“Deal,” she said, and held out her wrist.
He slid the corsage on like it was something sacred.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
“I know,” she replied, and for the first time in days, my heart didn’t hurt when she said it.
Inside the gym, the decorations were as cliché as you’d expect.
Paper hearts. Streamers. A balloon arch. A banner that said “DADDY-DAUGHTER DANCE: A NIGHT TO REMEMBER” in curling letters.
Everyone remembered it for reasons the banner designer never imagined.
The music started low.
A slow song. Something old and soft.
The fathers led their daughters onto the floor.
Then the bikers did.
A wall of denim and leather under suits formed around the edge of the dance floor, then melted as each man found his girl.
James, six-foot-five with a shaved head and a tattoo of a snake curling up his neck, crouched down to pin a corsage on a tiny five-year-old in a blue dress.
“There you go, sweetheart,” he said, hands careful. “Don’t worry, I won’t stab you. Did my best practice on a pillow.”
She giggled.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Lily,” she whispered.
“Well, Lily,” he said, “I’m James. I’m here as your stand-in dad tonight. It’s an honor.”