She took his silence as affirmation of his seriousness. Her own face turned serious. “Of course I’ll marry you,” she whispered with tears in her voice.
Bull didn’t hesitate. As gently as he could, he claimed her mouth. He had needed to since the moment he laid eyes on her. Once he was done he pulled back slightly. She was smiling. Almost laughing. Bull didn’t know how the fuck this was possible. She had just agreed to become his forever. He was happy. Ecstatic. But she was still sitting in front of him, injured. Battered, but not broken. And somehow smiling.
“What?” he clipped.
Her eyes twinkled and flickered to Crawford, who had been watching the entire exchange with a blank expression. Bull had decided to ignore him.
“We totally have to make up a ‘how did he propose’ story,” she informed him in a light tone. “The whole ‘he did it in a basement where I was chained up after being kidnapped,’ might not be appropriate for the grandchildren,” she finished on a smile.
The tightening of his form went unnoticed at the mention of their grandchildren as paramedics and more cops arrived. Bull was gently pushed to the side and he struggled not punch the fucker that suggested he move farther away. The look he gave the paramedic seemed to communicate something because no one uttered such a suggestion again.
One Year Later
“Mom!” a familiar voice screamed at me from downstairs.
I jerked slightly, my eyes focusing on the thing in front of me. The thing I was both crazy happy about and equally shitting myself about.
“Mom!” the voice repeated with impatience.
I sighed.
Once I got to the hallway I came face to face with my beautiful girl. Usually in a year, a teenage girl’s style changes about fifty times, as did her room decoration choices, makeup application, and boyfriends. As mentioned many times before, Lexie was not a normal teenage girl. Had I not birthed and raised her myself I wouldn’t have believed such a creature existed. Her style had not changed, evidenced by her faux leather shorts with a silky tank tucked in, a printed kimono layered over top. A single braid with a feather hanging off it was almost buried in her ringlets, which reached the small of her back when they were out, like they were now. Even at seventeen—nearly eighteen as she loved reminding me—she wore little makeup. Not that she needed any, the little minx; her freckles were still prominent under the little dusting of powder on her face. And the boyfriend? Still the same. I would be surprised if that ever changed. Killian started prospecting for the Sons six months ago when he turned eighteen. All of his time was either spent at the clubhouse or with Lexie. He still adored her with that furious intensity that had worried me up until the day he saved her life. Then there was the day he took a bullet for her. So yeah, it was safe to say the fact that the kid loved my daughter more than anything wasn’t the problem. The problem was Lexie was heading for somewhere bigger, better, and more glittery than Amber, evidenced by the success of her band in the past year. It seemed every weekend I was dragging Zane and more than likely Amy and or Rosie to gigs. They had just started putting their songs on YouTube and were getting crazy amounts of attention already. Keeping his promise, Clay had invited a record exec friend of his to the band’s latest gig. They had called the next day for a meeting, which was tomorrow. It was safe to say Lexie and the boys utterly lost their shit and were rehearsing non-stop to make sure they were flawless for the meeting. I wasn’t even sure they’d need to play; actually I didn’t know anything about the ins and outs of a meeting with record industry big wigs. As a momager I so needed to brush up on that stuff. I’d planned on doing Googling or something today, but what I’d held in my hands moments before had made me reevaluate the day’s plans.
“Mom,” Lexie repeated for the third time in disapproval.
“No one here resides by that name. I’m sorry, young girl,” I told her airily. “Have you tried the house next door? I’m sure I heard that very name, called in that very same tone, by a bratty six-year-old.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Have you seen my guitar?”
“It’s big and roundish, kind of hard to miss. How’d you lose it, young Padawan?” I asked, directing her into my—no, wait—our room. Almost a year of being married and I still forgot sometimes. Though the mingling of the clothes with mine and the various pairs of manlike footwear scattered about the place should have served as a reminder. Oh, and the impossibly handsome and hulking man who made my life amazing every single day. And made my nights full of passion every single night. And made my daughter and I safe and protected with every breath we took. So don’t ask me how I forgot.
“Why is it in here?” she asked, rushing to snatch her guitar from the spot where it was resting.
I leaned against the doorway. My kid was frazzled, which hardly ever happened. Only once on her very first gig did she get nerves. Apart from that, she was as cool as a cucumber. But now, on the eve of possibly the most important meeting of her life, she was understandably shaken. Which was why, I reasoned, she hadn’t noticed Killian’s decidedly odd behavior since she had announced said meeting. I had noticed it, because even though I too was beside myself with excitement, I was also super vigilant in anything to do with my kid. And Killian was practically an extension of Lexie. He was, apart from music, her world. And she, apart from the club, was his. But the look he got when she told him of the meeting that would possibly take her on the road to superstardom worried me.