Chapter 60: Bad Girls Get Married In Flannel And Boots

I couldn't figure out how to post a playlist. Therefore, I can only post one-half of Madam's musical "vows."   H.O.L.Y. by Georgia Florida Line is what Adam sings to Mac. To hear the song Mac sings to Adam, PLEASE listen to the YouTube cover of Best Shot by Nicole Rayy. I think these two country love songs capture Madam completely!

Mac

"Oh my fucking god," I moan around the fork of barbecue that Adam feeds me while I sit in his lap.

"Sssssshhhhh, toddler's learning phrases in earshot," he laughs as Brett's eyes go wide and she stops herself from covering Billie's ears. He buries his face against my shoulder. "Starving pregnant lady," he says by way of excuse, holding out his hands to Tyler and Brett.

It's a damn good excuse. I am pregnant. And starving.

"Ohhhh, sorry," I mumble as I grab Adam's utensil and swirl another forkful of pig into the sauce. "This is the best sauce I've ever had," I attest.

"Family recipe," Joely says as she breezes by our grouping of Adirondack chairs. "We could always do barbecue for a wedding reception."

"Or maybe just an illegitimate baby shower," I shoot back with an easy grin.

Joely Heartley and I have made a sort of peace built on equal and opposite strength.

"We'll see," she says as she saunters away to some older guests.

"You'll see," I murmur to her retreating back as I offer Adam a fork of barbecue and Adam tries to show me house stuff on Tyler's phone.

"I like that stone." Really, I don't care. I just picked one. Adam squints at it, spreading his fingers on Tyler's phone to get a better look. "Unless you don't," I add. "Really, it's whatever you want, Adam. As long as it has 13 bedrooms. Two for each Soundcrusher—one for them and one for their eventual kids. Thirteen bedrooms is my only requirement."

"I like that stone, too. But...it seems like you've got a couple extra bedrooms there," he notes.

"Well obviously, our kids need their own bedrooms." I say, gnawing on piece of corn. "It will be their part-year home."

Everyone around our group of Adirondacks—Brett, Tyler, Trace, Kat, Leed, Tam, Ben, and Adam—cock their heads in mathematical calculation.

Trace is quickest. I see the count dawn automatically in his eyes, but he just shakes his head at me like I'm insane and murmurs, "Breeder."

"Hold up, I'm drunk," Leed looks up from his phone, and reaches for the bottle of tequila at his feet. "So I must be confused. He takes a swig and points at me with a swaying finger...like there are three of me. "Is my math right? Are you sayin' you want four kids?"

I just gnaw on my corn, with raised eyebrows.

It's fucking crazy, I know. Never fucking ever would I have believed you, if you'd told me a year ago I would want four kids. But Adam...

He makes me want to embrace life. Embrace joy. Embrace abundance.

Kat squeals, "Awwwww, many Madam mini's!" and everyone laughs.

Adam lifts the hair from my neck and places a very sweet, very light kiss on the back of my neck. It's the first time in a long time that's felt good-- anyone touching me there. Not since my assault. But his lips on my most vulnerable, most sensitive, most flighty spot feel like moonlight pouring peace into my spine.

Fluid, silver serenity.

My whole composition softening and remaking against his firm, solid structure.

I'm completely hooked on this boy. For a second I think I've hooked him too, and that he'll go along with whatever I say, but then I feel the wicked grin curl against the back of my neck and he tilts to the side, pushing his face over my shoulder. "She gets one kid for free. She has to pony up with rings for the other three." He holds up both our hands. "That's the deal."

Everyone laughs, and then I feel the Reverend from out of nowhere, passing by and patting my shoulder. "Don't worry, Mac. I'll be happy to perform emergency nuptials when you are ready for the next little one."

"You keep prayin' for that, Rev." I stick my tongue out at him.

I can see my Preacher's humble sexy grin in the mold of his father's mirthful mouth. "Oh, I already have. It's in the bag. You are mighty, I'll give you that, but I have the Lord on my side," he jokes as he saunters away.

"We don't usually bet against him," Brett shrugs with an adorable look of sympathy. I suck in a determined breath and they all laugh.

Look, at this point, I'm not so much against marrying Adam. It's more like, I refuse to yield to this stubborn, maddening crowd of Heartleys and their ideas of tradition.

What can I say? I'm a bad, bad girl. Holding Adam hostage in sin just for spite.

The very good local cover band that was hired to provide atmosphere is returning from their break. The adorable country boy in a cowboy hat steps up to the mic with a beer. "Alright. Y'all all know...we are just here to hold instruments for the real talent. Adam, y'all ready to come on up and sing some songs? Now...unless y'all want to go full-on and play, they have to be country songs," he qualifies. "Think of us as your live country karaoke band."

A bunch of whistles erupt from the crowd. Mike Rawlins yells, "Naw, Josh. That ain't right. Soundcrush can't do country."

Loud grumbles of disagreement rise up from our group of Adirondack chairs. Adam plants his very warm hands on my buttocks and lifts, yelling, "I got your country right here, Josh Jackson! Ninety percent Georgia peach, with a little Nashville sass piped in."

"Ms. MacKenna Lawson," the lead singer yells and the crowd of several hundred all start cheering and clapping.

I turn around to Adam. "How you want it, Preacher? Sexy or sweet?"

He lays his head back against the lawn chair. "Anyway you want to give it, as long as it's from the heart, Shortcake."

I lean over and kiss him on the lips amid whistles and cat calls. I don't bother to adjust my cutoffs or my tank-top as I strut toward the stage. Never let 'em see you sweat, right?

Josh Jackson takes his hat off as I claim his mic. "Ma'am," he grins at me.

I pull a song up on my phone. "You know this one?" I ask.

"If it's on country radio, we know it," he assures me. He runs through the first few chords to assure me.

He repeats and the band joins in with Jimmie Allen's Best Shot. I step up to the mic with the confidence like I'm playing to a crowd of eighty thousand. Really, there is only one soul I want to reach with this song.

My lover. My best friend. My baby daddy. My faith. My salvation. My past. My future. My most precious present.

My throat suddenly feels thick with emotion. This moment feels big.

Really fucking big.

I breathe into my conviction, knowing that every word of this song means so much, I could have written the fucking thing myself.

Adam is all I see as I sing. My voice surprises even me in its surety. I hit the bridge, I grab the mic and reach out to him. My pitch shifts.

It's so urgent that he feels me.

I mean it so much.

When I saw you for the first time

I knew I'd found amazing grace

It's like angels singing every time I hear your name

When you smile

I see the sun sink down on a coast out in California

And there's no doubt

Because of you, I'm not the girl I was before you

When you smile

I see the sun sink down on a coast out in California

And there's no doubt

Because of you, I'm better than I was before you

I'm not saying that I'm perfect

Oh, God knows I'm not

But I'll love you with everything I've got

Boy, I'll give you my best shot

I think people enjoy it. All I hear is Adam's sigh of pure satisfaction. Well, I can't actually hear it, but I see him close his eyes and breathe, and I've heard that sigh in my ear every night for months, as we fall asleep together. I bow, kicking one cowboy-booted foot in front of the other, and holding out my tied-around flannel shirt like a dress. My gesture is all for him.

His is the light under which I shine the best, and the only adulation I will ever really need.

The beautiful man rises and walks steadily toward me, claiming the stage effortlessly. He kisses my hand in front of the crowd, as he steals my mic. "Well, now, how am I supposed to answer that?" he asks to the crowd.

"On your knees," someone yells. Pretty sure it was Luke.

"That's right. She gave it to you on stage, give it to her!" That's Trace, always quick with quip.

"Family show, man." Adam smiles as he draws me close and nuzzles my ear. "This song I sing, I mean. You are my ecstasy, MacKenna Lawson."

Like it was planned, Josh opens Florida Georgia Line's "H.O.L.Y"

I feel my breath catch as Adam sings the opening verse.

When the sun had left and the winter came

And the sky fall could only bring the rain

I sat in darkness, all broken hearted

I couldn't find a day I didn't feel alone

I never meant to cry, started losing hope

But somehow baby, you broke through and saved me

He's right. We did have some dark times in the last year. But everything changes. Everything changed that night I got weak and brave all at once. Who knew we'd be saving each other and making a baby, when I texted him for a booty call?

You're an angel, tell me you're never leaving

'Cause you're the first thing I know I can believe in

You're holy, holy, holy, holy

I'm high on loving you, high on loving you

You're holy, holy, holy, holy

I'm high on loving you, high on loving you

You made the brightest days from the darkest nights

You're the river bank where I was baptized

Cleanse all the demons

That were killing my freedom

Let me lay you down, give me to ya

Get you singing babe, hallelujah

We'll be touching, we'll be touching heaven

You're an angel, tell me you're never leaving

'Cause you're the first thing I know I can believe in

You're holy, holy, holy, holy

I'm high on loving you, high on loving you

You're holy, holy, holy, holy

I'm high on loving you, high on loving you

There's more, but I hardly hear it through my sobs. I don't even care that I'm crying like a baby on top of the speaker as Adam holds my knee and sings with the surety of sin, and with the conviction of a saint.

Tears flowing freely. Paralyzed in the the feeling racing my spine. I'm that moved. Don't care about my composure. I just care about meeting him where he is...in the rapture of his song.

I don't need the stars 'cause you shine for me

Like fire in my veins, you're my ecstasy

You're my ecstasy

You're holy, holy, holy, holy

I'm high on loving you, high on loving you

You're holy, holy, holy, holy

I'm high on loving you, high on loving you

He finishes. More cheers as he collects me from the speaker and I bury my face against his chest. He kisses down the side of my head, down my neck, across the thin strip of my tank top and lavishing a long lingering promise on my shoulder, before propping his chin there and turning me from the crowd as I sob.

"Okay, somebody take this mic before I effing lose it," he says mildly, and I hear the shake in his voice. He's that moved, too.

There's a reverence. A waiting moment of grace. No one comes to take the mic. No one can steal our spotlight. We are the power and the energy and the love upon the stage, and no one has enough presence to claim it from us.

This our moment. Our big moment.

In our jeans and boots, slightly sweaty and our hair reeking of barbecue smoke.

Our shining Madam moment.

"Adam," I whisper into his ear as I splay my hands against his back. "Fucking hell. I wish you had that ring."

He laughs, a little nervously. "You really think I don't, Shorty?" He pulls it from his pocket as he drops to a bare knee in his ripped jeans. It sparkles like a motherfucker in my tears and the lights strung above the stage. "I had Sawyer send it anyway. Do you really want it, now?" The nervousness is gone, replaced with hope and gravity.

I wipe away my tears so I can see him clearly. "More than anything. Even more than being bad and pretending I don't."

His eyes never leave mine, as he takes the mic and says, "We are so past an engagement, Shortcake. We're deep in the vows. I put this ring on you, we're as married as we ever need to be."

I put my hands to my face, trying to memorize his expression. His eyes collapse into concern at my intensity, but I reach out grasp his face in assurance. "I wish I had a ring for you." My harsh whisper echoes into the mic.

"Fuck. Is that all?" Leed is loping and swaying toward us. He grabs the bassist's instrument and pops a string. He fumbles with it, twisting it around his own finger, fashioning it into an eternal promise. He pulls Adam up from his knees, grabs the mic from him, and hands me the string-ring.

Leed is very drunk but his voice is very sincere and his expression full of awe when he says. "I got you, Baby Girl. Now, I can give up gotting you..." he grips Adam's shoulder. "Because...my boy's got you. Forever? Right, Adam?"

"I do," Adam vows solemnly. He slides that fairy tale right on my finger. I gasp at the pure, happy feeling flooding me.

"What about you, Macaroni? You gonna treat him right? Forever and for real?" Leed asks suspiciously.

"I will," I promise Adam from the depth of my soul.

Leed slaps a hand over his eyes as he snorts back a few snobs. "I know you will," I almost get distracted from my big feelings for Adam by  what a little bitch Leed sounds like, but I manage to slide the makeshift ring on Adam's finger.

"Say some shit to each other," Leed chokes out, gesturing between us as he thrusts the mic in my hand.

"I...I...shit." I murmur, swallowing heavy as I stare into Adam's expectant face. "I'm a goddamn songwriter, and I want to give you the big feels...I...I'm not prepared...I"

"Shortcake...just say it honest," Adam encourages.

I blow out a breath, abandoning my search for something poetic. I slide my hand into his and say what's real. "I love you with the ferocity of creation itself. I'll always walk in faith with you. For fucking ever."

I bring his hands to my stomach, and the crowd murmurs in something like approval or understanding.

Adam goes to his knees again, and presses his head to my stomach, something between a sob and a prayer escapes his lips. I think he's making a vow to our child. Then he rises swiftly. The man strong, resolved and ready, to commit himself to me.

He shakes his head and grins the sexiest, humblest, most beautiful grin of all time. He takes the mic from me and speaks his affirmation.

"Fuck.My.Life.Shortcake. All you want. It belongs to you. Now and Forever."

The crowd laughs, claps and whistles.

"Amen!" Leed shouts with a single hand clap and a dramatic bow of his drunken red-head. Then he pops up, wild-eyed, like a thought occurred to him. "Oh wait! That's not my gig. Rev...come up here and sanctify this union, please!"

Adam's dad moves smoothly to the stage and embraces Leed, which is both funny and heart-warming to me. He puts his hand over the mic and leans between Adam and me, looking at us very seriously. "You two realize...you have to have a license, for me to officiate a legal ceremony."

Adam is still holding my hands, drinking me, giving me life with his gaze. "We don't care about that, Dad. We just want...a simple blessing."

The Reverend smiles. He takes the backs of our heads and gently presses our foreheads together. I lose Adam's gaze but as the Reverend  joins us, I gain a connection with Adam that I have never had. I can't explain it. It's a surety. A knowing.

A Oneness.

"Adam and Mac come in joy and pledge their commitment before the powers of family, creation, and eternity. What miracle God has wrought, no man shall put asunder. I pronounce you husband and wife," he drops the mic, "in your faith in one another," he adds softly, just where Adam and I can hear. "and that's all that really matters. God Bless you, my son and my daughter."

The crowd is cheering, but there is only me and Adam, as he leans down, his joyful eyes blocking out the setting sun. "See how easy that was?" he smirks against my lips.

"Shut-up and use those lips for something good, Preacher."

And he does. He kisses me married. As married as we ever need to be.

Sniff. Ohhhh....did you see this coming? I've had this planned from the very start! Madam's irreverent real-to-them marriage with mostly lyrical vows. And Leed and the Rev doing the honors! What a story to tell Babycakes!!!