Chapter Sixteen
KAIA
One Year Later
The sound of laughter echoes through Ingrid’s backyard, a symphony of pure joy that would have Hurricane grinning from ear to ear if he could see this chaos. And it is absolute, beautiful chaos, the kind he would have orchestrated himself if he were here.
Lynx toddles across the grass in his little overalls, chasing after a bubble that Lani just blew, his chubby legs carrying him with determined purpose.
Trina sits in her high chair, clapping her hands and squealing with delight as City makes ridiculous faces at her, his tough-guy biker persona completely forgotten in the presence of my one-year-old daughter.
“Mama! Mama! Look!” Four-year-old Immy comes running up to me, her face painted with little cherries courtesy of Maxxy, who’s set up a face-painting station that has become the center of attention. “I’m made of cherries just like Daddy said I was.”
My heart clenches that she remembers him calling her ‘little chéri’, and that familiar ache that hits whenever she mentions Hurricane.
But instead of the crushing grief that used to follow, I feel something else today.
Warmth. Love. The knowledge that even though he’s gone, he is still so present in everything we do.
“You’re the most beautiful cherry I’ve ever seen, my little sweetheart,” I tell her, using the actual meaning of little chéri, and crouch down to her level and press a kiss to her forehead. “Daddy would be so proud of how pretty you look.”
“I know,” she says with the confidence only a four-year-old can muster. “He’s probably watching us from heaven and telling all his angel friends how pretty I am.”
God, if that doesn’t just about do me in.
I blink back my tears with a nod. “I bet he is, sweetheart. Now go play with your cousins, okay?”
She grins widely, then takes off like a shot, immediately joining Elijah and Hallie, who are running around with Louis.
All of them are shrieking with laughter while Grit chases them wearing a ridiculous tutu around his waist. The sight of this massive, tattooed biker in bright pink tulle is so absurd that it has me laughing despite the emotional moment.
“He really committed,” Lani says, appearing beside me with a cold beer in hand. My sister looks radiant, her face glowing with happiness, her swollen belly popping out. Marriage to Grit suits her, and watching them together these past months has been one of the few bright spots in this dark year.
“Hurricane would have been right there with him,” I say, accepting the beer gratefully. “Probably would have insisted on the whole costume, tiara and all.”
“Oh, absolutely. He would have shown up to his daughter’s first birthday dressed as a princess if it meant making them smile.
” Ingrid’s voice joins us, and I turn to see my mother-in-law approaching with South close behind, Louis balanced on his hip.
“That man had absolutely no shame when it came to spoiling those babies.”
The mention of Hurricane doesn’t bring the sharp stab of pain it used to. Instead, it brings this bittersweet ache, like touching a bruise that’s finally healing. It hurts, but it’s bearable now. Manageable.
“He would have been trying to teach Lynx how to ride a bike already,” I say, watching my son discover the joy of a plastic slide. “Remember how he was with Immy? The second she could walk, he was talking about getting her a little motorcycle.”
“And you shut that down real quick.” Lani laughs.
“Damn right I did. One biker in the family was enough.” The words slip out before I can stop them, and for a moment, the old grief threatens to surface. But then Trina lets out a squeal of laughter, and I’m pulled back to the present, to this moment, to this celebration of life.
Because that’s what this is.
It is not just a birthday party, but a celebration of the life Hurricane gave us, the family he built, the love he left behind.
The house behind us is proof of that love.
When Ingrid came back from LA after Hurricane’s funeral, when I was struggling to function in the clubhouse with three kids and memories of him in every corner, she made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.
She and South had bought this property, big enough for both our growing families, close enough to the clubhouse that we’re still part of everything, but separate enough that we could create something new.
My mind slips back to the time when she uttered the words…
“Hurricane’s looking after us,” she said that day, tears in her eyes. “Sending me back home to take care of his family. This is what he would want. All of us together, taking care of each other.”
And she was right.
The moment she said it, I knew Hurricane was behind it somehow. Making sure his kids would grow up surrounded by love and family, making sure I wouldn’t have to do this alone.
“Kaia,” Bayou’s voice cuts through my thoughts, and I look up to see him jogging toward us with Novah close behind, their hands intertwined.
Seeing Bayou used to be almost unbearable, those same ice-blue eyes, that same stubborn jawline.
But now I see him as his own person, not a painful reminder of what I’ve lost, but a living connection to the man I loved.
“The decorations look incredible,” Novah says, gesturing around the backyard that Lani and Grit spent hours transforming into a petting zoo wonderland.
There are balloon arches in bright colors, an actual petting zoo section with goats and bunnies that have the kids absolutely mesmerized, and tables laden with food that Frankie and the other old ladies spent all morning preparing.
“Lani went overboard,” I say, but with a smile. “I told her it was just a first birthday party, but she insisted on the full production. Must be her maternal hormones kicking in.”
“Hey,” Lani protests, appearing beside us again. “The twins only turn one once. And besides, look at those faces.” She gestures to where Lynx is now sitting in the grass, a baby goat in his lap, his face lit up with pure wonder. “Tell me that’s not worth it.”
“It’s perfect,” Ingrid says softly, and when I look at her, there are tears in her eyes. “He would have loved this so much. All these kids laughing and playing, the whole club here celebrating.”
“He would have been probably trying to ride one of those goats,” South adds, and we all burst into laughter because that’s exactly what Hurricane would have been doing.
The afternoon passes in a blur of chaos and laughter.
The bikers, these tough men who can handle anything the world throws at them, are completely wrapped around the fingers of every child here.
I watch Hoodoo on his hands and knees being a horsey for Hallie while Raid lets Elijah ‘help’ him grill burgers.
City is still making faces at Trina, who seems to have decided he’s her new favorite person.
“Auntie Kaia,” a little voice catches my attention, and I turn to Elijah—Bayou and Novah’s three-year-old son—who’s running toward me. He looks so much like his father and uncle that it sometimes takes my breath away, but in the best way now. “The goats are so funny. Can we get goats?”
“You’ll have to ask your mama and daddy about that, baby boy,” I tell him, ruffling his dusty blond hair. “But I don’t think goats belong in the clubhouse.”
“Why not? I heard Dad say that Los Angeles has a club goat,” he asks with the innocent logic of a three-year-old.
Raising my brow, I snort out a laugh. “Well, because a club goat might eat Uncle City’s leather,” I say seriously, and he giggles before running off to share this important information with anyone who will listen.
As the sun starts to sink lower in the sky, painting everything in a beautiful golden light, Lani appears at my side again, but this time she’s practically vibrating with excitement. “Kaia, there’s a call for you,” she says, thrusting her phone at me. “It’s from Hawaii!”
My heart leaps, and I grab the phone and see Mauka’s familiar face on the screen, with Aunty Malia right beside him. Behind them, I can make out the gorgeous Hawaiian landscape that I’ve been dreaming about for months.
“Aloha, beautiful,” Mauka says, his warm smile filling the screen. “We wanted to call and wish the twins a happy birthday.”
“Aloha, my sweet girl,” Aunty Malia adds, her voice full of love and warmth. “How are you holding up?”
Just seeing their faces, hearing their voices, sends a wave of homesickness through me that I wasn’t expecting. These people, Hurricane’s Hawaiian ohana, have been checking on us regularly since the funeral, offering support and love from across the ocean.
“We’re good,” I tell them, and I realize I mean it. “Today’s been wonderful. Chaotic, but wonderful.”
“That’s what birthdays should be,” Mauka says. “Especially first birthdays. Have you got your plane tickets booked to come visit us?”
I glance around at the party, at all these people who have become my family, at Ingrid, who’s watching me with encouraging eyes.
“Yes,” I say, and the word feels like a decision, like a commitment to moving forward.
“It’s time. Hurricane wanted the kids to visit their heritage, to know where part of their family comes from.
We talked about doing it together, but…” I take a breath.
“I have to start living and show the kids everything their father wanted for them.”
“Good,” Aunty Malia says firmly. “It’s time to celebrate life… like a fucking hurricane!”
The phrase hits me right in the chest, because that’s exactly what Hurricane would say.
Celebrate life.
Live boldly.
Love fiercely.
Suddenly, Nalani’s face appears on the screen, practically shoving her mother out of the way. “Kaia! I’m so excited you’re coming. I’m going to take you dancing while Mom watches the kids.”
I laugh, remembering the last time Nalani and I hit the club. “The last time we danced together, Nalani, that night ended pretty badly for us.”
Nalani grins, completely unrepentant. “Yeah, but this time we’re gonna get you laid.”
“Nalani Rose!” Malia snaps, grabbing the phone back from her daughter while I laugh so hard I nearly snort beer out my nose. “Don’t you worry about her. All in good time, Kaia, all in good time.”
And while the idea of being with any man other than Hurricane literally makes me want to hurl, I’m not going to spend my life mourning him.
I can’t.
“I’ll see you all next week,” I tell them, and it feels like a promise.
To them, to myself, to Hurricane’s memory.
After we end the call, I stand here for a moment, watching the party continue around me.
Hoodoo and Maxxy are sitting together on the porch steps, Hallie’s asleep in Hoodoo’s arms, both of them looking content and peaceful.
Lani and Grit are dancing to music only they can hear, lost in their own little world.
Raid and Frankie are sitting with Addi, eating far too much cake.
The bikers are entertaining kids, and the kids are still running around like tiny tornadoes of energy.
This is family.
This is what Hurricane built.
This is what he died protecting.
This loud, chaotic, beautiful family that shows up for each other no matter what.
“You okay?” Ingrid asks, appearing beside me with that maternal intuition that always seems to know when I need her.
“Yeah,” I say, and mean it. “I’m good… really good.”
“Hurricane would be so proud of you,” she says softly. “Of how strong you’ve been, how you’ve kept his family together.”
“We’ve kept each other together,” I correct her. “That’s what family does.”
Trina lets out a squeal from her high chair, and I look over to see her with cake smeared all over her face, clapping her hands with pure joy. Lynx is beside her in his own high chair, more cake on his clothes than in his mouth, but he’s grinning from ear to ear.
And in this moment, watching my babies, our babies, celebrating their first birthday surrounded by all this love, I make a decision.
I’m not going to spend my life mourning Hurricane.
I’m going to celebrate him.
Every day, in every way I can.
Because my kids deserve that.
His family deserves that.
His club deserves that.
And I deserve that.
If there’s one thing I know about my husband, it’s that he would want me to be happy. He would want me to live fully, love boldly, and raise our children to do the same.
So that’s what I’m going to choose to be…
Blissfully, unashamedly, defiantly happy.
Like a fucking hurricane!
Suddenly, gasps fill the backyard. A glass breaks as it drops to the ground.
Ingrid screams. I turn around to see what the hell is going on, and my heart slams into my chest, and my breath is knocked from my lungs when I see a man standing at the edge of the yard.
Hesitating by the gate, his tall stature so familiar, but his face is marred by burns.
His arms too. Immy runs to me, hiding behind my legs, unsure of the man standing, waiting, like he’s hoping for something.
Goose bumps pebble along my arms, that same electrical charge I feel whenever I am near Hurricane ignites, and I let out a small sob. “It can’t be?” I whisper.
The man softly smiles, taking one meager step forward. “Hey, Sha.”