Chapter 34
Chapter
Thirty-Four
KADE
We all sit at the dining table—actually sit, together, like some kind of functional household.
Pretty sure this is a first in the time we've shared this place.
The four of us usually eat in shifts, grabbing food between runs or club business, shoving takeout containers in the fridge with names scrawled on masking tape.
But here we are, plates full of Fallon's lasagna, passing garlic bread around like we're a normal fucking family instead of four MC brothers who usually communicate in grunts and nods.
The food is incredible. Like, seriously good.
Not just "better than takeout" good—actual home-cooked meal that makes you want seconds before you've finished firsts.
The kind of food that reminds you what a real kitchen is supposed to produce instead of just reheating leftover pizza at two in the morning.
"This is amazing," I say around a mouthful, not even caring about manners right now.
"Right?" Ash stabs another piece with his fork, already eyeing the pan for thirds. "Where'd you learn to cook like this?"
Fallon shrugs, cheeks flushed pink from the beer or the compliment—probably both. Her eyes are bright, relaxed in a way I've never seen her. "My mom taught me. Cooking was her love language."
Something shifts in her expression when she mentions her mom—grief, maybe, or longing—but it passes quick when Havoc speaks up.
"You can taste it," he says, which for him might as well be a fucking sonnet. The guy doesn't give compliments unless he means them.
She beams at that, whole face lighting up with genuine happiness, and I squeeze her thigh under the table. Her hand covers mine immediately, fingers threading through, and I feel that familiar contentment settle in my chest.
We finish every last bite—even scrape the pan clean—then work together cleaning up.
Another miracle. Beck washes while Ash dries, Havoc cleans up the table with his usual military precision, and I help Fallon wipe down counters.
It's domestic as hell and weirdly nice. The kind of normal I never thought I'd want, but watching her laugh at something Ash says while elbow-deep in soapy water makes me realize I could get used to this. Could get very fucking used to this.
"Poker rematch," Ash announces, grabbing the card deck from the junk drawer where we keep batteries, zip ties, and other random shit. "I want my forty bucks back."
"Dream on," Fallon says, tossing the dishrag at him with surprising accuracy. It hits him square in the face and he sputters dramatically.
"See? Violence. She's perfect for you, Kade."
We settle back at the table, chairs scraping against hardwood, but this time Beck makes Jack and Cokes at the counter—heavy on the Jack, light on the Coke, the way we like them.
I raise an eyebrow when Fallon takes one without hesitation, bringing it to her lips like she's done this a thousand times before.
"You like whiskey?"
"Love it." She takes a sip and hums appreciation, eyes closing briefly in satisfaction. "My grandpa drank Jack. Used to sneak me tastes when I was sixteen, said I needed to learn to drink properly before college boys tried to get me drunk on cheap vodka."
"Corrupting youth," Beck says approvingly, lifting his glass in a mock toast. "I like your grandpa already."
"He would've liked you too," she says, and there's that flash of grief again, quick and sharp before she buries it in another drink.
The game starts and the shit-talking begins immediately, voices overlapping as cards get dealt and chips get pushed around.
Fallon holds her own, giving as good as she gets, face serious as she studies her hand.
When Ash tries to bluff—going all in with what I can tell from his body language is absolute garbage—she calls him on it without hesitation.
"You touch your ear when you're lying," she says sweetly, voice syrupy and smug as she rakes in the pot with both hands. "Left ear, specifically. Every single time."
"Fuck." Ash downs his drink in one gulp, ice cubes clinking. "You're banned from poker night. Effective immediately."
"You invited me!" She laughs, the sound bright and uninhibited in a way that makes my chest tight.
"Worst mistake of my life."
"Second worst," Beck corrects, dealing the next hand. "First was that time you tried to outdrink Havoc."
"We don't talk about that night."
Hours blur together—cards, drinks, laughter echoing off the walls of our usually quiet house.
Music is still on low in the background, and Fallon fits with my brothers like she's always been here, like this is where she belongs.
Watching her joke with them while slightly buzzed, cheeks pink and eyes bright, hair falling out of its ponytail to frame her face—I'm falling hard.
Harder than I already was, which I didn't think was fucking possible.
But eventually I want her all to myself. Want her in my bed, in my arms, without an audience.
Ash picks up the cards and begins shuffling for another round, hands moving automatically through the motions, when I lean back in my chair and stretch. "I think we're done."
"Oh no," Beck groans, dramatic as always. "They're going to keep us up all night again."
Fallon's eyes go wide, hand flying to her mouth. "Did we?"
The guys burst out laughing, and I can't help grinning at her mortified expression.
"Not really," Havoc says, that rare smile playing at his mouth, the one that makes him look ten years younger. "We weren't trying to sleep."
"Oh my god." She buries her face in my shirt, shoulders shaking with embarrassed laughter. "I hate all of you."
"No you don't," Ash says with a grin, already standing to clear the table. "Go get you some."
We all start laughing, and Fallon's face goes even redder, which I didn't think was possible. She looks like a tomato, and it's fucking adorable.
"Okay." She stands up and wobbles immediately, the alcohol hitting her now that she's vertical.
I grab her hips, steadying her against me. Then I stand and scoop her up in one motion, arms under her ass, lifting her like she weighs nothing. She wraps her legs around me immediately, locking her ankles behind my back and nuzzling into my neck with a contented sigh.
"See you guys tomorrow," I say, already heading for the stairs, Fallon's weight familiar and perfect in my arms.
"Have fun!" Ash calls after us, probably already cleaning up the cards and empty glasses. "Use protection!"
"Fuck off!" I call back, but I'm grinning.
She starts kissing my neck, soft and warm and wet, making me hard instantly despite carrying her up a flight of stairs. Her lips trail from my pulse point to my jaw, each kiss sending heat straight south.
"Tonight was so much fun," she murmurs against my skin, words slightly slurred. "The funnest."
I chuckle at the made-up word, taking the stairs carefully so I don't drop her. "I'm glad you had fun. They all really like you."
"I love them." She pulls back to look at me, eyes bright despite the alcohol glazing them slightly. "I love you all. Your whole family."
The words hit different when she's drunk and honest, no filter between heart and mouth.
Raw truth spilling out without the usual guards she keeps up.
I push my door open with my shoulder and walk over to the bed, pulling down the sheets one-handed before laying her down gently on the mattress.
She sprawls out immediately like a starfish, arms and legs spread wide, looking adorable and carefree in a way I've never seen before.
No tension in her shoulders, no worry lines between her brows.
Just Fallon, relaxed and happy and mine.
I pull her sleep shorts off carefully, sliding them down her legs and tossing them toward the hamper, leaving her in my oversized t-shirt and panties.
Then I cover her up with the sheet and comforter, tucking it around her.
My fingers smooth hair out of her face, tangled strands that smell like her shampoo and my kitchen.
"Get some sleep," I say, kissing her forehead, then her nose, then her lips softly.
She lets out this adorable whine, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. "But I want to…"
Then she makes a circle with one hand and sticks her pointer finger from the other hand through it, pumping in and out with exaggerated movements that make her intentions crystal fucking clear.
I bust out laughing, can't help it. She's trying to be sexy and instead she's the cutest drunk person I've ever seen. "Okay. I need to shower, but after."
Knowing damn well she'll be asleep before I'm even wet, probably before I've stripped out of my clothes.
"Okay." She smiles sleepily, eyes already half-closed, lids heavy. "I'm waiting on you."
I kiss her lips again, tasting whiskey. "Goodnight, Peaches."
"Goodnight," she mumbles, already getting comfortable, burrowing into my pillow like a cat finding the perfect spot. Her eyes drift shut completely, breathing evening out almost immediately.
I watch her for another moment—this woman who somehow fits into my chaotic life like she was always meant to be here, like every piece of my fucked-up world rearranged itself to make space for her—then head for the shower, heart feeling too full for my chest, like it might actually crack open from the weight of whatever the fuck this feeling is.
I finish my shower quick, barely bothering to dry off properly before I'm sliding back into bed beside her.
Water still drips from my hair onto the pillow—droplets trailing down my neck, soaking into the fabric—but I don't give a single shit.
None of it matters. I just need to be close to her right now, need to feel her warmth pressed against me, need to know she's here and real and safe.