He pulls out a card—one of those oversized ones you get at the drugstore, with a cartoon stork on the front carrying a bundle.
Inside, it's covered in signatures.
Ruger's bold scrawl at the top:
Can't wait to meet the newest member of the family.
Tildie's loopy handwriting beneath it:
We're all rooting for you, honey. Stay strong.
Maddox's surprisingly neat print:
You got this.
Coin wrote something about how fatherhood changes everything, and even Ounce left a message:
Recovery isn't a straight line. But you're walking it anyway. Proud of you.
My eyes blur with tears as I go through the rest of the messages, from each and every member in the club.
"They all signed it," I whisper.
"Every single one. Even the prospects." He points to a cluster of signatures at the bottom. "Rookie's handwriting is shit, but he means well."
I trace my fingers over the names.
These people—this club—they're Garrett's family.
They've been his family for years, through all the times I disappeared and broke his heart and came crawling back.
They watched him suffer because of me, and they're still welcoming me back.
"I don't deserve this."
"Hey." Garrett tips my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes. "None of that. You're my wife. You're carrying my kid. That makes you family. And family takes care of each other."
"Even when family fucks up?"
"Fucking up is part of being family, don’t you think?"
I think about the club.
About what it means to belong to something bigger than yourself.
For years, the only thing I belonged to was my addiction—that desperate, hungry need that consumed everything else.
But now, sitting here with Garrett's arm around me and a card full of signatures in my hands, I can almost imagine what it would feel like to belong somewhere good.
"Tell me about them," I say. "What's been happening at the club?"
Garrett settles back, pulling me closer. "Ruger's been riding everyone hard about the new security system. Got cameras going up all around the compound, motion sensors on the gates. Tildie keeps complaining that she can't sneak out for midnight snacks without setting off an alarm."
I laugh. "That sounds like her from what I’ve heard."
"Coin's girls are driving him crazy. The older one—Wrenleigh—she's turning sixteen in a few weeks, and apparently, she wants a car. Coin about had a heart attack when she brought it up."
"A sixteen-year-old with a car. That's terrifying."
