Epilogue
Bloodhound
Two Months Later…
There's a giant pink balloon arch in my clubhouse.
I stand in the doorway, beer in hand, watching Maddox—six-foot-four of tattooed muscle —carefully adjusting a streamer that's come loose from the ceiling.
He's got a piece of tape between his teeth and a look of intense concentration on his face, like he's defusing a bomb instead of fixing party decorations.
"Little to the left," Tildie calls from across the room. "No, your other left. There! Perfect."
Maddox grunts and smooths the streamer into place, then steps back to survey his work.
The main room of the clubhouse has been transformed into something I barely recognize.
Pink and gold streamers hang from every surface.
A banner reading "SWEET 16 WRENLEIGH" stretches across the bar.
There are balloons everywhere—so many balloons that Rookie has been tasked with popping any that escape toward the ceiling with a broom handle.
It looks like a bottle of Pepto-Bismol exploded in here.
It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"You're smiling."
I turn to find Ruger beside me, his own beer in hand, that knowing smirk on his face.
"I don't smile."
"You're smiling right now, brother. I can see your teeth and everything."
I take a long pull of my beer and don't dignify that with a response.
But he's right. I am smiling.
Because two months ago, I wasn't sure I'd ever have a reason to smile again.
Two months ago, my wife was in a hospital bed, broken and bleeding, and I was covered in a dead man's blood, wondering if anything would ever be okay again.
Now I'm watching my brothers hang streamers for a sixteen-year-old's birthday party, and my wife is across the room laughing at something Kinsey said, her hand resting on the swell of her belly where our son is growing, and everything is... okay.
More than okay.
"Gonna be a dad, brother." Ruger's voice has gone serious, the smirk fading into something softer. "You ready for that?"
I watch Vanna across the room.
She's huge now—seven months along, belly round and proud beneath the soft blue dress she's wearing.
Her skin is glowing, her hair shining, her eyes bright in a way they haven't been in years.
She looks healthy. Happy. Alive.
"I've been ready for seventeen years," I say quietly. "I just didn't know it."
Ruger nods. He doesn't push for more.
That's one of the things I've always appreciated about him—he knows when to talk and when to just... be there.
"You did good," he says after a moment. "Getting her back. Getting through all of it. A lot of men would have given up."
"Giving up was never an option."
"I know." He claps a hand on my shoulder. "That's what makes you who you are, brother."
He moves off to help Aunt Ellie carry a massive cake from the kitchen—three tiers, pink frosting, probably enough to feed an army—and I'm left alone with my thoughts.
Two months.
It's been two months since the cabin.
Since Virgil.
Since I did things I'll never speak of again, things that live in the dark corners of my mind and only come out in nightmares.
Vanna still has nightmares too.
She wakes up screaming sometimes, clawing at the sheets, fighting enemies that aren't there.
I hold her through it every time.
Hold her until the shaking stops, until her breathing steadies, until she falls back asleep in my arms.
Dr. Ganacha says it'll get better with time.
That trauma doesn't disappear, but it fades.
Becomes manageable. Becomes something you carry instead of something that carries you.
I believe her.
I have to believe her.
"Uncle Garrett!"
I look up just in time to catch Sadie Jo as she barrels into me, her arms wrapping around my waist in a fierce hug.
She's thirteen now, all gangly limbs and braces and boundless energy.
"Hey, kid." I ruffle her hair, earning an indignant squawk. "Where's the birthday girl?"
"Still getting ready." Sadie Jo rolls her eyes with all the drama a thirteen-year-old can muster. "She's been in the bathroom for like an hour. I told her it's just a party, but she said I wouldn't understand because I'm a baby."
"You're not a baby."
"I know!" Another eye roll. "Sisters are the worst."
I think about Leah.
About all the years she was angry at me, at Vanna, at the world.
About the way she's slowly started to soften these past few months, showing up at the clubhouse for dinners, letting herself be part of our family again.
"Sisters are complicated," I say. "But they're worth it. Trust me."
Sadie Jo looks skeptical, but before she can argue, Coin's voice cuts through the noise.
"She's coming! Everyone shut up!"
The room goes quiet—well, as quiet as a room full of bikers can get.
There's still some shuffling, some whispered curses as someone steps on someone else's foot, but we all turn toward the hallway.
And then Wrenleigh appears.
She's wearing a gold dress that sparkles under the lights, her dark hair curled and pinned up in some complicated style that probably took the full hour Sadie Jo complained about.
She looks... older.
Not like a kid anymore.
Like a young woman on the edge of her life, all possibility and promise.
Coin makes a sound beside me.
When I glance over, his eyes are wet.
"She looks just like her mother," he mutters, and there's something complicated in his voice.
Pain and pride and maybe a little bit of grief.
I know the story.
Everyone in the club does. Angelica—Angel, he used to call her—walked out when Sadie Jo was three.
Just packed a bag and disappeared to Vegas, leaving Coin to raise two little girls on his own.
She calls sometimes, when she needs money.
He sends it, because he's a better person than she deserves, and then he doesn't hear from her for months.
The girls don't talk about her much. Neither does Coin.
But sometimes, in moments like this, I see the ghost of her in his face.
The memory of the woman he loved, before she became someone he didn't recognize.
"Happy birthday!" The room erupts as Wrenleigh reaches the bottom of the stairs, and she laughs—a bright, surprised sound—as her club family swarms her with hugs and well-wishes.
I hang back, watching.
That's my role here.
The quiet observer.
The protector in the shadows.
Vanna catches my eye across the room and smiles.
God, that smile.
It's the same smile she gave me when she was seventeen, running across Mountaineer Field in the dark, daring me to catch her.
The same smile she gave me on our wedding day, standing in that secondhand dress, making promises we were too young to understand.
The same smile she gave me in the hospital, when they confirmed our son was healthy.
When she told me his name.
When she looked at me like I was her whole world, and I realized that she was mine too.
I love that smile.
I'd burn the whole world down to protect that smile.
The party kicks into full swing.
Music pumps through the speakers—some pop stuff I don't recognize, probably whatever sixteen-year-olds are listening to these days.
The prospects have been pressed into service as waiters, carrying trays of food and drinks.
Someone dragged in a photo booth with ridiculous props, and I've already seen Maddox wearing a pink feather boa while Wraith holds up a sign that says "PARTY ANIMAL."
I'll be using that picture as blackmail material for years.
Coin stands up near the cake, tapping his beer bottle with a fork until the room quiets down.
"I'm not good at speeches," he starts, and there's a rumble of agreement from the brothers. He shoots us a glare, but there's no heat in it. "Yeah, yeah. Shut up."
Laughter ripples through the crowd.
"Sixteen years ago, I held a tiny, screaming baby in my arms and thought, 'What the hell do I do now?
'" Coin's voice is rough, thick with emotion.
"I was twenty-two. I didn't know anything about being a dad.
I didn't know anything about anything. But I looked at that little face, and I knew—I knew—I'd spend the rest of my life trying to deserve her. "
Wrenleigh's eyes are shining.
Sadie Jo is pressed against her sister's side, holding her hand.
"These past sixteen years haven't been easy." Coin pauses, swallowing hard. "There were times I didn't think I could do it. Times I wondered if I was messing everything up, if my girls would be better off with someone else. Someone who knew what they were doing."
He looks at his daughters, and I see everything he's feeling written on his face.
The love. The fear. The overwhelming pride.
"But you two—you're the best thing I've ever done. The only thing that matters. And Wrenleigh, watching you grow into this incredible young woman..." His voice cracks. "Your mother would be proud. Hell, I'm proud. So damn proud I don't have words for it."
He raises his beer. "To Wrenleigh. Sweet sixteen. May this year bring you everything you deserve."
"To Wrenleigh!" the room echoes.
I drink, watching Wrenleigh throw herself into her father's arms, watching him hold her tight and whisper something in her ear that makes her laugh and cry at the same time.
That's going to be me, I realize.
Sixteen years from now, I'll be standing in this same clubhouse, raising a glass to my son.
Watching him grow into a man. Wondering where the time went.
The thought should terrify me. It doesn't.
It feels like a promise.
After the toast, the party relaxes into something looser.
People break off into groups—the girls clustering around the photo booth, the brothers gravitating toward the bar, the ol' ladies gathered around Vanna like she's the center of their orbit.
I'm heading to refill my beer when I notice Leah standing near the kitchen doorway.
She's holding a glass of wine and looking... uncertain.
Like she's not quite sure she belongs here.
Before I can go to her, Coin appears at her side.
"Hell of a party," he says, gesturing around the room. "Thanks for coming."
Leah smiles—a little shy, a little awkward. "Garrett invited me. I hope that's okay."