Tyler and Kai were sitting on the porch when I came out of the garage, two cups of coffee between them, their voices low and easy in the late morning sun.
They looked alike in ways that went beyond the superficial—the way they held themselves, the cadence of their speech, the particular tilt of their heads when they were thinking hard about something. Foster brothers who'd found each otheras kids and held on through everything that followed. Watching them together now, after everything, felt like witnessing something sacred.
"—can't believe you actually shot him." Kai's voice carried across the yard, equal parts horror and admiration. "I mean, Ican, but—Tyler. Youshothim."
"He had it coming." Tyler's voice was calm, matter-of-fact. "And I wasn't going to let Tank do it. He didn't deserve to carry that."
"Butyoudeserved to carry it?"
A pause. When Tyler answered, his voice was softer. "I needed to. There's a difference."
Kai was quiet for a long moment. Then he reached over and squeezed Tyler's hand. "I'm proud of you. You know that, right? Everything you survived, everything you came back from—I'm so fucking proud of you."
"Don't make me cry before noon." But Tyler was smiling, that real smile that transformed his whole face. "How's Axel?"
"Driving me insane, as usual." Kai's laugh was bright, easy. "He keeps trying to help with the medical supplies and just ends up reorganizing everything in a way that makes sense tohimand absolutely no one else. I had to ban him from the infirmary last week."
"You banned your own partner from your workplace?"
"He alphabetized the medications.Alphabetically, Tyler. Who puts aspirin next to amoxicillin?"
"A man with a system."
"A man with aproblem." But Kai was grinning,the kind of grin that saidI love him anyway. "He's been better, though. Since you came back. We both have."
I cleared my throat as I approached the porch, not wanting to interrupt but not wanting to eavesdrop either. Both of them looked up—Kai with an easy smile, Tyler with something warmer in his eyes.
"Morning, Tank." Kai raised his coffee cup in a mock salute. "I was just telling Tyler about Axel's organizational crimes against medicine."
"I heard." I climbed the porch steps, dropped into the chair beside Tyler. "Alphabetizing is a war crime now?"
"Inmyinfirmary it is."
Tyler's hand found my thigh, resting there with casual possession. I covered it with my own, laced our fingers together. Two months, and the small intimacies still felt like miracles.
"I should go find my alphabetically-minded partner before he reorganizes the chapel." Kai stood, stretched, and looked down at us with an expression that was hard to read—affection and something else, something deeper. "I'm glad you're both here. I'm glad you're both okay."
Then he was gone, disappearing into the clubhouse, leaving Tyler and me alone on the porch with our coffee and the morning sun.
"He worries about you." I traced my thumb across Tyler's knuckles. "More than he lets on."
"I know." Tyler leaned into my side, his head resting against my shoulder. "I worry about him too.That never stops, no matter how old you get or how far apart you are. Family is family."
We sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the clubhouse come alive around us—members emerging from rooms, heading to the garage, starting the slow rhythm of another day. Somewhere inside, Axel was probably rearranging something. Somewhere on the grounds, Irish was probably pushing himself too hard, Declan hovering nearby with that quiet, watchful intensity. Somewhere in the president's quarters, Hawk was probably navigating a conversation with Maria that neither of them knew how to have.
Life went on. Imperfect, complicated, scarred by everything that had come before—but continuing anyway.
"I have something for you." The words came out before I could second-guess them. Tyler lifted his head, looked at me with curiosity in his eyes. "In the garage. Come on."
Danny's Shovelhead gleamed under the garage lights.
Cherry red paint, deep and lustrous, catching the overhead fluorescents and throwing them back in warm tones that seemed to glow from within. Chrome accents polished to a mirror shine—the handlebars, the exhaust pipes, the custom details Danny had sketched on a napkin six weeks before hedied. The rebuilt engine sat perfectly in the frame, every piece fitted and torqued and aligned, the mechanical heart of a machine that had waited six years to be born.
I'd finished it a week ago. Worked through the nights when I couldn't sleep, channeling everything I couldn't say into the turn of a wrench, the polish of metal, the careful assembly of parts that Danny had never gotten to touch. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever built. It was the hardest thing I'd ever finished.
Tyler stopped in the doorway of the garage, his breath catching audibly.
"Tank." His voice was barely a whisper. "Is that?—"
