EIGHT MONTHS LATER
“By the time I pop out this kid, I’m going to be the size of a house,” Avery griped, but still took another bite of the chocolate cupcake she’d just grabbed.
I swallowed my laugh. At four months, Avery was definitely eating for two. Since half that food came from her bakery, she seemed to always be snacking on some sort of dessert.
“Don’t worry, sugar,” Daz assured, his grin making me brace for whatever depraved thing he might say next. “Just more cushion for the pushin’.”
Yes, there it was.
Avery swung out and hit him in the stomach. Unfortunately, she did this with her cupcake hand. A smear of chocolate mocha frosting covered Daz’s cut, and her face dropped.
“My frosting,” she pouted.
I was about to get up and grab her another one when Daz said, “You can lick it off me.”
With that, I decided the safer option was to just exit.
Daz’s mouth and Avery’s pregnancy mood swings were proving to be an explosive combination. I also knew—though part of me wished I didn’t—that the hormones were causing her to experience other symptoms that made those arguments get heated in a completely different way nearly every time. If it weren’t for a year of hearing Daz say things like that all the time, I might have thought he was just trying to get a rise out of her to get her in bed.
Heck, what did I know? Maybe that was part of their dynamic from the start.
I walked across the clubhouse yard, taking it all in. Summer was grabbing hold of Hoffman, and for the Disciples, that meant as much time outside as they could get. That afternoon, they’d gotten a whole mess of meat to smoke. Everyone was there, including the two new prospects who were—as usual, I was learning—charged with any little task around. For the moment, that meant keeping everyone’s drinks topped off.
It’d been over a year since these people had become my family, and it was already hard to imagine a time that they weren’t. The way they all loved, the ferocity of it, was something I couldn’t bear to lose now.
Not that I was worried I ever would.
“Aunt Evie!” I heard cried out and saw Emmy running my way, fake stethoscope around her neck. For the moment, she was convinced she wanted to be a nurse someday like me. Since this changed every couple weeks—except princess, that career was constant—I wasn’t getting too attached to the idea. Still, it was nice to have her be my little shadow for the moment.
“Nurse Emmy,” I greeted, kneeling down. “Have you treated any patients today?”
“Yeah. Lina hurt her arm, so I gave her bandages to make it better.” Lina was her younger sister, Evangeline, soon to be the middle child since Ash was pregnant again.
“Eighteen bandages,” Sketch clarified, coming by and lifting up his daughter, who was all too willing to be the center of her daddy’s attention. My eyes widened, and he just shook his head. “Unfortunately, Mommy gave Lina a bath and they all came off.”
Yes, I’m sure that was very unfortunate. Though, it was better than a couple months ago when Emmy was insisting she was going to be a tattoo artist like her dad and colored all over her sister. That didn’t clean off as easy with one bath. Washable markers, it seemed, might be an overstatement.
“I fixed my boyfriend Kyle at the park the other day, too,” Emmy offered, not catching on to her father’s sarcasm.
Sketch froze. “Your what?”
“My boyfriend,” she supplied, helpfully.
I pinched my lips together. Apparently, leaving Daz and Avery behind was an out of the frying pan into the fryer situation.
“Firefly!” Sketch hollered to his wife.
She was only a few yards away, but I wasn’t going to point that out. Ash came over looking worried, but I could tell from the way she tried to school her features that she already knew.
“What?” she asked, adopting the same doe-eyed innocent look her daughters used all the time.
“Boyfriend?”
“His name is Kyle,” Emmy reminded him with a toothy—though some were missing—smile.
Sketch didn’t smile. Actually, he looked vaguely sick.
“Emmy, baby, why don’t you go play catch with Jules?” Ash suggested.
With an exaggerated, “I guess,” she waited for her dad to put her down and then took off running for her “cousins.”
“Boyfriend?” Sketch repeated, patience gone.
“They’re eight.” Her words were reassuring, but her beleaguered expression said she knew there was no point. “He’s not her boyfriend. He’s a boy that played with her on the swings twice.”
“Firefly, I knew you at eight. Look where we are now.” He gestured at her stomach, still flat at the moment. They had announced just the week before that they were expecting again. “This little fucker is not knocking up my baby.”
Once again, I felt it prudent to remove myself from a volatile conversation.
This time, I went right to my husband. He would keep me safe.
Yes, husband.
Three months ago, Stone and I had gotten married. He’d offered me a church wedding, something big and over the top, but it wasn’t what I wanted. Instead, we had found a small estate about an hour away that was covered in trees and flowers. We rented it out for the day, and the whole club came to watch us exchange vows.
I’d still not found it in me to start going to church again, though my faith was stronger than ever without the corruption of the way my parents taught. After a lot of consideration, I decided I didn’t want some random officiant to marry us. I’d asked Doc if he would get ordained instead, and he’d agreed right away.
It was small, intimate, casual by most standards, and it was perfect.
And when I’d walked for the makeshift aisle to Stone, I did it to “Sea of Love.”
Stone was sitting, talking to Roadrunner, Cami, Tank, Quinn, and Ace. I walked up and took a seat in his lap. I’d long since learned that anything else would only result in me being moved there or right next to him, anyway.
He pressed a kiss right beneath my ear and murmured, “How’s my bunny?”
“Okay,” I replied. “Just trying to stop running into drama.”
“Daz and Avery?” It wasn’t a secret at all around the club how those two were handling the pregnancy.
“Them, and Emmy is calling some little boy her ‘boyfriend,’ so Sketch is freaking out.”
Stone’s head came up, his brow creased. “She’s what?”
Seriously, all the little girls around here were going to have a very hard time of it when they started dating. All the Disciples were going to be a nightmare. Since Emmy was already flirting—and, apparently, had been since she could talk—I did not foresee good things.
“Calm down, Mr. President.”
“We aren’t adopting any girls,” he groused.
We’d gone to see a fertility specialist a few months ago, just to discuss our options. Although there were no lasting symptoms from the gunshot wound, it was still recommended that I not try to conceive. It wouldn’t be impossible, but it was highly risky. After a lot of discussion, Stone and I had decided that adopting was better for us. Since my return to work, I saw too many little ones that had no families. We could make a difference for children like that.
“Oh, we’ll see,” I warned. He could say whatever he wanted now, but I knew he’d melt for a little girl, just like he did for all his nieces. As a girl who’d have given anything to get that from her dad, I wanted to give someone else that chance.
He gave me a squinty-eyed look that I knew well. It was his why-do-I-always-let-you-get-your-way look. It was also all the confirmation I needed. He wouldn’t dream of actually standing in the way of bringing home a little princess for us to love.
Someday, we’d make that happen. For now, there was no short supply of tiny humans to shower that affection on.
I let myself look around the yard, taking in everyone. Levi and Owen were playing catch with Gauge and Ham. Jules, now being joined by Emmy, was coloring on the patio. Evangeline was being held by a gorgeous, inked woman named Jess, who worked at Sketch’s tattoo parlor as a receptionist. Ember stood next to her with Jamie in her arms. The two women next to each other looking like there might be some sort of photoshoot for a car magazine any minute. Slick was heading inside with Hunter, his son probably needing a nap. Finally, Quinn held her baby boy, Cash, just across from me while he slept.
There was a whole new generation all around us that was growing all the time. All of them would do that surrounded by something I’d dreamed of day after day.
Love. So much love it felt like a physical thing around us all.
I’d have never thought a biker clubhouse was where I would find it, but there it was.
“What’s that face?”
My attention shifted to my husband looking down at me with a furrow in his brow. Always worried, ever on guard to do whatever needed to keep everyone here safe. My gruff, biker protector.
“Just happy.” I gave him the truth.
He eyed me suspiciously for another moment before he let it go, pulling me in tighter to his solid chest. He could worry if he wanted, I’d long since learned there was no putting a stop to that. He would always fret, always focus on everyone else first and foremost. It was who he was. Rather than fight it, I accepted it for the show of love that it was.
Now, a year later, my body healed and my heart full, I never worried. I didn’t have to. I had Stone. I had all of the Disciples. The ride might have started off scary. There may have been bumps in the road—for all of us. Whatever came next, we’d survive it, too.
In the meantime, on the back of a bike or in the clubhouse yard, I’d hold tight to my man and cruise.