"That's everything." He squeezed my shoulder. "Maria and I have been together twenty years. Raised two daughters in this life. It's not easy—the danger, the secrets, the nights you don't know if he's coming home. But it's worth it. Every sacrifice, every scare." His eyes held mine. "You're good for him. And he's good for you. That's rare. Protect it."
"I will."
"I know." A rare smile crossed his weathered face. "Welcome to the family, son. For real this time."
He walked away before I could respond, leaving me standing there with a lump in my throat and a warmth in my chest that had nothing to do with whiskey.
Irish and Declan found me next, a two-man hurricane of energy and affection.
"There he is!" Irish threw an arm around my shoulders, sloshing whiskey dangerously close to my new cut. "The man of the hour! How does it feel, being officially claimed?"
"Terrifying. Wonderful. Both."
"That's how it's supposed to feel." Declan appeared on my other side, steadier than his partner but just as warm. "The terror fades. The wonderful stays."
"Speaking from experience?"
"Seven years of it." Declan claimed. Irish grinned, pulling his partner closer with his free arm so we formed an awkward three-person huddle. "Best decision I ever made, letting this Irish bastard claim me."
"I'm the Irish bastard," Irish clarified.
"And yet I'm the one with the accent. Life's full of mysteries." Declan winked at me. "Don't let him fool you—he cried like a baby at our ceremony."
"I had allergies."
"In November. Indoors."
"Severe allergies."
I laughed, and it felt good—easy, natural. These men had accepted me without question, folded me into their family like I'd always belonged.
"Can I ask you something?" The words came out of me before I could stop them.
"Anything," Irish said.
"How do you make it work? Long-term, I mean. With the club, the danger, everything."
The two of them exchanged a look—one of those silent conversations that couples develop over years together. "Communication," Declan said. "Brutal, uncomfortable honesty. Even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard."
"And flexibility," Irish added, something shifting in his expression. "Being open to... evolution. People change.Relationships change. What works at year one might not work at year seven." He glanced at Declan, something unspoken passing between them. "The trick is changing together instead of apart."
There was weight underneath those words. Layers I couldn't quite parse. But Declan's hand found Irish's, squeezed tight, and whatever complexity lived in their relationship, it was clear they'd figured out how to hold it.
"Thank you," I said. "For the advice. And for—everything. Making me feel welcome."
"You made yourself welcome," Irish said. "We just had the good sense to notice."
Blade caught me at the bar, refilling my whiskey with a bottle he'd apparently claimed as personal property.
"Congratulations, hermano." He clinked his glass against mine. "You did good."
"Thanks. Couldn't have done it without—" I gestured vaguely at the room. "All of you."
"Sure you could've. You're tougher than you think." He took a long drink, something contemplative in his expression. "I've been watching you, you know. Since that first night. Trying to figure out what makes a guy like you tick."
"And? What's the verdict?"
"You're a contradiction." He smiled, but there was depth underneath it. "Soft enough to heal. Hard enough to kill. Most people are one or the other. You're both." He shrugged. "It's rare. Axel's lucky to have found you."
