The air smelled like sawdust and fresh-cut lumber—the scent of something being built. The evening breeze carried the sound of music from inside the clubhouse, but out here it was quiet enough to hear the wood creak as it settled.
She looked. Saw studs and beams and the skeleton of what would eventually be walls. “I’m looking. What am I seeing?”
“Our future.” I wrapped my arms around her from behind, resting my chin on her shoulder. The warmth of her against my chest steadied something in me. “That conference room? That’s where we’re going to land contracts with new clients. That workshop? That’s where we’re going to train the next generation of security specialists, give some of these brothers real skills they can use. And that office in the corner, the one with the big windows?”
“What about it?”
“That’s ours.” I squeezed her tighter. “Talked to the contractor last week. Two desks, two chairs, two everything. For when you’re working from home instead of going into the office.”
She turned in my arms, her eyes searching my face. “Dutch...”
My heart was hammering. Stupid, really—I’d faced down men with guns without this kind of nerves. But this mattered more than any of that.
“I know you’ve got your remote setup with your team now. One day a week in the corporate office, the rest from home.” I brushed a strand of hair from her face. “You gave your people that freedom—less commuting, more time with their families, roll out of bed and be at their desks. I love that about you. But I also know sometimes you need space that isn’t our living room. Somewhere you can spread out, take calls without me stomping around in the background.”
“You built me an office,” she said softly.
“Built us an office. But see that smaller one next to it?” I nodded toward the framing. “That’s mine. For when you need the big space to yourself—client calls, presentations, whatever. I’ll clear out and you can have it.”
She reached up to trace the edge of my beard, her touch gentle. “You thought about all of this.”
“Been thinking about it for a while.” I held her gaze. “I want a life with you, Indira. Not just sharing a bed and hoping for the best. I want to plan for things. Make space for you—literally.”
“Every goddamn day,” she whispered. “That’s what you said. You’d keep earning it every goddamn day.”
“I meant it.”
She smiled, and it was like watching the sun come out. “Then let’s build something worth having.” She hesitated, and I saw color rise in her cheeks. Something unspoken hung between us.
“What is it?” I asked.
She took a breath. “Maybe someday... a family. If you want that.”
My breath caught as the image hit me with unexpected force—Indira round with my child, teaching our daughter to be fierce and smart and uncompromising. Our son to be better than I’d been, to break the cycle my father had started.
I must have gone quiet too long because she touched my arm. “Dutch? You don’t have to—”
“I’m not saying no.” The words came out rough. “I’m just... I never let myself picture it before. Was afraid to want it.”
“And now?”
The thought of my father brought my mom to mind. She’d finally done it—moved out six weeks ago into a retirement apartment complex down in Florida. She’d called me the day she signed the lease, her voice shaky but determined. Told me King had becomethatman again, the one who wrote her letters from prison all those years ago, apologizing for everything, promising her the world if she’d just stay. Now, he was running himself ragged trying to win her back, showing up with flowers, calling every day, swearing things would be different.
But my mom had held firm. Decades of empty promises had finally taught her that the man in those letters wasn’t real. Or if he was, he only existed when he was desperate to keep her. She deserved better than a husband who could only be kind when he was afraid of losing her.
I hoped she’d stay strong. I hoped King’s charm offensive would eventually burn itself out and she’d find peace in her little apartment with its view of the ocean. And I hoped—selfishly, maybe—that watching my parents’ marriage finally end would remind me every day what happened when you took someone for granted.
“Yeah,” I managed finally, meeting Indira’s eyes. “Yeah, I want that. When you’re ready.”
She searched my face for a long moment. “Not yet.” She said it firmly, but her hand found mine. “But soon.”
“I can wait.” I kissed her forehead, her nose, her mouth. “I waited thirteen months to get you back. Every day with you is a blessing.”
She pulled back and looked toward the clubhouse, where the party was ramping up—music starting, laughter echoing across the parking lot. “We should go in. Your brothers are probably wondering where we are.”
“Let them wonder.” I tugged her closer. “Give me one more minute out here with you. Just us.”
So we stood there in the shadow of what we were building—literally and figuratively—and watched the last light fade from the sky. Behind us, the clubhouse pulsed with life and noise and the chaotic energy of the Venom Riders. Ahead of us, the framing of our future stood skeletal and full of promise.
