Brooke’s brows lift. “Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?”
Bella sits up straighter. “Oh my God, please tell me we’re thinking what I think we’re thinking.”
Raven’s mouth curves. “This sounds like trouble.”
Ana smiles. “The best ideas usually are.”
Emma looks around, calm as ever, but there’s a gleam in her eyes now too. “The men would panic.”
“That alone makes it worth considering,” Kya says.
Brynn lets out a soft laugh, then covers it with her hand. “They really would.”
Allison grins. “Jimmy would lose his mind.”
“Logan would try to take charge of his own surprise,” Mac says.
“Carter would freeze,” Brooke murmurs, and the affection in her voice is impossible to miss.
“Cobra?” Bella asks, looking at me.
Every eye turns my way. My cheeks warm, but I don’t look down. I think about him. His stillness. His intensity. The way love came out of his mouth like a curse and a vow at the same time. “He’d ask if I was sure,” I say quietly.
The room softens.
“And?” Emma asks.
I smile. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
For a moment, no one teases. No one makes a joke. They just let that sit. Then Knox crashes into the table leg with his pillow, Remy yells like he’s joining a battle, and Mason throws his toy car hard enough that it skids under a chair. The room erupts again.
Women laughing. Kids running. Coffee spilling. Life continuing. I look around at all of it, the chaos, the warmth, the scars hidden beneath humor, the strength sitting at this table in every shape a woman can wear it. And for the first time, I don’t feel like the newest piece trying to fit. I feel like I’m already part of the picture.
I’m not surviving here anymore.
I’m living here.
I am Cobra’s old lady.
I am part of this club.
I am family.
One month later, I still think about Eli when the clubhouse gets quiet. Not every second. Not every day in the same sharp, unbearable way. But sometimes.
When I pass the gate and see Connor standing there a little straighter than he used to. When one of the prospects laughs too loudly and then catches himself like joy has to ask permission now. When Cobra’s hand tightens around mine in the truck for no obvious reason, and I know he’s thinking about the same thing I am.
Eli’s funeral happened three days after I came home.
Home.
I can say that now without stumbling over it.
The day was gray, like the sky understood what kind of goodbye it needed to be. The whole club stood together, cuts on, faces hard, grief hidden beneath discipline because that’s what these men do. They bury pain under structure. Under loyalty. Under ritual.
Logan spoke. Not long. Not pretty. But every word landed.
Eli died like a brother. So they buried him like one. They put the patch with him.
