When I finally reopened my eyes to awaken alone in my old bedroom, I thought at first that I’d been transported back in time to my teenage years.

My swelling baby bump told me otherwise.

As much as I loved the idea of lying in this bed and sleeping in, I had woken up for a reason: I truly, desperately needed to pee.

Quickly pulling on enough of my clothes to make myself look halfway decent, I waddled out and down the hall to the bathroom. Without a second to lose, I slammed down on the toilet seat and enjoyed the deep, soothing relief of an emptying bladder.

Ah, motherhood.

Once I was done, I scrubbed my face and hastily brushed my teeth in the basin. It was then that, for the first time in ages, I really looked at myself in the mirror.

My hair was a mess.

Bags hung under my eyes.

Trace zits and acne pocked my skin.

I looked like a walking disaster, and I realized that I hadn’t packed any beauty products in the rush to get down here. After hanging around with Hunter and his Devil’s Dragons MC, I’d let simple things from my old life fade away… things like makeup and beauty upkeep.

Hunter had made a tomboy out of me.

Not that I was ever super into that stuff to begin with. While I grew up under his watchful eye, my father was increasingly critical of the makeup he’d see on girls my age.

Harlots, he called them.

Way too young to be wearing that stuff.

It’s not that he didn’t have a point… but Dad always seemed like he was stuck in the past. He was never good at adapting to changing times.

Hell, he was so resilient to change that he was the last man in his entire precinct to even carry a cell phone, and even that was only after his boss outright demanded it…

I smiled fondly.

Dad could be a real bastard.

But at the end of the day, he was still my father. He had his quirks, just like the rest of us. His were just… a little more difficult.

Speaking of, I needed to see how the two men were getting along. The lack of gravelly shouting, and even shotgun blasts, told me that whatever was waiting downstairs might be in better spirits than last night.

Unless they’d already killed each other…

I wandered back to my room, where I dressed myself a little more appropriately. In my standing mirror, I adjusted my garments to try to hide the baby bump just a little more.

A sigh left my lips.

I’d have to tell Dad soon.

There was no hiding it from him, especially not right under his nose… I wondered to myself. How much can he take at once?

I knew I didn’t have much time here.

Maybe I should just rip off the band-aid…

Speaking of the devil, I heard his guttural voice ring out from downstairs: “Sarah! Are you going to even bother getting your lazy ass out of bed today?”

I called out down the hall: “Coming!”

A few minutes later, after having to pause on the steps briefly to catch my breath, I made my way back into the spacious kitchen again.

Dad was perched at the table, stuffing his face with a stack of flapjacks. He didn’t bother looking up over his shoulder as I walked into the room, making my way towards Hunter.

I stifled laughter.

Hunter was standing over an array of cast iron cookware on a hot stove, baking flapjacks in a frilly pink apron easily two sizes too small. The color especially clashed with the dark green tee he’d thrown on over his black jeans. As he turned his attention towards me, the spatula in one hand flipped a thick, bubbly disc over; with the other, his worn fingers mimicked the barrel of a gun against his head.

I covered my laugh with a hand.

“Babe, I never thought I’d see the day.”

Hunter opened his mouth to reply. My father cut him off from the table, his back still turned to us. “Almost worth having this scoundrel in my house to see him wear that musty old thing.”

I smiled at Hunter, rolling my eyes. “Well, I’ll take whatever signs of progress I can get.”

“Bah.” Dad returned to his breakfast.

Hunter cast him a mocking look, then put the spatula down and wrapped his arms around me. “How’d you sleep, Sarah?”

“Better than usual, actually.”

“That’s right,” Dad spoke up with a mouthful of breakfast. “That’s because you’re back home, where you belong.”

Hunter scowled.

I rubbed his arm as I pulled away, eying the fresh stack of flapjacks to the side. On separate plates, there were fried eggs, sizzling sausages, and even a little fresh bacon. It didn’t escape my notice that a handful of small spice canisters were scattered around, clearly used; my man was really pulling out all the stops here.

“Help yourself,” Hunter noted. “I’ve warmed some butter up, and there should be some syrup on the counter around here…”

“Thanks, babe,” I kissed him on the cheek.

After preparing myself a quick plate, I walked over to sit across from my father. We ate together in silence for a few minutes; the only sounds in the room came from the sizzling of the stovetop and the scraping of the spatula against the iron griddle and pans.

“How long are you going to be here?”

I realized I’d been gazing out the window, and turned to see my father chewing with his hands clasped together, elbows on the table.

“Haven’t given it much thought,” I replied, focusing on my plate as I cut another bite to eat. “Until you two are getting along, probably.”

“Heh!” Dad scoffed.

Even Hunter seemed amused.

My father leaned forward. “Guess you’d better get used to being back under this roof, then… seeing as that’ll happen over my dead body.”

I put my silverware back down.

“Would it kill you to get over your grudge?”

Dad shrugged. “Probably.”

I shook my head in disgust. “Look… I’m not expecting a fucking miracle here, but–”

“Sarah–”

“No. You shut up and listen to me for once,” I jabbed my finger at him. “I know it’s a lot to ask of you… of the two of you… but damn it all to hell, I need this. I need both of you to set your stupid bullshit aside and make amends, if only for my sake. Please.”

My father reached for his cane and stood up.

“I am not going to tolerate this in my own goddamn house,” he growled at me. “I sure as shit didn’t raise you to talk back to your father…

He turned around. “And as for you–“

Suddenly, my father paused.

I looked over his shoulder to see Hunter frozen in place, spatula held up with that stupid, frilly pink apron around his waist. Between the startled, blank look on his face and the comically tiny, feminine fabric around his hardened chest, Hunter looked way more like a cartoon character than a veteran biker.

To my astonishment, Dad laughed.

He lent over that wooden cane of his and, honest to God… my stick-in-the-mud, stone-faced father heartily laughed.

Hunter and I met each other’s gazes.

He was just as perplexed as I was.

“You look like a fruit!” My father laughed, wiping at his eye. “Like a goddamn watermelon! I nearly forgot that I made you put on that stupid old thing!”

As he hobbled out of the kitchen, shaking his head, I could hear Dad’s laughter continue down the hallway and towards the den.

Hunter looked down at it for a moment.

He met my gaze again.

“Don’t see what the old coot’s problem is,” he shrugged, flipping another steaming hot flapjack onto the stack. “I think I rock it.”