Epilogue
DRIFT
Itwisted the wrench one more time, then dropped it back in the toolbox. The matte black Harley I was crouched in front of was ready to ride once more.
Small boots scuffed against the gravel behind me.
“Daddy,” came the little voice, sweet as honey and twice as dangerous. “Can we go for a ride?”
I turned, and there she was, Waverly—my five-year-old whirlwind in denim shorts, scuffed boots, and a tiny leather jacket that Jax swore he hadn’t custom-stitched even though his smug grin said otherwise.
Her hair, dark like mine but shot through with Alanna’s soft waves, was pulled into a crooked braid that listed to one side.
Big gray eyes, same as her mama’s, sparkled up at me.
I turned toward her and rested my forearms on my knees. “You sure you’re ready for that, princess?”
She nodded with so much conviction it nearly knocked her braid loose. “I’m five.”
She held up her fingers to emphasize her point.
“Five, huh?” I drawled, pretending to think. “Pretty big number.”
“Big enough for a ride.”
I couldn’t argue with that logic.
“All right.” I stood and brushed dust off my jeans. “Let’s see what we can do.”
She squealed and raced toward the row of bikes lined up in the shade, all gleaming steel, some shiny, some matte.
A few vintage rebuilds and my newest ride, plus the matte black Harley I’d have until the day I died.
I followed at an easier pace, the heat pressing down and the sound of waves faint beyond the house.
I stopped beside one of the smaller cruisers—a custom build I’d stripped down and rebuilt just for safety drills. No open pipes, lower torque, tight frame. The perfect choice for a kid’s first slow ride around the lot.
“Here we go.” I patted the seat. “This one’s a good starter.”
But she didn’t even look at it. Her eyes had locked on the bike parked two spots down—the old matte black beast with its worn leather seat and the faint scuff where Alanna’s boot had once rubbed the paint. Her bike. The one that had carried us both through fire and back.
She pointed. “I wanna ride that one.”
My chest tightened. “No, baby. Not that one.”
Her mouth pursed into a cute little pout. “But why? That one’s prettier.”
“It’s not about pretty, Waverly,” I said gently as I stepped closer, laying a hand on the seat like it was something sacred. “You can ride any one of the others, sweetheart, but this spot”—I patted the leather seat—“this one belongs to your mama.”
She blinked, confused for a second, then thoughtful. “Only Mommy?”
“Only Mommy.” My voice came out rougher than I meant. “No one else has ever ridden behind me on this one, and no one ever will. That’s her seat. Always will be.”
Her small mouth made an O. She looked at the bike again, then at me. “So…that’s like her forever seat?”
“Exactly.”
The back door to the house swung open behind us, and the smell of coffee came with it.
Alanna stepped out onto the porch, her sundress fluttering in the breeze and her hair twisted up in a messy knot with a pencil shoved through it.
She still had that same smile that had wrecked me the first time I saw it, and the same eyes that could end a war.
She adjusted our three-year-old on her hip before she walked over, the corners of her mouth curving when she saw where I was standing. “Let me guess, she wants the black one.”
I huffed out a laugh. “Of course she does. She’s your kid. But she understands now.”
Gunner reached for me, and I transferred him onto my shoulders, making him squeal with laughter. I shot a look at my wife that told her I wasn’t happy she’d just carried him outside. She was six months pregnant with another boy, and she wasn’t supposed to lift anything heavy.
Alanna ignored me and came closer, laying a hand over mine on the bike seat. “You kept your promise.”
“Never planned on breaking it.”
Her eyes misted, catching the sunlight.
“You’re still impossible,” she whispered, then leaned in and kissed me.
When she pulled back, our daughter tugged at the hem of my cut.
“Daddy,” she said solemnly, “can I have a seat too? Like Mommy’s? One that’s only mine?”
That damn tug in my chest got tighter. I bent down until we were eye to eye, careful to hold Gunner steady.
“Maybe.” I brushed her braid off her shoulder. “We’ll see.”
I kissed her nose, and she giggled, wrinkling it up. “I wanna seat that’s just for me!”
Gunner clapped his hands and squealed “Fo me! Fo me!”
Before I could answer, Alanna grinned, all mischief and light. “Maybe you’ll have your own seat one day. On someone else’s bike.”
The words hit me like a punch. “What?”
She laughed. “You know—when she’s older.”
“Older?” I demanded, straightening up. “Like…fifty?”
Alanna just kept laughing, eyes sparkling wickedly. “Now you know how Jaxton felt.”
I shot her a look that promised a conversation later—one she was going to feel on her pretty little ass. She bit her lip, trying to hide her smile, which only made her laugh harder.
Waverly looked between us, confused but amused. “Daddy’s face looks funny.”
Alanna smoothed her hand over our little girl’s hair. “That’s the look of a man realizing he can’t protect you from everything forever.”
“Watch me,” I muttered, earning another peal of laughter from her.
I set Gunner on the ground and made sure his hand was firmly grasped in Alanna’s, so he wouldn’t run out in front of the bike.
Then I scooped Waverly up onto my hip, her tiny hands gripping my shoulders, and turned toward the cruiser.
“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s start you on this one. The others can wait.”
She gasped with delight. “Can I go fast?”
“Not today.” I settled her in front of me on the seat. “You’re gonna learn slow and right. Same way your mama did.”
Alanna put a hand on her curvy hip and smiled. “She learned on that black bike too.”
“Yeah.” I glanced at it. “And scared the hell out of me the whole time.”
Her eyes twinkled merrily. “Oh that’s right, now I remember all your cranky grumblings.”
She was most definitely getting spanked later.
“I don’t get cranky,” I muttered.
Alanna just giggled and walked Gunner back up onto the porch to watch.
I started the smaller engine. It purred instead of roared, but it was enough to make Waverly’s eyes light up like fireworks. She clapped her hands, laughing, as the vibration thrummed through the frame.
“Ready?” I asked.
She nodded hard. “Ready!”
I eased the throttle just enough for us to roll forward. The wind caught her braid, tugging it straight back, and her giggles filled the air. Around the yard we went—circling once, twice, her joy echoing in the air. Every sound, every second, branded itself somewhere inside me.
When I finally cut the engine, she looked up at me, cheeks pink and eyes wide. “Can we go again?”
“Tomorrow,” I replied. “We’ll make it our thing.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
I lifted her off the seat and carried her over to the porch where Alanna was waiting in a wicker swing.
I set Waverly down in her own little kid-sized rocking chair, then dropped down onto the swing next to my wife.
Her hand found mine, fingers twining like they always had.
The sun slipped lower, spilling long shadows across the yard, and reminding me that I was home.
Alanna leaned into me, her voice soft against my shoulder. “You’ve done good, Chance.”
I looked at my family—my whole fucking world—and felt that rare thing settle in my chest. Something like peace.
It’s football season, and we’re headed back to The New York Nighthawks series!