And I would never let him be alone in his pain. Because he never let me be alone in mine.
Gage’s eyes were plastered to mine. His fingers were going white with the force in which he was clutching the phone. I was vaguely worried it might shatter in his hands. But I was more worried about the heart inside of the ribs of the man I loved shattering.
Because I heard the low murmur of someone on the other side of the phone, the light and soft tenor to it had me guessing it was his mom.
But Gage was silent.
He was too terrified to speak.
The man who made bombs on Sundays, who killed drug dealers without blinking, who punched police officers, who walked in the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and was afraid of none of that ugliness, was afraid of the utter goodness that was his mother.
Because nothing could hurt you more than beauty.
I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his, not letting his eyes go. I didn’t speak, he didn’t need words. He needed strength.
The strongest man I’d ever met needed strength. From me.
So I gave it to him.
And he spoke.
The conversation was clipped. On his side at least. I could hear a lot from the other side of the phone.
“So you’ll come to the wedding?” Gage asked. “Meet my Lauren?”
His arms flexed around me.
My heart flexed in my chest.
So they were here, waiting to watch their son—who they thought they’d lost forever—get married.
We’d met them yesterday when they arrived.
They weren’t what I was expecting.
I guessed I expected the mammoth presence that was Gage to be sprouted from two big and burly parents, with stern expressions and hard edges.
But everything about his parents was soft.
His mom was tiny. Shorter than me and in heeled wedges.
She had been pretty once.
Before the world had ripped through all her beauty and happiness and drained it from her. Deep lines were etched into her elven face, her hair graying and piled artfully atop her head.
But it all disappeared, and the beautiful woman she once was appeared the second she glimpsed Gage and I.
His hands tightened around mine.
She came running toward us.
I expected her to yank Gage into her embrace, and I guessed he expected it too, since his entire body was taut. But it was me she yanked into her arms. And for a small woman, she had strength. I shouldn’t have been surprised. You needed strength to go through what she did and still stand. Still live.
She smelled of vanilla.
“Thank you,” she sobbed, her arms iron around me. “Thank you for bringing him back to us.”
I let her hold me for a long time, until the first wave of her tears had dried against my shirt.
Gage’s father was dry eyed when she let me go. And he was just staring at Gage in utter wonder, still, as if he were afraid he’d disappear if he moved.
“Dad,” Gage grunted, his voice throaty and uneven.
The older, smaller, graying man in front of the larger one with his eyes flinched with the single word.
And then he reached up, slow as anything and trailed his finger along Gage’s temple.
“Christian,” he murmured, cupping his face. “My boy.” He paused, looking to me with kind eyes filled with agony. “My man,” he corrected.
It wasn’t easy and soft from there. There was still a long way to go. But we had time.
And Gage’s parents were good people. They were going to wait for their son. They had waited decades already.
Gage’s terror had given way to something that would turn into a good thing.
I was terrified of this day. But that was a good thing too.
I finally picked up the phone.
“Hey,” I murmured. “I’m going to see you at the other end of an aisle in T minus ten.” I glanced at my racy lingerie in the mirror.
“Are you in your dress?” he clipped, voice rough.
I smiled, my palms resting on the ivory lace of my corset, tight enough to push my modest bosom up and loose enough to make sure I could breathe. I had matching frilly boy-short white panties on with a matching garter belt, attached to sheer white stockings with lace trimming the top edge.
“No, I’m not in my dress,” I whispered, my stomach already dipping at the thought of what he’d do to me once he saw this.
There was nothing but a low hiss of breath on the other end of the phone, then dead air.
I blinked.
Did he just hang up on me?
Minutes before our wedding?
Now, I knew my biker was brusque and all tough guy and had to hold on to his badass card and make sure he didn’t have long and soulful conversations in public, but it was his wedding day.
Surely he could handle a “Love you, baby. See you soon, and I’ll make my life by marrying you.” Okay, he couldn’t handle that, but a clipped “I love you, babe” would’ve sufficed.