And I hope they do.
Nitro finds me in the chaos, pulling me against his side. “Happy?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer.
“So happy,” I confirm. “This is perfect.”
“It is, isn’t it?” He looks around at his brothers, at the family we’ve built, his face lighting up in pure bliss.
Later, after the celebration winds down and most people have headed to their rooms, we drive back to our house with Queenie in the back seat, chattering happily about the baby shower she’s already planning.
“I’ll knit blankets,” she declares. “And maybe a little sweater. Do babies wear sweaters?”
“Yes, Queenie, babies wear sweaters,” I say, laughing.
“Good. I’ll make several. In different colors. Blue, obviously, but also yellow and green…”
Nitro catches my eye in the rearview mirror, his smile warm.
This is our life now.
Planning baby showers, knitting blankets, and being part of something bigger than ourselves.
When we arrive home, Queenie announces she’s exhausted and heads straight to her suite. Nitro and I find ourselves alone in the living room, the house quiet around us.
“Want to hear something?” he asks suddenly.
“Always.”
He disappears into his office and returns with his flute case. I settle onto the couch, watching as he assembles the instrument with practiced ease. Even after nine months, I never get tired of watching him do this. The way his large, tattooed hands handle the delicate instrument with such care. The way his entire demeanor shifts into a peaceful, centered state.
“What are you playing?”
“Something I’ve been working on. For you.”
My breath catches as he brings the flute to his lips. The first notes float through the room, soft, haunting, and beautiful. It’s a melody I’ve never heard before, something he’s composed himself. It starts gently, almost tentative, then builds into something powerful and emotional.
I hear our story in every note. The tentative beginning when we were strangers in an Uber. The growing connection as we fake-dated. The passion when we finally admitted our feelings. The devastating crisis that nearly tore us apart. And finally, the joy of finding our way back to each other, stronger and more certain than before.
When the final note fades, I realize I’m crying.
Nitro sets down the flute and crosses to me, pulling me into his arms. “Don’t cry, Small Town.”
“They’re happy tears,” I promise, my voice thick with emotion. “That was beautiful. You wrote that for me?”
“For us,” he corrects. “For everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve overcome. For the life we’re building together.”
Queenie reappears in the doorway, drawn by the music. “That was lovely, dear boy.”
“Thanks, Queenie.”
“Play us something else,” she suggests, settling into her favorite armchair. “Something we can all enjoy.”
So he does. He plays a Mozart piece that has Queenie humming along, then something jazzy that makes me laugh, then a rock song he’s adapted for flute that shouldn’t work but absolutely does.
I watch him play, this incredible man made of beautiful contradictions. A biker VP and a billionaire CEO. A classical musician and a motorcycle rider. A devoted grandson. A man who protects what he loves with his whole heart.
Driving Uber was never about money. It was his way of touching the real world, of pretending normal was something he needed to chase.
But I think he knows now.There is no normal.There’s only truth.
