Epilogue – Hawk
Three Years Later
The sound of giggling pulls me from a deep sleep, followed by tiny hands patting my face none too gently.
"Daddy! Wake up! Sun is up!"
I crack one eye open to find my eighteen-month-old daughter, Emily, sitting on my chest, her chubby face inches from mine. Her blue eyes, exactly like her mother's, sparkle with mischief as she pats my cheeks again.
"Em, let Daddy sleep," Olivia's voice calls softly from the doorway. She stands there in one of my t-shirts, her hair pulled into a messy bun, a mug of coffee in each hand. Even after all this time, the sight of her still makes my heart skip a beat.
"It's okay," I say, sitting up and lifting Emily onto my lap. "I needed to get up anyway. Knight and Dice are coming by later to discuss that new contract."
Emily squeals at the mention of Knight's name. "Unc! Unc!"
"That's right, princess," I tell her, kissing the top of her head. "Uncle Knight is bringing you a present."
"Another present?" Olivia sighs, handing me a coffee mug before sitting on the edge of the bed. "That man spoils her rotten."
"He can't help it." I sip the coffee—black, strong, perfect. "Besides, it's not just Knight. The whole club treats her like their collective princess."
It's true. Emily might be the most protected child in the state, with a dozen hardened bikers wrapped around her tiny finger. Reaper himself, the intimidating president of the Outlaw Order MC, has been known to get down on all fours to give her "horsey rides" when he thinks no one is looking.
Emily wiggles off my lap, toddling over to her collection of stuffed animals in the corner of our bedroom. She's always been an early riser, usually ending up in our bed sometime before dawn. I wouldn't have it any other way.
"How's your leg this morning?" Olivia asks, her hand resting gently on my thigh where the old war wound still occasionally flares up.
"Better," I tell her. The physical therapy has helped, along with the reduced stress of civilian life. "Barely notice it these days."
She smiles, knowing I'm downplaying it a bit but letting it slide. That's one of the countless things I love about her. She knows when to push and when to let things be.
I watch her as she moves to help Emily, who's trying to dress her teddy bear in a doll's outfit. Olivia's body has changed since Emily's birth—softer, curvier in some places, and I find her even more beautiful now than the day I came back to Hope Peak.
We've settled into a life I never thought possible for someone like me.
My security business has flourished, now employing six full-time staff, including two other veterans who needed a fresh start.
The Outlaw Order has kept their promise, maintaining Hope Peak as a quiet, legitimate outpost, free from any serious club business.
And me? I received my full patch two years ago, in a ceremony that Olivia attended by my side. I still ride with the club regularly, but my priorities have shifted. Family first, then the club. Reaper not only understands but encourages it, having also started a family of his own.
"What time is your meeting?" Olivia asks, bringing me back to the present.
"Noon. We're meeting here, then heading to the new factory site to assess their security needs." I set my coffee down and reach for her, pulling her onto my lap. "Which means we have the whole morning to ourselves. Well, ourselves plus one very energetic toddler."
Olivia laughs as I nuzzle her neck. "Who may or may not be going down for an early nap after breakfast."
"I like the way you think, Mrs. Jackson," I murmur against her skin.
We made it official a year ago. A small ceremony in our backyard with club members standing alongside Olivia's fellow teachers and a few old friends from Hope Peak.
"Mama! Daddy! Look!" Emily holds up her teddy bear, now wearing a tutu and what appears to be one of my clean socks as a hat.
"Very stylish, princess," I tell her seriously.
Olivia laughs, leaning back against my chest. "She gets her fashion sense from you."
"Hey, I've improved," I protest, though it's true that before Olivia, my wardrobe consisted almost entirely of black t-shirts and jeans.
My cut hangs on the back of our bedroom door: the leather worn and comfortable, the patches telling the story of my journey.
Prospect patch long gone, replaced with my full member patch.
"Hawk" emblazoned on the front, along with new patches earned over the past three years.
It's a part of me, a part of my identity that I once thought might be incompatible with family life.
Turns out, I was wrong about that, like I was wrong about so many things.
Emily toddles over to the bed, teddy bear in tow, and Olivia lifts her up to join us. Our daughter immediately nestles between us, babbling happily about her bear's new outfit.
This is what I fought for, all those years in combat. What I searched for in the dark days after coming home broken. What I found in the brotherhood of the Outlaw Order, and finally, completely, in the arms of the woman I've loved my entire life.
I look around our bedroom—family photos on the walls, Emily's toys scattered across the floor, Olivia's books stacked on the nightstand next to my gun safe. It's chaotic and perfect and entirely ours.
"What are you thinking about?" Olivia asks, catching my introspective mood.
"Just how lucky I am," I tell her, meaning every word. "How close I came to missing all this. If you hadn't called that night..."
She places a finger over my lips. "But I did call. And you came." She kisses me softly. "That's all that matters."
Emily squirms between us, demanding attention. "Daddy ride bike today?"
"Later, princess," I tell her, tickling her stomach until she dissolves into giggles. "Now I'm all yours and Mama's."
And that's the truth. The road will always call to me, the brotherhood of the club will always be a part of who I am. But my heart belongs here, in this house, with these two extraordinary females who saved me in every way a man can be saved.
I may be Hawk on the road, but here, I'm just Tyler.
Husband, father, and the luckiest damn man alive.