And that felt like the miracle.
EPILOGUE
DESTINY
Christmas at Cal’sranch looked like someone had taken every broken thing in our lives and wrapped it in garland.
Fresh pine hung over the mantels. Candles glowed in every window. The big ranch house smelled like cinnamon, woodsmoke, roasting meat, coffee, and the sugar cookies Skye kept insisting were “for the kids” while every grown biker in the place stole them off cooling racks like criminals. Outside, snow dusted the fences and settled soft over the red dirt, turning the whole world quiet and silver beneath a bruised winter sky.
Inside, nothing was quiet.
Nothing.
Nate and Lily were arguing over whether Cupcake should be allowed to wear a tiny Christmas sweater. Cupcake, who absolutely belonged to Lily and had only come because Lily claimed she suffered from “holiday separation anxiety,” had responded by crawling under Cal’s enormous leather chair and hissing at anyone who approached with festive intentions.
“She is not a doll,” Lily snapped, clutching the sweater.
“She’s a terrorist with whiskers,” Nate said. “The sweater might soften her image.”
“Her image is none of your business.”
“She bit my boot.”
“You probably deserved it.”
“I was standing still.”
“Threateningly.”
Nate looked at Dylan. “Your girlfriend’s best friend is mean.”
Dylan, who was leaning against the kitchen island with a mug of coffee in one hand and one eye on me, said, “I’ve been aware.”
Lily pointed at him. “You’re still on probation.”
Dylan lifted his mug in surrender. “Yes, ma’am.”
That had become one of my favorite things.
Dylan Degan, terrifying San Diego Royal Bastard, contractor, survivor of bullets and bad decisions, accepted Lily’s disapproval with the patience of a man who knew she had earned it. He never tried to charm her out of protecting me. Never teased her for crying when I moved. Never acted like her grief had been dramatic, even though it absolutely had been. He just made sure her guest room had a good mattress when she visited San Diego, stocked matcha in the cabinet, and pretended not to notice when Cupcake inspected his boots like a customs agent.
A year ago, I would not have believed in this room.
Not for me.
Not like this.
Edge stood by the fireplace with his arms crossed, pretending he was not emotional while Regan adjusted the ornaments on the tree for the fourth time. Tarak and Callum were in low conversation near the windows, their expressions grave enough that they were probably discussing club business or the correct way to carve brisket, both of which men seemed to approach with equal intensity. Skye and Regan had cornered Cal near the pantry, smiling in a way that made his face go flat with suspicion.
“No,” Cal said.
Regan blinked innocently. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You looked.”
Skye tilted her head. “Looking is not a crime.”
“It is when the two of you do it.”
