The glare is weak, frayed, adorable.
"Don't freak out on me now," I tell her. "You already said yes. You're stuck with me."
A shaky laugh slips out. "That's what I'm freaking out about."
My thumb draws circles above her knee.
"Listen," I say, eyes on the road as we peel out behind Malachi's bike. "I know who I'm stepping in for. I know exactly what kind of war comes with you. Who your father is, what he's capable of, and I'm still driving you to that courthouse."
"I feel like I'm costing you too much."
"Don't," I murmur. "You're not a burden, Sloane. You're the point."
Her hand covers mine. Small. Cool. Trembling. "You're going to regret saying all that when I'm hogging the blankets and rearranging your kitchen," she says, voice breathier than the joke suggests.
"Baby," I say, and the word slides out so naturally I don't have time to stop it. "You can do whatever the fuck you want to my kitchen."
"You just called me—"
"I know what I called you," I cut in. "I meant it."
She turns toward the window, cheeks flushed.
My hand stays on her thigh the whole way to the courthouse.
We pull into the lot ten minutes later, the whole crew behind us. Willowridge's courthouse is old red brick, white columns, and wide steps. The American flag flaps lazily in the morning breeze.
On any other day, just a building. Today, it's the place I take Sloane Mercer apart on paper and put Sloane Turner together in her place.
We don't wait. Malachi had made a call.
The clerk behind the glass looks up, sees Malachi, and straightens so fast his chair squeaks. "Morning, Mr. Hayes," he says.
Malachi tips his chin. "Morning, Dale."
He glances at me, at Sloane, at the gaggle of Outsiders filling his lobby. "You here for…?"
"Marriage license," I say. "And ceremony if you can swing it."
I slide our forms under the glass. Names in blunt, block letters. Knox Turner. Sloane Mercer. Soon to be scratched out and replaced in every system that matters.
Dale glances at the paperwork. Then at Sloane. "Sealed filing, like we discussed?" Malachi nods once. "It'd be our pleasure. Judge Mills is in. I'll let her know you're here." He disappears in the back.
The others spread across the lobby, a low-key security detail. Maggie and Frankie flank Sloane, fussing with a curl, adjusting her necklace, whispering something that makes her huff a nervous laugh.
I stand close enough that my shoulder brushes hers every time she shifts.
"Quit hovering," East says under his breath.
"Eat shit," I answer.
"You ready?" James asks Sloane gently.
"No," she says. "Yes. I don't know."
"That's about right," he says, eyes kind.
Dale returns. "Judge can see you now. Family only in the room, please."