a soda, and then I know you’ll eat one piece, but will want a second, and I’ll sneak one on your plate and you’ll eat it, pretending it’s been there the whole time.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I know you as if you’re me. Okay?”

I wiped something away from my eyes. I didn’t know what that was. And my throat was swelling over a lump.

I didn’t know why that was there either.

“Well.” I wiped again. “I’m just hungry, that’s all.”

“I know you are.” A second kiss, this one to my cheek, and a third to the corner of my mouth before he went back to the oven. He finished picking off all the sausage, and after a few minutes, he started talking.

“In first grade, you gave me my first Trapper Keeper.”

He turned around, resting his hands on the oven door behind him.

I frowned. What was he talking about?

He looked down. “I didn’t have one. I didn’t have anything except a folder the school counselor gave me. That was it. Then second grade, you gave me a football. It wasn’t much to you. You probably don’t remember—”

I did. Barely. “It was one of Brad’s. I was mad at him, so I took it to piss him off.”

Channing still didn’t look at me. He tightened his hold on the oven door, cording his arm muscles. “He saw me with it. I was walking home and he pulled over, asked where I got it. His initials were written on it in red marker. He saw it from the street. When I told him my friend gave it to me, he didn’t take it away. He could’ve.” His voice was gruff. “He gave me a basketball that Christmas. I never told you.”

Oh man. My throat was really burning now. I whispered, “He never told me either.”

Channing finally looked up. His eyes were shining. “He gave me a baseball that spring and my first catching mitt. He gave me cleats. He made sure I had everything I needed for the next year with sports.”

I was speechless.

“Third grade, you told me you would care. It was the first time I’d heard that phrase in a long while. My mom…she cared, but she was too exhausted from life. The moments when a mom makes her child feel loved, I didn’t get those, not enough. So yeah, when you said it, it stuck out to me. I realized then you were my best friend.”

A tear slipped down my cheek. I did remember that.

“Fourth grade, I kissed you on the cheek.”

I gasped. “You did not.”

“I tried. You gave me a black eye.” He chuckled, but his voice was still soft, still rough. “Then in fifth grade, we held hands.”

“Your friends,” I said accusingly, “tried to steal my Halloween candy.”

He smirked. “You’re right. It was just your candy.”

I snorted.

“In sixth grade, I realized you were jealous of other girls.”

Another snort, but damn, it was true. I growled. “Fucking Tate. She was bad news from the start. I should’ve known.”

“When you were in seventh grade, we kissed.”

I remembered. I remembered what else had happened that year too.

“You never told anyone.” He knew what I was talking about.

“Your mom left, again. But I would’ve.” His eyes were fierce, steadfast on me. “If you had continued, I would’ve.”

Aaand my throat was swelling once again.

His head dropped again. “My mom died that year, and you held my hand during the funeral.”

My face was getting hot. We did more than hold hands that night.

“My dad was abusive to me, and she was gone, and that—that was the start of the end for me. I was out of control, but you were my constant. Everything else in my life was fucked up, and the only time some of the storm went away was with you. Sometimes I needed you desperately, and sometimes I hated you for it. I hated needing you. I hated loving you. I hated depending on you, and I knew all of that even in fucking eighth grade. Shit. I knew that earlier on. You were mine. It was just the way it was.”

More tears.

I hated those things.

“There was a blackness in me. It ate me up every day, more and more, and I pushed you away.” A dry laugh slipped from him. “I didn’t realize I would push you all the way to Fallen Crest. Fuck me. That’s what I thought when you went, but then I thought maybe it would be better for you. Better school. Better community. I wouldn’t be dragging you down.” He bit out the last sentence, shaking his head. “I didn’t let you go. I shoved you away. I had no one except my guys, but I swear, Heather. I swear. I didn’t want to pull you back. I didn’t want to—I just couldn’t stay away, but I tried. I tried so hard. You were better off without me. I knew it. Your dad knew it. You knew it. Everyone fucking knew it.”

“Channing,” I said, softly.

“No.” He shook his head. “That’s not what this is. I’m leading up to something.”

“Oh.”

He clipped out a laugh. “I told you that day I would be good enough for you one day. One day. It’s taken me almost ten years, but even though there’s no way I’ll be good enough for you, there’s no way I’m worthy of you, I’m hoping you’ll take me.”

Whaaaaaaaaat?

The oven beeped. In that weird and awkward and confusing moment, he put the pizza in. He programmed the timer, then turned to stalk toward me.

My mind was spinning. Now I wasn’t sure if it was the booze or something else.

I saw two of him for an instant.

He knelt in front of me, taking my hands in his.

What the hell is going on?

“I have not texted you back or called you—not because I’m an inconsiderate asshole. This time, it’s the opposite. Because I’ve been trying to do everything possible to get ready for you. I did all of this for you.”

“What are you talking about?”

His hands squeezed mine. He looked up at me. “It took a few days, but everything is sorted with the Red Demons.”

He told me what happened, along with the part about his dad joining up.

“Oh, Channing.” I started to kneel with him. I wanted to comfort him, touch him.

He shook his head. “No, stay there.”

“But your dad—”

“He is not a part of this conversation anymore, not after this. It’s done. The whole battle with the Red Demons, that’s done too. They won’t push into Roussou anymore. And I think my sister is okay. My crew is okay. And…” He took a breath. “I was prepared to offer myself for the guys. I was going to offer to leave the crew. I was hoping that would be good enough for them, in case something happened, but it wasn’t just an offer to the Red Demons.” He stopped, closed his eyes, kissed my hand, and started again. “I left the crew.”

I couldn’t…

There were no words.

No thoughts.

I only stared at him.

“Huh?”

“You said you wanted to do things differently. You said you wanted this to be the final time. You said we had to shit or get off the pot. You said it all, and I’m here. I’m doing all of this because I want you. I want everything you said too. I’ve changed. I made the sacrifice. I know you’ve been trying. You were going to leave Manny’s because of me, my crew, but it’s not your turn. It’s mine. It’s my time, Heather.”

He smiled, and that smile was so tender, so loving, so gentle that I started a whole new burst of tears.

“The root of our problems is me. Never you. I was fucked up growing up, and then it became about the crew, about staying away from you, then Bren. I was the root of our problems. I knew as long as I was with the crew, you weren’t first, but that’s over. I’m out. I left the crew for us, for you. It’s time,” he said again.

I blinked.

What.

The.

Fuck?

My throat was closing up.

A look of wonder came over him. He pressed a hand over my stomach. “We made a life in here. She was coming, whether we were ready or not, and I wasn’t. Not then, but I wanted it. I wanted everything she signified. Our past, present, and future. She brought everything to the forefront. We needed to get ready. There was no other choice. It was you and her, and me. I knew it then, and then we lost her, and I hated it.”

We were together that night, but like other times, we’d pulled away.

I’d pushed him away. He went away. Neither of us fought for the other.

I was ashamed.

“Channing.”

“No.”

I tried to sit down with him again, but he held me in place. His hand was warm on my stomach.

“I want another one, and if I can’t have one, I don’t care. I want you. I want the forever.”

“What?”

I was crying.

The oven was going to beep. I could smell the pizza. My stomach growled under his hand, but then his hand was gone.

He was holding—he was a holding a ring instead.

Oh… OH!

“I was going to do this in front of your staff, your brother, my guys. I had it all set up, but it didn’t feel right. Then I came here. You were drunk. You were pissed at me and feisty. You wanted your pizza, which you usually do if you’ve been drinking, and it felt right. So, I decided to do it now. I hope you’re okay with it, because with all that said…” He took a deep breath, biting down once before saying, “It’s my time to give you everything. To make you everything for me.” A slight pause. “Heather Jax, will you marry me?”

I couldn’t—I swear, there were two rings now.

“I’m drunk!” I blurted. “You’re proposing now?!”

He shrugged. “It seems appropriate somehow.”

“Oh God.” I groaned, but holy shit.

He leaned forward and pressed a loving kiss to my stomach. He whispered against my skin, “I’ll do it all over again in the morning.”

All over again? I didn’t know if I could handle the emotions. They were crashing through me, in a good way and holy shit!

I fell down, wrapping my arms around him, and I hugged him so tight.

I didn’t even know what I was saying, but all I could think was YES!

I pushed back, framing his face with my hands. I knew those tears were still on my face, but I didn’t care. “Yes. I’ll marry you.”

“Yeah? You sure? I can ask tomorrow again. You can tell me tomorrow.”

It wouldn’t matter. I loved him. He was mine. I was his, but I still nodded, choked up and crying, and not giving a shit.

He kissed me, folding his arms around me, and he stood with me in his arms.

He turned off the oven.

We kept kissing.

He walked us upstairs.

So much kissing.

We showed each other how much we loved the other.

And he asked me in the morning, and my answer was the same.

A whole fucking resounding yes.

---

---

Heather trailed her finger down my arm. Manny’s had closed long ago, and we spent the entire time in bed. We’d been at it the whole night, only pausing to finally eat that pizza. Heather had insisted.

“Tell me again.”

I wrapped my arms around her, lifting her on top of me, and leaned back against her headboard. She trailed her hands down my chest.

Her hair fell down over her shoulders, framing her face and hiding just the tops of her breasts. She was so fierce, so loving, so mine.

I was such a sap.

I caught her waist. “Tell you what again?”

“Everything.”

I nodded, knowing what she wanted.

I told her how Lincoln had decked me when I announced I was leaving the crew.

I told her how Congo had started crying.

I told her how Chad had exploded, and once he started, he couldn’t stop.

I told her how Moose had wiped a tear from his eye but was the first to hug me. He was the first to congratulate me too.

And I told her how they’d all lined up, all saying congratulations, and all hating it at the same time.

I told her how I’d talked to Brandon and told him what I’d done so he knew not to buy her part of Manny’s, no matter what she said.

I told her how I’d called her dad and gotten his approval, though it was a reluctant approval.

I told her how I’d called and thanked her brother, Brad, and also gotten his approval.

I caught her hand in mine, lacing our fingers as I shared the last bit for the first time. “I asked for Bren’s approval too.”

She stilled, her eyes holding mine. “Yeah?” she breathed.

“Bren’s happy for us. She grunted, literally, and said, ‘about fucking time.’”

Heather started laughing. “Good. That’s good.”

“This is it for us.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re going to grow old together and get boring.” I raised an eyebrow. “You ready for that?”

She let out another breath of air and melted into me. I raked my hand through her long hair. Her breath warmed my shoulder and she reached out to hug me.

Then I felt her lips move against my skin. “I’ve been ready for forever.”

I grinned, nuzzling her hair and tightening my arms around her.

She pinched me. “And I don’t think we’ll ever get boring. It’s not in our DNA.”

I squirmed away from her fingers. She smiled against me again, and I replied, “Yeah. Maybe not.”

Then I told her about the next business venture I wanted to take.