Chapter 18 Emma
EMMA
The party continues for another hour. Someone brings out food—apparently Maggie made her famous pulled pork—and suddenly there are plates everywhere. Bones feeds me bites of sandwich while I hold Rose again, who’s decided my lap is the best place in the world and whined until I took her back.
“She’s going to get too comfortable,” Poppy warns. “Then we’ll never get her back.”
“I’m fine with that,” I say, bouncing Rose gently. She’s starting to get sleepy, her little head drooping against my chest.
“Famous last words,” Axel says, but he’s smiling. “Wait until she needs a diaper change.”
“Oh, I’ll be giving her back then,” I promise.
Dad makes his way over to us, Josie still at his side. He looks at me holding Rose, and something soft crosses his face.
“You’re good with her,” he says.
“She’s easy to be good with.”
“Still.” He clears his throat, looking uncomfortable with whatever he wants to say next. “You’d make a good mother someday.”
I blink, completely blindsided. “Dad—”
“Just saying.” He shifts his weight. “No pressure. Just . . . you’re good at this. The teaching, the kids, all of it.”
It’s possibly the most awkward compliment I’ve ever received, but also kind of sweet. Josie catches my eye and smiles, and I get the feeling she coached him on this.
“Thanks, Dad.”
He nods, satisfied, then moves away to talk to Tank. Josie lingers for a moment.
“You make him nervous, you know,” she says quietly.
“Really?”
“Really. He’s worried he’ll say the wrong thing to you and mess everything up again. I told him not to worry, to just speak his heart.” She glances at Stone’s back, then at me. “He’s trying. We both know he’s not great at it, but he’s trying.”
“I can see that,” I say. “And Josie? Thanks. For whatever you’re doing to help him figure out the dad thing.”
She smiles. “He’s not as hopeless as he thinks he is.”
The afternoon stretches on, warm and easy.
At some point, Rose falls asleep completely and Poppy takes her back, tucking her into a portable crib they’ve set up in one of the back rooms, Poppy wandering around with her phone in hand and the baby monitor on screen once she’s down.
The twins are still going strong, now convinced that Duck is secretly Santa and demanding he prove it.
“I don’t make toys. I fix cars and bikes,” Duck protests.
“You could try making toys!” one twin insists.
“I don’t have time—”
“SANTA IS MAGIC!”
Duck shoots Hawk a desperate look and Hawk just laughs, offering no help whatsoever.
I’m in the middle of watching this unfold when the main door opens and a woman walks in. She’s older—maybe sixty—with gray hair pulled back in a bun and worry lines deep around her eyes.
The atmosphere shifts immediately.
Duck sees her first and his expression goes dark. He’s across the room in seconds, meeting her near the entrance.
“Mrs. Olsen?” I hear him say. “What’s wrong?”
She says something to him I can’t hear, then hands him a piece of paper. I watch Duck’s expression go dark as he leads her toward where Dad and Tank are standing. Hawk joins them, and suddenly there’s a tight cluster of people having a very serious conversation near the kitchen.
Bones’s hand lands on my shoulder. “Stay here,” he says quietly.
“What’s happening?”
“I don’t know yet. Just stay with the girls.”
He moves toward the group and I’m left watching, frustrated by my inability to get up and follow. Andi slides into the chair next to me.
“That’s Erica Olsen,” she says quietly. “She lives over on Maple Street. Last time she was here, it was because Summit was trying to slap a bogus fine on her prize-winning roses. The club helped her out. So I’m guessing whatever’s in those papers she’s showing them isn’t good. Especially when she looks scared.”
I’m scared too. Just the mention of Summit and I can feel the tension curl through my body and seep deep into my bones. Not again.
“Is it always like this now?” I whisper to Andi, the air gone heavy in the span of a few minutes.
“Like what?”
“One minute it’s Christmas in July and the next—”
“Everyone’s ready to throw down at a moment’s notice? Yeah, that’s MC life.” She scoots closer and lowers her voice. “You OK?”
I shake my head. “I don’t . . . I don’t know. I don’t remember it being like that.”
“Oh, honey,” Maggie says, her weathered hand resting on my shoulder. “It was always like this. You were a kid before. Kids leave the room.”
Looking to where the kids were just a moment ago, I realize she’s right.
Steel and some of the others have left with them, probably playing games in another room, completely unaware.
I sit with that for a moment, letting the truth of it settle.
I was gone for so long, I forgot how much of this life is lived with one ear always angled toward the next explosion.
And yet, here I am, back in the blast radius, and part of me is .
. . relieved? Like the rules finally make sense again.
Like maybe I was built for this kind of chaos all along.
The rest of me wants to hide in the ladies’ room until everyone goes home. Which, judging by the volume of the heated voices by the kitchen, would mean hiding till morning.
We watch as Erica spreads the papers she brought on the counter. Dad and Tank lean in to look, their expressions getting darker with each page. Dad calls Josie over, and while she reads, Hawk says something that makes Erica nod, her hands twisting together.
Whatever this is, it’s bad.
After about ten minutes, Dad straightens up and looks around the room. His eyes find mine for a moment, and I see something that looks a lot like guilt.
“Church!” he calls out. “Officers, now.”
The word cuts through what was left of the party like a blade. Tank, Hawk, Axel—they all move immediately toward the chapel. Duck pats Erica’s shoulder and follows.
Bones stays where he is, standing near the kitchen, watching them go. His expression is carefully neutral, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curl into fists at his sides.
He’s not an officer anymore. He doesn’t get to be in Church.
My chest aches watching him stand there, excluded from something he used to be at the center of. All because he chose me. Because he put me first.
The officers file toward the chapel one by one. Dad is the last to move, pausing at the doorway.
“Bones,” he says, not turning around. “You too. I need you in on this one.”
Bones goes completely still. So do I.
For a moment, no one moves. Then Bones glances back at me. I nod. I know how much this means to him. And then he crosses the room in three long strides and disappears down the hall to the chapel with the others.
I realize I’m crying again when Mercy hands me a napkin.
“Looks like he earned it back,” she says softly. “Whatever Stone needs, Bones earned the right to be there.”
“I know,” I manage. “I just—seeing him stand there, thinking he wasn’t wanted—”
“But he was,” Kya says, joining us. “Stone just made sure everyone knew it. Things are back the way they should be.”
I wipe my eyes. The party has quieted now, everyone aware something serious is happening but trying to maintain the celebratory atmosphere.
Erica is still standing near the kitchen, looking lost. Maggie approaches her with a cup of tea and guides her to a table.
“What do you think it is?” Poppy asks, settling into a chair across from me. “What brought her here?”
“Nothing good,” I say. “You don’t interrupt a party unless it’s urgent.”
We wait. The Christmas music is still playing, but no one’s singing along anymore. Steel has brought the twins and Adam back into the room and they’re corralled near the tree where he’s reading them a story in a low voice.
We all try to make conversation to pass the time. Fifteen minutes. Then thirty.
Finally, the chapel door opens and the officers file back inside. Their expressions are grim. Dad says something to Tank, who nods and immediately pulls out his phone.
Bones emerges last, and his eyes find mine immediately across the room. He crosses to me, and I reach up to grab his hand.
“What is it?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
He crouches down next to my wheelchair so we’re eye level. “We’ve got a problem.”
“Summit?”
“Yeah. They’re back in town, pulling their shit again.”
I absentmindedly reach behind my head, fingers stretching down to my tracker like it’s a lifeline.
“Swan, if you need to leave, go back to New York to put some distance between you and this, you can. No one will blame you. But something’s going on, and I need to stay until I know you’re safe. Until we’re all safe.”
His hand tightens around mine. There’s no expectation, just clear honesty. Freedom, even. If I want it.
The choice is mine.
Last time—after the kidnapping—I ran. Told myself New York was safer. Told myself I didn’t belong here.
I was wrong then. And I’m not making that mistake again.
I take a moment, sipping my now-cold cocoa, then glance over at the cluster of women, the kids, Dad and Josie standing together, their heads bent in low conversation. I look at Bones, at the stubborn set of his jaw, the way he can’t quite let go of my hand.
“I’m not leaving,” I say. “This is my shitstorm as much as anyone’s.”
He almost smiles. It’s shaky, like he hasn’t had a reason for hope in a while. “That’s my girl.”
“Was I ever not?”
He leans in and kisses me, soft and quick, like a promise. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine for just a moment.
“No,” he says quietly. “You were always mine.”