The hallway opens into the main room, and everything hits at once. Sound. Movement. Life.
Men in leather vests sit at the bar, talking low, their voices rough and easy like this is just another day. One of them laughs, deep and unbothered, while another shakes his head like he’s heard the story too many times to find it funny anymore. Women move through the space like they belong there. Because they do.
One of them is stirring something on the stove in the open kitchen, another is folding laundry on the couch like this isn’t a place built on violence and power but a home. It doesn’t make sense. And that’s what throws me.
Brooke leads me further in, slow enough that I can take it in without being overwhelmed.
The room shifts. Not silent. But attention turns. Not all at once. Not aggressively. Just enough that I feel it.
“Olivia, this is Emma,” Brooke says, nodding toward a woman standing near the kitchen.
Emma smiles, warm and calm in a way that immediately settles something in my chest. “Hi, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart.
The word doesn’t feel condescending. It feels… safe.
“This is Mac,” Brooke continues.
Mac is holding a toddler on her hip, her blonde hair pulled up in a messy bun like she hasn’t had a second to fix it all day. The little boy in her arms is squirming like he’s got somewhere important to be.
“This is Knox,” Mac adds, bouncing him slightly. “And he thinks he runs this place.”
“I do,” Knox announces loudly, like that’s not even up for debate.
I blink. Then I laugh. It slips out before I can stop it. Real. Unexpected.The room shifts again. Warmer this time.
“I’m Kya and that one’s Remy,” Kya says from the couch, pointing at another toddler currently trying to climb onto the coffee table like gravity doesn’t apply to him. “He gets that from Dom,” she adds dryly.
“Bullshit,” a voice calls from somewhere behind me. “That kid’s all you.”
Kya doesn’t even look back. “Keep talking, Dom. See what happens.”
A third toddler barrels through the space like a tiny tornado, clutching a toy car and yelling like it’s a weapon.
“And that’s Mason, he’s mine.” Brooke mutters. “Carter’s quiet intensity apparently turned into toddler crimes.”
I laugh again. I can’t help it. It’s chaos. Absolute chaos. But it’s… normal. In a way I didn’t expect.
Brooke nods. “Amy and Casey are over there.”
Amy and Casey are across the room, arguing over something that feels like the end of the world to them. I can’t even tell what it is, something about a phone and a message and someone who apparently looked at someone else the wrong way.
“It’s not even about that,” Amy snaps.
“It literally is,” Casey fires back.
“You don’t even know—”
“I know more than you think—”
I stare at them for a second. This is what teenagers look like anywhere. Frustrated. Emotional. Loud. Normal.
My chest tightens. Because this place… it’s not what I thought it would be. It is dangerous. I know that. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. But it’s also…
This.
Kids running. Women laughing. Men arguing over nothing important. Structure. Routine. Life. I glance over my shoulder.
