A group of members gathered by the garage, laughing about something.
Normal life.
The kind of life I might have someday, if we survive this.
The kind of life our child might have.
Bubba's is half-full when I push through the door—club members eating lunch, a few old-timers nursing beers at the bar, a card game in the back corner.
The smell of grease and hops and something spicy cooking in the kitchen washes over me, and my stomach growls so loudly that the bartender looks up.
"Hungry?" he asks with a grin.
"Starving. Can I get a burger? Extra pickles. And fries. And maybe a side of onion rings."
He raises an eyebrow at the size of my order but doesn't comment. "Coming right up. Take a seat anywhere."
I claim a booth by the window, where RJ can see me from the clubhouse if he looks.
The leather is cracked and worn, the table scarred with decades of knife marks and carved initials.
This place has history.
Generations of Raiders have eaten here, drank here, celebrated and mourned here.
Maybe someday I'll bring my kid here.
Show them where their grandfather rules, where their family gathers.
Teach them about the legacy they're part of.
The food arrives fast—a massive burger dripping with cheese and special sauce, a mountain of golden fries, a basket of onion rings that could feed three people.
I devour it like I haven't eaten in days.
Which, honestly, I haven't—not properly.
Between the morning sickness and the stress, I've been running on coffee and crackers.
But I need to eat now. For the baby.
The baby. My baby. Our baby.
I'm still getting used to the idea, still wrapping my head around the reality of it.
There's a person growing inside me.
A tiny collection of cells that will eventually become a human being with RJ's gray eyes and my stubbornness and a whole life ahead of them.
It's terrifying. It's wonderful. It's completely insane.
I'm wiping burger grease off my fingers, contemplating whether I can fit any more onion rings, when a woman approaches my booth.
She's older than me—maybe early forties—with a tired face and anxious eyes.
Her clothes are slightly disheveled, a plain t-shirt and worn jeans, her hair escaping from a messy ponytail.
She looks like a mom, like someone who's been having a hard day.
