Chapter 9
A year after the trial, Jack called me into his office.
He looked older. Tired. But happy. The club was thriving. The scholarship fund had helped twenty kids. The town had finally accepted Silver Ridge as part of the community.
"Claire," he said, pushing a piece of paper across the desk. "We want you to have this."
It was a patch. Silver Ridge. But smaller. A civilian patch — for honorary members. For family.
"I can't," I said. "My father — he was a member. But I'm not —"
"You're Daniel's daughter," Jack said. "You saved this club. You brought Rook down. You gave us back our honor. You're family. And family wears the patch."
I took it. I held it. The silver letters. The ridge symbol. And I thought about my father — wearing this same patch, believing in this same club, dying to protect it.
"I'll wear it," I said. "With pride."
Jack smiled. "Your father would be proud."
That summer, Jesse proposed. On the roof of the clubhouse. Under the stars. With a ring he'd made himself — silver, with a small crescent moon. The mark. Our mark.
I said yes.
We got married in the fall. Small ceremony. In the cemetery? No. In the clubhouse yard. Surrounded by Silver Ridge. By Ruth. By Torres. By the kids from the scholarship fund. By Jack — who walked me down the aisle.
I wore a white dress. And on my left arm, the crescent mark was visible. Proud. Bright. A part of me.
Jesse cried when he saw me. I cried too. Jack cried. Ruth cried. Even some of the big, bearded bikers cried.
We wrote our own vows. I promised to never stop fighting. To never hide. To love fiercely. Jesse promised to always have my back. To never let me run alone.
After the ceremony, we went to my father's grave. We left a piece of wedding cake. And a photo. Of me. Of Jesse. Of the life we were building.
May you like
"See you later, Dad," I said.
And I swore I could feel him smile.
