One night as we lay in bed, he asked me what I thought made us compatible, why I thought we worked. So, I told him some of the qualities that attracted me to him.
“Under all that badass biker, there’s tenderness,” I told him. “I know that’s not something you show the world in general. Maybe you’ve only shown it to me, but I’ve seen it, and I know it’s there. You’re really sweet and protective.”
“Protective, yeah, babe. But sweet? Not sure I like being called sweet.”
“You have a good heart, Crash. And even with all the teasing and ribbing and pushing, you’re always there for me in all the ways that count. And when you touch me, you have this gentle way about you.”
A slow grin pulled at his mouth upon hearing my words. But of course, in total Crash style, he pushed for more. “How about sexy?”
I grinned. “Definitely sexy, and you’re very perceptive.”
His brow shot up as if I’d called him effeminate or unmanly. “Perceptive?”
“You always pick up on how I’m feeling. Sometimes you know what’s bothering me before I do. You cut through all the bullshit straight to the heart of the problem and make me bring it out and face it.”
I’ll be the first to admit, not always a pleasant experience, but always necessary and always therapeutic. Whatever it is, he lets me get it out and gives me time and space to deal with it. And I know, even when he backs away to give me that time and space, that he is always, always there for me to lean on when I need him.
Crash…
There was a special meeting called for the Thursday before our wedding. We never had church on a Thursday, but since most of the club was going to be attending our wedding, I figured they wanted to get it out of the way before we all left town. With the meeting winding up, Mack said there was just one more item on the agenda.
When he didn’t continue I looked over at him. He looked at me. Suddenly, his serious expression gave way to a shit-eating grin.
With that, the rest of the club bum-rushed me.
I hit the floor a second later. They cuffed me to a chair, and thus began my bachelor party.
From every member, I had to take a punch, and then I had to take a shot of Jack.
They got me pretty wasted before they stripped my down. Then they called in the strippers. What seemed like every one of Sonny’s girls came in the room one at a time and gave me a lap dance, poured a shot down my throat, and then to top it off, each one of them wrote their name and number on my body with permanent marker. Just the kind of body art you want for your honeymoon. At some point, I passed out.
Finally they took me out, still cuffed to the chair.
All I remember from the rest of the night is being lifted up a bunch of stairs. There must have been a few club hanger-ons and spectators, because they were hooting and hollering as the boys carried me up. They took me to Cole’s room, where I was left to sleep it off, still cuffed to the chair.
Shannon washed off most of the names and numbers when I saw her the next day, of course she had to scrub my skin raw to get the permanent ink off, but I gritted my teeth and smiled through it, not about to utter a single complaint at her less-than-tender ministrations.
By the ceremony on Saturday, the bruising on my face had faded from an ugly purple and black to an equally gruesome yellow. My fat lip had diminished, and my puffy swollen left eye had gone down enough that I could finally see out of more than the slit it had been. Maybe my marked-up body and beat-up face wasn’t the stuff dream weddings were made of, but my bride took it all in stride, smiling up at my busted-up mug as the minister pronounced us husband and wife.
Now it was our wedding night. We were in the hotel in Reno, where Shannon had first proposed to me. I felt it only right to bring her back here for the wedding. I walked over to the window and could see the lit up outdoor pool below, where most of our guests were still partying on after our departure, the water glowing aqua-blue from the underwater lights.
I pulled my tie off and twisted to see Shannon kicking her shoes off and diving into the gifts that were piled in our room. “Baby, leave that for later. I didn’t bring you up to our room to open gifts. That’s not what I want to do on our wedding night.” I unbuttoned my shirt and pulled it off, tossing it aside.
“Just one, sweetheart, please?” she begged, sticking her sweet lower lip out. Christ she could play me like a fiddle. She was quickly learning I couldn’t say no to her.
“All right, Princess, you can open one. Just one. Then your husband wants your undivided attention for the rest of the night.”
“You got it, sweetie.” She patted the floor next to her. “Come here.”
I walked over and stood behind her, not about to sit curled up on the floor like she was. My hands began unpinning her hair as she sorted through the packages.
“I don’t know which one to choose.”
“Just pick one, babe, or I’m changing my mind.” I began unhooking the back of her dress.
She picked up a large flat one that was leaning against the pile. There was a card taped to the front of it. She pulled it free and tore it open, reading it aloud.
You’re a talented photographer, Shannon, but this picture I took with my cell phone will always be my favorite of you and Crash. If you look closely, you can see the smile on your face.