The sound of laughter echoes through Ingrid’s backyard, a symphony of pure joy that would have Hurricane grinning from ear to ear if he could see this chaos. And it is absolute, beautiful chaos, the kind he would have orchestrated himself if he were here.
Lynx toddles across the grass in his little overalls, chasing after a bubble that Lani just blew, his chubby legs carrying him with determined purpose. Trina sits in her high chair, clapping her hands and squealing with delight as City makes ridiculous faces at her, his tough-guy biker persona completely forgotten in the presence of my one-year-old daughter.
“Mama! Mama! Look!” Four-year-old Immy comes running up to me, her face painted with little cherries courtesy of Maxxy, who’s set up a face-painting station that has become the center of attention. “I’m made of cherries just like Daddy said I was.”
My heart clenches that she remembers him calling her ‘little chéri’,and that familiar ache that hits whenever she mentions Hurricane. But instead of the crushing grief that used to follow, I feel something else today.Warmth. Love.The knowledge that even though he’s gone, he is still so present in everything we do.
“You’re the most beautiful cherry I’ve ever seen, my little sweetheart,” I tell her, using the actual meaning oflittle chéri, and crouch down to her level and press a kiss to her forehead. “Daddy would be so proud of how pretty you look.”
“I know,” she says with the confidence only a four-year-old can muster. “He’s probably watching us from heaven and telling all his angel friends how pretty I am.”
God, if that doesn’t just about do me in.
I blink back my tears with a nod. “I bet he is, sweetheart. Now go play with your cousins, okay?”
She grins widely, then takes off like a shot, immediately joining Elijah and Hallie, who are running around with Louis. All of them are shrieking with laughter while Grit chases them wearing a ridiculous tutu around his waist. The sight of this massive, tattooed biker in bright pink tulle is so absurd that it has me laughing despite the emotional moment.
“He really committed,” Lani says, appearing beside me with a cold beer in hand. My sister looks radiant, her face glowing with happiness, her swollen belly popping out. Marriage to Grit suits her, and watching them together these past months has been one of the few bright spots in this dark year.
“Hurricane would have been right there with him,” I say, accepting the beer gratefully. “Probably would have insisted on the whole costume, tiara and all.”
“Oh, absolutely. He would have shown up to his daughter’s first birthday dressed as a princess if it meant making them smile.” Ingrid’s voice joins us, and I turn to see my mother-in-law approaching with South close behind, Louis balanced on his hip. “That man had absolutely no shame when it came to spoiling those babies.”
The mention of Hurricane doesn’t bring the sharp stab of pain it used to. Instead, it brings this bittersweet ache, like touching a bruise that’s finally healing. It hurts, but it’s bearable now. Manageable.
“He would have been trying to teach Lynx how to ride a bike already,” I say, watching my son discover the joy of a plastic slide. “Remember how he was with Immy? The second she could walk, he was talking about getting her a little motorcycle.”
“And you shut that down real quick.” Lani laughs.
“Damn right I did. One biker in the family was enough.” The words slip out before I can stop them, and for a moment, the old grief threatens to surface. But then Trina lets out a squeal of laughter, and I’m pulled back to the present, to this moment, to this celebration of life.
Because that’s what this is.
It is not just a birthday party, but a celebration of the life Hurricane gave us, the family he built, the love he left behind.
The house behind us is proof of that love.
When Ingrid came back from LA after Hurricane’s funeral, when I was struggling to function in the clubhouse with three kids and memories of him in every corner, she made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. She and South had bought this property, big enough for both our growing families, close enough to the clubhouse that we’re still part of everything, but separate enough that we could create something new. My mind slips back to the time when she uttered the words…
“Hurricane’s looking after us,” she said that day, tears in her eyes. “Sending me back home to take care of his family. This is what he would want. All of us together, taking care of each other.”
And she was right.
The moment she said it, I knew Hurricane was behind it somehow. Making sure his kids would grow up surrounded by love and family, making sure I wouldn’t have to do this alone.
“Kaia,” Bayou’s voice cuts through my thoughts, and I look up to see him jogging toward us with Novah close behind, their hands intertwined. Seeing Bayou used to be almost unbearable, those same ice-blue eyes, that same stubborn jawline. But now I see him as his own person, not a painful reminder of what I’ve lost, but a living connection to the man I loved.
“The decorations look incredible,” Novah says, gesturing around the backyard that Lani and Grit spent hours transforming into a petting zoo wonderland. There are balloon arches in bright colors, an actual petting zoo section with goats and bunnies that have the kids absolutely mesmerized, and tables laden with food that Frankie and the other old ladies spent all morning preparing.
“Lani went overboard,” I say, but with a smile. “I told her it was just a first birthday party, but she insisted on the full production. Must be her maternal hormones kicking in.”
“Hey,” Lani protests, appearing beside us again. “The twins only turn one once. And besides, look at those faces.” She gestures to where Lynx is now sitting in the grass, a baby goat in his lap, his face lit up with pure wonder. “Tell me that’s not worth it.”
“It’s perfect,” Ingrid says softly, and when I look at her, there are tears in her eyes. “He would have loved this so much. All these kids laughing and playing, the whole club here celebrating.”
“He would have been probably trying to ride one of those goats,” South adds, and we all burst into laughter because that’s exactly what Hurricane would have been doing.
The afternoon passes in a blur of chaos and laughter.
