We make the rounds. The prospects shake my hand with that extra squeeze. “We’re ready, Prez,” Hawk says, sounding boyish and solemn at once. “Ready to do it right.”
“You are doing it right,” I tell him, and I mean it. “Keep your head on a swivel and your heart in the room.”
We pause by the back wall so Lena can rest for a minute, and Big Joe rumbles up with Mia attached to his leg like a barnacle. “Look at you,” he says to me in that gravelly tone of his, eyes twinkling. “All respectable.”
“Don’t spread that rumor,” I shoot back. “You’ll ruin my rep.”
Mia wriggles free and flings her arms up. “Up, Daddy!” she chirps and I squat instead, taking her into my arms at ground level. She taps my patch with a solemn finger. “You’re the big boss now.”
“Only of the bikes,” I whisper conspiratorially. “Your mama’s the big boss of everything else.”
Mia giggles. “I’m the boss of the babies,” she declares. “I’m going to read them stories.”
Big Joe clears his throat. “You done good, kid,” he says—kid always, no matter the gray at my temples. Lena’s friend has become an important figure in all our lives, if I thought he would hold it against us that he got shot I’d be very much mistaken. His hand, square and steady, lands on my shoulder. “Proud of the lot of you. You’re good men, just what my Lena needs.”
“Thanks for organizing the food,” I say.
“My pleasure. I might be retired, but I don’t need an excuse to get out the grills,” he answers.
The night stretches long and warm. I keep catching Lena’s profile in the lights—the curve of her smile, the way she touches each person who greets her, palm to elbow, hand to hand, a queen with her court. My chest keeps doing that tight-loose thing. The word family has a new shape now, heavier, softer, inevitable.
When the hour ripens and the air thins with the first hint of weariness, Doc slides up beside us. “Alright,” he says gently, “time to put our queen in her tower. Big Joe’s taking Mia home for a sleepover.”
Mia pops up on her toes to kiss Lena’s belly, then plants a smack on each of our cheeks. “Night-night,” she sings. “Don’t forget to brush your teeth.” She’s parroting Big Joe, and he grins like a proud grandpa.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I promise, and we see them off with hugs and waves, the old man’s hand raised like a benediction as he leads Mia toward the door.
When they’re gone, the space around us settles. Cole catches my gaze. “Private quarters?” he says, all innocence. Judge lifts an eyebrow.
“I’d like that,” Lena says, fatigue and longing braided together.
I run a last circuit to squeeze shoulders, trade a couple more nods, then lead us down the hall behind the bar. The corridor’s lit low, the sound of the main room trailing after us. We pass the old photo of the founding members, the frame polished new. I touch it as we go, a ritual I didn’t know I needed until this second. Thanks for getting us this far. We’ve got it now.
While we have a large house big enough for all of us, we also have a suite of rooms at the clubhouse. Sometimes it’s easier staying over rather than making the ride home late at night. Our new quarters are simple. The largest room has a big bed that could be an island, there’s a couch with a blanket thrown over the back, a low dresser, a couple of lamps throwing out warm light, and a print on the wall showing a winding road disappearing into blue trees.
Lena sits on the edge of the bed and exhales.
“If you want to sleep that’s okay,” I say, looking from her to the others.
She shakes her head. “I’m okay, it’s more relief that everything’s over,” she says.
I kneel in front of her and ease off her shoes, smoothing my thumbs across the arches of her feet.
“Better?” I ask.
“Much,” she whispers. “Come here.”
I do, taking the spot beside her while Cole drifts to her other side. Judge leans against the doorway first, the way he always does—making sure we’re in a fortress even when the danger is imaginary. Doc dims the light with a flick of his fingers and then crosses the room, his face softening to a fondness as his eyes land on Lena.
“Prez,” Cole murmurs, and somehow the word cracks me open all over again, not because of the patch but because of the way he says it. He sets his hand on my shoulder and squeezes once. “You steered us through tonight.”
“We steered each other,” I say, and then Lena is turning to me, and there’s something there—gratitude and heat and the kind of love that’s messy as all hell and perfect anyway.
“You carried so much this year,” she says, thumb tracing my jaw. “Let us carry you a while.”
I swallow. “Always.”
Judge pushes off the doorway and comes to us at last, the tension he usually carries easing notch by notch. He presses a kiss to the crown of Lena’s head. Doc drops onto the bed behind Lena and curls a hand at the base of her neck, his thumb making slow, soothing arcs. Cole’s laughter leans warm against the moment. “Look at us,” he says. “Domestic and dangerous.”
