“I look at him the same way.”
“I know you do, sweetheart. That’s why I’m so grateful you found each other.” She sets down her mug, her gaze growing more serious. “Can I tell you something?”
“Of course.”
“After his parents died, after he took over that company, I watched him disappear into himself. He became someone I barely recognized. He did everything he was supposed to do, made his parents proud, and kept their legacy alive. But he stopped living, Marley. He just existed.”
My throat tightens. I’ve heard pieces of this story from Nitro, but hearing it from Queenie’s perspective cuts deeper.
“The club helped,” she continues. “Gave him brotherhood, purpose, a place where he could be someone other than Damon Blackwell, billionaire orphan. But even then, he was fractured. Splitting himself in half, never whole, never at peace.”
“And now?” I whisper.
“Now, I see my grandson again. The boy who used to play his flute for hours, who’d laugh until his stomach hurt, who loved so fiercely it scared him. You brought him back, Marley. You made him whole. You saved him from himself.”
Tears blur my vision. “I didn’t do anything special, Queenie. I just loved him.”
“Exactly.” She reaches over and takes my hand, her grip surprisingly strong. “You loved all of him… the biker, the billionaire, and everything in between. You didn’t try to change him, fix him, or make him choose. You just loved him exactly as he is. That’s the most special thing anyone could do.” I squeeze her hand, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. “And you,” she continues, her voice softer now. “You’ve bloomed, too, haven’t you? Found your confidence, your power. You’re crushing it at that company, making a name for yourself that has nothing to do with being the boss’s girlfriend.”
“Old Lady,” I correct with a small smile. “Technically, I’m the VP’s Old Lady.”
She laughs, the sound filling the kitchen with warmth. “Yes, yes… I’m still getting used to all this MC terminology. Though I have to say, I quite like being the club matriarch. Ro keeps asking if she can make me a leather vest.”
The image makes me grin. “You’d look badass in a leather vest.”
“Damn right I would.”
We sit in comfortable silence, sipping our coffee as the morning light grows brighter. This, right here, is everything I never knew I needed—the quiet moments, the shared space, the family forged by love rather than blood.
“Queenie?” I ask after a moment. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything, dear.”
“Were you scared? When you were in the hospital, when you couldn’t breathe on your own? Were you scared you might not make it?”
She’s quiet for a long moment, her eyes distant. “Terrified,” she admits finally. “But not of dying, exactly. I’ve lived a long, full life. I’ve loved deeply, raised a beautiful grandson, and survived cancer. If it had been my time, I would have been at peace with that.”
“Then what scared you?”
“Leaving h-him.” Her voice cracks slightly. “Leaving Damon before I got to see him truly happy. Before I got to see him whole. Before I got to meet the woman who would love him the way he deserved.” She turns to look at me, tears shining in her eyes. “But then you showed up at that hospital, and you sat with him while he broke apart, and you loved him through the worst moment of his life. And I knew, even through the fog of medication and pain, that he was going to be okay. That you were going to make sure of it.”
“I almost got you killed,” I whisper, the guilt that’s been buried for six months suddenly surfacing. “If I hadn’t called Derek, if I hadn’t told him about Nitro being Damon Blackwell—”
“Stop!” Queenie’s voice is firm, brooking no argument. “Derek Fletcher is a monster who would have found another way to hurt my grandson. You made one phone call in a moment of pain and anger. That doesn’t make you responsible for his actions. Do you understand me?”
“Nitro says the same thing.”
“Because it’s true. And because he loves you too much to let you carry guilt that isn’t yours.” She squeezes my hand again. “Let it go, Marley. Derek is exactly where he belongs. We’re here, alive, happy, together. Don’t waste another moment on what-ifs.”
I nod, swallowing hard against the emotion. “Thank you, Queenie.”
“For what?”
“For loving me. For accepting me into your family. For raising the most incredible man I’ve ever known.”
She smiles, soft and maternal. “Thank you for loving my boy exactly as he is. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for him.”
We hear footsteps on the stairs, and moments later, Nitro appears in the kitchen doorway, his hair adorably rumpled, wearing nothing but low-slung sweatpants that make my mouth go dry. Even after months, after countless mornings waking up beside him, the sight of him still makes my heart race.
