Epilogue #3
"Greyson, you once told me that I make you want to be better than you are.
What you don't realize is that you already are that man—strong enough to be gentle, fierce enough to be tender, brave enough to love without reservation.
" I squeeze his hands, drawing courage from his touch.
"We've walked through fire together and emerged stronger.
I promise to face whatever comes next with the same courage, the same trust, the same unwavering belief in us. "
The exchange of rings passes in a blur of emotion, and then the officiant is pronouncing us husband and wife, inviting Greyson to kiss his bride. He cups my face with reverent hands, his eyes saying everything his lips cannot in this public moment.
When he finally kisses me, it's gentle but full of promise—a preview of the lifetime awaiting us.
"Mrs. Reed," he murmurs against my lips as our guests erupt in applause.
"Mr. Reed," I reply, grinning up at him.
We turn to face our friends and family, hands clasped tightly together. My father is in the front row, tears streaming unashamedly down his face. My brothers stand nearby, pride evident in their stances. Mason whistles loudly, causing laughter to ripple through the crowd.
The reception is a blur of congratulations, dancing, and celebration. Greyson keeps me close, his hand rarely leaving mine as we move through the festivities. When my father claims me for our dance, Greyson relinquishes me with obvious reluctance.
"Happy?" Dad asks as we sway to the music.
I glance over at my husband, who's watching us with such naked adoration it takes my breath away. "Completely."
"Good." Dad follows my gaze, his expression softening. "That's all I've ever wanted for you, baby girl. Happiness. Safety. Love."
"I have all three," I assure him, resting my head briefly on his shoulder. "Thanks to you showing me what to look for."
When the dance ends, Greyson is immediately at my side, his arm sliding possessively around my waist. "Mind if I steal my wife back?"
"She's all yours," Dad says, the words carrying weight beyond this moment. He presses a kiss to my forehead before stepping away. "Take care of each other."
My dad walks across the dance floor and sweeps my mom into a dance, staring down at her like the world ends and begins with her.
I hope down the line that Greyson and I still look at each other the same way.
Greyson leads me to a quiet corner of the garden, away from the revelry. In the fading twilight, with fairy lights twinkling around us, he pulls me into his arms.
"Wife," he says, testing the word on his tongue. "My wife."
"Husband," I counter, loving the way his eyes darken at the sound. "Forever."
His kiss is deeper this time, hungrier, his hands splaying across my back to draw me closer. When we finally part, both breathless, he rests his forehead against mine.
"How much longer do we have to stay?" he asks, his voice rough with desire.
I laugh, delighting in his impatience. "At our own wedding reception? At least until we cut the cake."
He groans theatrically. "That could be hours."
"Good things come to those who wait," I tease, brushing my lips against his jaw.
His arms tighten around me, his next words a promise against my ear. "And I plan to make it very, very good, Mrs. Reed."
A shiver runs down my spine at the heat in his voice. "In that case, maybe we can skip the cake."
His laugh rumbles through his chest. "Your father would hunt me down."
"Probably," I agree, nestling closer to him. "But you'd be worth it."
* * *
A year passes in a blur of moments—lazy Sunday mornings tangled in sheets, midnight rides along coastal highways, quiet dinners, and passionate nights.
The clubhouse becomes our second home, a place where family gathers and bonds strengthen.
Through it all, Greyson remains my constant, his love unwavering as we build our life together.
Today, I sit on the edge of our bathtub, staring at the plastic stick in my trembling hands. Two pink lines. Unmistakable. Undeniable. My free hand drifts to my still flat stomach.
A baby. Our baby.
Three tests sit lined up on the counter, all bearing the same result. I've suspected for weeks—the missed period, the sudden aversion to coffee, the tenderness in my breasts—but seeing the confirmation sends my heart racing with a mixture of joy and terror.
Greyson doesn't know I've been testing. He's been away for two days, due home any minute. How will he react? We've talked about children in abstract terms. Someday, our future family. But now that someday is today, and the future is growing inside me.
The rumble of his motorcycle in the driveway sends a jolt through my system. I quickly gather the tests, wrapping them in tissue before tucking them into my pocket. I want to tell him right, make it special.
"Livie?" His voice echoes through our home, followed by the thud of his boots in the hallway.
"In here," I call back, my voice surprisingly steady despite the emotions churning inside me.
He appears in the doorway, leather cut hanging open over a black t-shirt, his hair wind-blown from the ride. My heart swells at the sight of him, this man who is my husband, who will soon be the father of my child.
"Hey, beautiful," he says, crossing to pull me into his arms. "Missed you."
I breathe him in, leather and wind and something uniquely Greyson, as his lips find mine in a kiss that still makes my knees weak after all this time.
"How was the run?" I ask when we part, stalling for time as I search for the right words.
"Uneventful. Supply chain's secure." His eyes narrow slightly as he studies my face. "You okay? You look… different."
I take a deep breath, suddenly certain I don't need elaborate plans or perfect moments. "I have something to tell you."
His body tenses immediately, years of hard-earned caution making him prepare for bad news. "What is it?"
Instead of answering, I reach into my pocket and withdraw one of the tests, placing it in his palm.
He stares at it uncomprehendingly for a moment, then his eyes widen as understanding dawns. "Livie," he breathes, his voice barely audible. "Is this…?"
"I'm pregnant," I confirm, watching his face carefully. "We're having a baby."
For one terrifying second, his expression remains frozen in shock. Then, something transforms in his eyes—a light breaking through, brighter than I've ever seen.
"A baby," he repeats, as if testing the reality of the words. "Our baby."
His hand moves to my stomach, hovering uncertainly until I guide it to rest against me. Though there's nothing to feel yet, the gesture is so tender it brings tears to my eyes.
"Are you happy?" I whisper, needing to hear the words.
In answer, he drops to his knees before me, pressing his face against my abdomen. His shoulders shake once, twice, and I realize with astonishment that my fierce, strong husband is crying.
"Greyson," I murmur, running my fingers through his hair.
He looks up at me, eyes shining with tears and wonder. "You're giving me a family." His voice is thick with emotion. "Something that's ours, something we created together." His hand strokes reverently over my stomach. "I never thought… never dared to hope…"
"So, you're happy?" I press, my own tears falling freely now.
He rises, rising to his feet and cradling my face between his hands. "Happy doesn't begin to cover it, Livie. I'm… There aren't words." He kisses me deeply, pouring everything he can't articulate into the connection. "I love you. Both of you. So much it terrifies me."
"It scares me too," I admit. "Being responsible for this tiny person. Keeping them safe."
His expression shifts, that familiar instinct sharpening his features. "Nothing will ever harm either of you," he vows. "I swear it."
"I know." I lean into his touch, drawing strength from his certainty. "We're going to be parents, Greyson."
"Parents," he echoes. A slow smile spreads across his face, transforming him from the dangerous club president to a man simply overjoyed at the prospect of fatherhood. "When? How far along are you?"
"I'm not sure. Six, maybe seven weeks? I need to see a doctor to confirm."
"Tomorrow," he decides immediately. "First thing. I'll call Meadow since she is the best.”
I laugh. "Slow down. We have time."
"I want everything perfect for you. For our baby." His hand returns to my stomach, protective and possessive. "Does anyone else know?"
"No, just us." I cover his hand with mine. "I wanted you to be the first."
He nods, pleased. "Your father's going to lose his mind."
The thought of telling my family sends a flutter of excitement through me. "He'll probably start building a crib tonight."
"And your brothers will threaten to kill me all over again," Greyson adds with a wry smile. "Physical evidence I've defiled their baby sister."
"Pretty sure the wedding ring already confirmed that," I tease.
He guides me to sit on the edge of the bed, kneeling before me once more. "A family of our own," he murmurs, still sounding amazed. "After everything we've been through, everything we've survived…"
"It feels like a miracle," I finish for him.
"You're the miracle," he corrects, pressing his lips to my still flat belly. "You and this little one. My family. My life."
As he holds me, his strong arms gentle around my waist, his cheek resting against where our child grows, I feel a sense of completeness I never imagined possible. We've come so far from those terrifying days a year ago, from kidnapping and torture and fear that nearly destroyed us.
Now we're creating life. Building a future. Transforming darkness into light.
"I love you," I whisper.
He looks up, his eyes reflecting everything I feel. "And I love you. Both of you. More than my own life."
In the quiet of our bedroom, with the afternoon sun painting golden patterns across the floor, we begin to dream, of nursery colors and tiny clothes. Of first steps and bedtime stories of a child with my eyes and Greyson's smile.