Page 20 of Chains and Vows

But you know what they say.

Better late than never.

It's just about noon when June and Havoc's farmhouse comes into view.

It looks like a fuckin' rally. That's how many bikes are linin' the dirt driveway. Harleys, and Indians, and beaters I don't even recognize, parked three deep in the grass, kickstands sinkin' into soft earth.

Cars too. Pickups with their tailgates down. Box trucks backed up to the porch like they're loadin' for war. Vans with their side doors slid open. A couple of RVs pulled off into the field, generators hummin'.

Every kind of vehicle you can imagine.

And people. At least a hundred of 'em. Maybe more. All doin' things. All movin' with purpose. Carryin' boxes down porch steps. Packin' shit into truck beds with their sleeves rolled up and sweat already darkenin' their collars even though the day ain't that hot yet. Tossin' broken furniture and busted-up junk into a roll-off dumpster that somebody hauled out here on a flatbed.

Kids runnin' between the legs of grown men.

Women with clipboards pointin' at things.

Guys in cuts and guys in flannels workin' side by side.

I slow the bike down, let the idle drop low, and just take it in for a second. The sound of it. The sight of it. All these people showin' up for a dead man's family like it's the most natural thing in the world.

There's no way I can ride all the way up to the farmhouse—too many bodies, too many vehicles chokin' the path—so I slide into a spot next to an old Softail with duct tape on the seat and a faded Sons of Dust sticker barely hangin' on the rear fender.

I kill the engine, swing my leg over, and stand there for a second as the silence rushes in where the motor used to be. Then I walk the rest of the way up to the commotion.

People look at me funny, but no one stops me or tells me anything. So I just keep walkin’, headin' towards the house where I figure June will be.

And she is. In the kitchen sittin' on the counter top, reachin’ into cupboards and handin’ dishes down to someone's old lady to be wrapped and packed. She's wearin’ cut off shorts and a tank top. Black boots on her feet that look like they've seen actual combat. Her hair a little bit messy.

But she looks… normal.

And I'm not sure how that's possible, to be honest.

How a woman can lose her best friend. The love of her life. Her ride-or-die partner to the end and just… carry on.

I don't think I could.

I don't think I would.

June sees me and smiles. "Legion. You came."

"Yeah," I say. Shovin' my hands in my pockets. "I came."

June looks at her friend. "Give us a minute, will ya?"

The woman nods, placing a dish on the kitchen table on her way out.

June doesn't get down off the counter, simply shifts her body so her legs are hanging off the edge. She looks young here. I know she's in her forties somewhere. But she's so damn small and cute, it's like she doesn't age.

"He was a grown man," June says. "Whatever happened in church, he decided to be there."

"He did," I agree. Mostly because it makes me feel better. "But he was in church because of me."

"That's not true," June says. "He was in church for you, yes. But not because of you, Legion. Havoc said yes to Brick just like everyone else. He didn't want to, but he figured…" She pans her hands wide. "He had a lot to lose if he took a stand. You gave him a reason to take a stand. And this is not a small thing. Because, you see, Havoc died with a heavy weight lifted off his soul. Wherever he went after, he went there knowing he tried to make it right."

A long breath comes out of me because that was some heavy shit.

June hops down, walks over to me, and gives me a hug.