EPILOGUE
EDEN
Two weeks later . . .
I step outside to the sound of engines.
It rolls through the yard like a heartbeat—steady, familiar, alive. Bikes lining up. Laughter. Someone revving a little too loud. The smell of fuel and barbecue smoke hangs heavy in the air, mixing with spring heat and something that feels like home.
I pause just inside the clubhouse doors, our daughter tucked against my chest in her sling, her tiny fist curled into my top like she owns me. She does.
Kade appears at my side without a word, his hand finding my lower back automatically. Protective. Grounding. The same way it always has been, only now there’s no tension in it. No fear.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
I nod. “I think so.”
It’s barely noon, but the grill’s already going. A couple older kids are tearing around the yard playing chase, while the old ladies sit together, chatting and laughing like they’ve been doing this forever.
Kade grins, eyes scanning the chaos. “I missed it.”
“Me too,” I say softly.
We’ve only been back a few days. Kade insisted we wait for the all-clear before travelling, then Martha drove us, while he rode his bike the whole way back, like he needed the road beneath him again.
Fern and Diesel were overjoyed when we told them the news.
Fern even decorated the baby’s room. Not that Isla’s old enough to use it yet .
. . and that’s if Kade ever allows her out of our room before her fifth birthday.
And there was no question that Kade wasn’t taking the President’s patch back.
Diesel wouldn’t hear of votes or waiting.
He was very clear that Kade is and always will be the President of the Satan Kings.
I step forward with Kade, into the noise, into the life we nearly lost.
Fern spots us immediately.
“Oh my god, give me my niece,” she shrieks, charging across the yard.
Kade laughs and intercepts her smoothly, blocking her with an arm. “Hands washed?”
She skids to a halt, scowling. “You’re a dick.”
“Yeah,” he agrees easily, “but I’m her dad, so you have to respect me.”
That still does something to me, hearing him say it out loud.
“Have you named her yet?” Fern demands. “We can’t keep calling her the baby.”
I glance at Kade, and when he nods, I smile.
“Isla Elizabeth Blackwell.”
My chest tightens with pride as I say it.
Diesel appears next, beer in hand. His gaze drops to the baby, and something unguarded crosses his face.
“She’s perfect,” he says quietly.
Kade nods, pride lighting him from the inside out. “I know.”
“Pity she ain’t ever gonna marry, have kids, have a life,” Diesel says, winking my way.
I laugh, rolling my eyes. She’s their first MC princess, of course they’ll be over protective. And I secretly love that for her.
No one asks questions. Not about where we’ve been. Not about how we got here. Not about the past.
They just accept us, flaws and all, like family always does.
Later, when the sun dips low and the yard glows gold, Kade sits on a bench with Isla balanced carefully on his thigh. He’s showing her his bike, pointing out parts like she understands every word.
“One day,” he tells her softly, “you’ll sit right here. Helmet bigger than your head. And your mum will lose her shit.”
I roll my eyes, smiling.
He looks up at me then, like he still can’t quite believe I’m here.
“I didn’t think I deserved this,” he admits quietly.
I step closer, resting my hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t. Not then.” I press a kiss to his cheek. “But you earned it,” I add. “Every day since.”
His throat works as he swallows, then he presses a kiss to our daughter’s hair.
The club roars around us, imperfect, loud, loyal.
And for the first time in a long time, there’s no fear tangled up in loving him. No waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Just this.
Family. Forgiveness. Forever.
And somewhere between the rev of engines and our baby’s soft sighs, I realise . . .
We didn’t go back to the life we had. We’re building a better one.
Together.
THE END