Epilogue
CALYPSO
T he wind whips through my hair as Farris pulls the SUV into the driveway of our home.
The word still feels foreign on my tongue, but as I look up at the house in front of me, the weight of it settles deep in my chest. This is real, this is ours.
Not just a Clubhouse, not just a safehouse, but our home.
Farris cuts the engine, his hand automatically reaching across the center console, fingers brushing against my thigh, grounding me.
He always does that now, like he needs to touch me just to make sure I’m still here.
I shift slightly, adjusting the tiny sleeping bundle strapped securely against my chest.
Our daughter, Annabelle Krista Dalton
Anna doesn’t stir, completely oblivious to the world around her as she rests against me, her warm little body curled in the wrap against my heart. Even through the exhaustion, through the aches still lingering in my bones, I can’t stop staring at her. She’s so small. So perfect.
Farris turns his head slightly, his sharp blue gaze landing on me. “You ready?”
I inhale deeply, taking in the scent of leather, pine, and the lingering smokiness of the road. Then I look back at him, at the man who’s been through hell and back with me and never let go of my hand once.
I almost lost this. I almost lost everything.
I swallow hard and push the thought away before it can dig too deep. Instead, I focus on the steady weight of my daughter against my chest, the steady presence of Farris beside me.
“I’ve never been more ready,” I whisper.
His lips curve in that signature smirk, the one that drives me crazy, the one that still makes me weak even after everything.
He climbs out of the SUV first, then comes around to my door.
He unbuckles our daughter from the wrap with a level of carefulness that still stuns me.
The big, bad biker who used to put bullets between men’s eyes without hesitation now handles this tiny, fragile little girl like she’s the most precious thing in the world because to him, she is, and to me, they both are.
Farris cradles our baby against his chest, one large hand cupping the back of her head as I step out, stretching out my sore limbs.
My body is still healing, still dealing with the aftershocks of everything I’ve been through.
This right here makes every single moment of pain worth it.
It’s not just Farris and me anymore. Not just the two of us trying to figure shit out. We’re a family.
Farris kisses me before we make our way toward the house. He shifts the baby in one arm long enough to push the front door open.
I step inside first, my breath catching as I take it all in. The space is perfect. It’s rustic, warm, and open. There’s a fireplace against the far wall, a leather couch sitting in front of it, and the faintest scent of sawdust still lingers from the final touches Farris put on the place.
Farris hands me Anna and takes me into his arms. I settle her against my chest, inhaling her soft, powdery scent.
Her tiny fingers curl around the edge of my leather cut, gripping it in her sleep like she already knows who we are and where she belongs.
My breath catches. Jesus. She’s so small. So helpless. And she’s mine.
"She’s got you wrapped already, huh?" Farris speaks softly, watching me closely.
I nod, unable to look away from our daughter. "Yeah. Completely."
Farris tilts my chin up, his eyes scanning my face like he’s committing every part of me to memory. "You scared the shit out of me, Lyp."
I smirk. "You? Scared? Thought nothing could shake the great Farris Law Dog Dalton."
He exhales sharply. "You shake me, every goddamn day."
He engulfs us in a warm embrace before his lips crash onto mine. I open my mouth, allowing his tongue entrance. He plunges inside, making my body quiver with need. We pull apart before things get too heated, and he rests his forehead against mine.
“I love you with every fiber of my being,” Farris breathes.
“I love you, with every breath of my soul,” I respond.
I glance toward the dining area, the long wooden table set up with more chairs than just two because this house isn’t just meant for us, it’s meant for everyone.
As if my thoughts summon them, the rumble of engines fills the air, the unmistakable sound of both our Club’s rolling up the driveway.
I smile. “They couldn’t even wait a whole day, huh?”
Farris chuckles, pressing a kiss to our daughter’s head. “Would you expect anything less?”
I shake my head because I don’t, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.
The front door swings open, and chaos follows. The Royal Bastards and the Royal Harlots flood the house, filling every inch of space with laughter, shouts, and the kind of energy that only comes from people who have survived hell together.
Allura is the first to reach me, pulling me into a tight hug before stepping back and letting her gaze drop to my daughter. Her green eyes soften. “She’s beautiful.”
“She is,” I whisper, my voice a little too raw, a little too exposed.
She reaches out, brushing her knuckles against the baby’s tiny cheek. “You did good, Lyp.”
Farris takes Anna out of my grasp and tucks her into his strong arms, giving me a wink before he walks across the room.
I almost break right there. I force a small smirk, turning back to Allura.
“Yeah, well, I don’t break easy.” But the truth is, I almost did and I still might because for the first time in my life, I have something so damn good, so damn real, and I don’t know how to live with that.
I don’t know how to live without fighting.
But I remind myself that this isn’t a fight, this is love.
Across the room, Farris is getting swarmed by the Royal Bastards, each one of them taking turns patting him on the back, making jokes about how the big bad ex-cop is officially a soft-ass daddy now.
I watch him roll his eyes at Blayze’s comment, but he’s grinning the whole time, pride written all over his face as he keeps our daughter tucked protectively against him.
Then, as if feeling my stare, he glances up, his gaze locking onto mine. And in that moment, I don’t see the battle-hardened killer, the man who’s spent his life carrying the weight of other people’s sins.
I see Farris. The man who loves me, the man who fought for me. The man who would tear the world apart before he let anything happen to our daughter.
And I finally let go.
I let go of the fear, the doubt. The weight of my past tells me I don’t deserve this, but I do.
I step forward, my heart hammering as I press my palm against our daughter’s tiny back, the warmth of Farris’s skin beneath my fingers. He leans down, pressing a kiss to the top of my head, his lips lingering.
“She’s got your fire,” he whispers against my hair.
I smirk. “And your attitude.”
His chest rumbles with laughter. “Yeah, we’re screwed.”
A small noise escapes our daughter, a soft little sound that’s barely there, but it shatters me.
I tighten my grip on Farris, my lips brushing against my daughter’s soft hair as I whisper, “I’ve got you, baby girl, always.”
Farris’s hand finds mine, his fingers threading through mine as he echoes the promise.
Always.
This is it. This is the life I never thought I’d have, the kind of happiness I never let myself believe in, but now I have it, and I’ll fight like hell to keep it.
A FEW MONTHS LATER
Our house is finally a home. There are pictures on the walls, boots by the front door, and baby blankets draped over the couch.
Outside, the clubs are gathered for a barbecue, laughter ringing through the air, the scent of grilled food mixing with the ever-present burn of gasoline and leather.
And in the middle of it all, Rebel. She’s sitting on the porch, a cigarette dangling from her fingers, her dark eyes scanning the crowd like she’s waiting for something or someone. Her dark hair spilling over her shoulder as she talks with French, our Club’s best damn numbers expert.
Rebel is all sharp edges and easy charm. She doesn’t just toe the line between legal and illegal, she fucking dances across it.
With her big brown eyes and a body that could make a man sign over his soul, she can get information out of anyone. But that’s not why she’s dangerous. She’s dangerous because she’s smart as hell.
“Where the hell have you been?” I call as I approach, shifting my daughter slightly. “You’ve been dodging my calls for days.”
Rebel smirks without looking up. “Had some shit to handle.”
French snorts. “More like some shady shit to handle.”
Rebel winks, flicking her cigarette between her fingers. “Same thing.”
I sit on the steps next to them. “You in trouble?”
She finally looks up, and for the briefest second, something flickers in her gaze. Something dark. “No more than usual.”
I narrow my eyes. “Bullshit.”
Before she can answer, a Harley comes pulling into the driveway, and a familiar presence steps off his bike.
Rebel tenses. I follow her gaze and immediately recognize the man standing on the pavement.
Bones. A Royal Bastard, but more than that. A ghost from Rebel’s past.
Rebel’s lips part slightly, and I see it, the storm brewing behind her carefully composed mask.
I glance at French, who watches the scene with a knowing smirk, then back at Rebel. “You sure you’re not in trouble?”
Rebel exhales sharply, tossing out her cigarette. “If I am, it wouldn’t be the first time.”
She flicks her cigarette to the pavement, crushing it beneath her boot. "Some ghosts don’t stay buried, Lyp. But you already knew that."
With that, she stands, straightens her cut, and walks straight toward the past she swore she buried. I watch her go, shaking my head with a small smile. Rebel has always played by her own rules, but this is going to be a game even she’s not ready for.
And I can’t fucking wait to see how it plays out.