Chapter 4
chapter four
Morgan
The alarm goes off too early, as always.
I wake to the weight of them on either side of me, the warm reality of their bodies anchoring me to our bed. Our bed. The thought still sends a flutter of disbelief through my chest.
"Sleep okay?" Matthew asks, his voice rough with sleep. His hand traces lazy circles on my bare stomach beneath the sheet.
"Better than I have in years." I turn to face him, drinking in the sight of him rumpled and unguarded.
We move around each other in the kitchen as if we've been doing it for years, not just dreaming about it. Every movement is easy, familiar, bliss I've only dreamed about. Matthew makes coffee while I slice fruit. Trenton stands at the stove, flipping pancakes with military precision.
Thirty minutes later, we're in Trenton's truck, heading toward the Devil Souls' MC clubhouse.
We couldn't wait any longer to tell their family.
I'm wedged between them in the front seat, their shoulders pressing against mine on either side.
The familiar leather scent of the truck, mixed with their cologne, is the scent of every memory we ever made here.
"You think they'll be pissed we didn't call first?" I ask, suddenly nervous.
Matthew laughs. "They'll be too shocked to be mad."
The clubhouse comes into view, a converted warehouse with the MC's logo painted prominently on the side. A nervous energy buzzes just under my skin. These men have been like family to me for years, watching over me when Trenton and Matthew were deployed.
"We haven't told anyone," Trenton says as he parks. "Not even our parents."
I squeeze his hand. "They're going to be so happy."
We walk in together, the three of us shoulder to shoulder. The main room is exactly as I remember: pool tables, bar, worn leather couches. But it's the wall behind the bar that catches my eye, a row of shadow boxes, each containing a cut for the members that are away.
Trenton's and Matthew's patches hang there, preserved and waiting.
Butch spots us first. The big man freezes mid-pool shot, cue stick hovering over the table. "Holy fucking shit."
The room goes quiet. Liam turns from the bar, his drink halfway to his mouth. Kyle's deep voice cuts off mid-sentence as he spots us from across the room.
Techy vaults over the pool table. Kyle nearly knocks over his chair. Liam's drink sloshes over the bar as he abandons it. In seconds, we're surrounded by a wall of leather and disbelief.
I stand back, a lump forming in my throat as I watch the Devil Souls welcome their brothers home. These men have been my rock for so long, my protectors, my family, my connection to the two men I love during their long deployments.
"Little Morgan," Liam says, appearing beside me. He pulls me into a hug that lifts me off my feet. "You look good, sweetheart."
"Couldn't be better," I tell him, laughing through tears.
The door to the back room slams open with a bang, and suddenly the space fills with even more bodies. More noise, more joy.
"Trent? Matt?" Greyson's voice cuts through the chaos as he shoves his way forward, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Holy shit!" Before he can finish, I'm engulfed in a wave of bodies. Greyson, the tallest, grabs me by the shoulders, squeezing me in a hug hard enough to pop my spine.
"They surprised me too," I tell him, breathless as he sets me down.
Caiden appears, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the chaos around us. He nods at me, then pulls both Trenton and Matthew into simultaneous bro hugs. "Good to see you home."
Harlan and Cole push through the crowd together, matching grins splitting their faces. "When did you guys get back?" Cole demands, his voice rising above the celebrations.
"Last night," Matthew answers, his arm sliding around my waist. "Couldn't stay away any longer."
Zach steps forward, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the three of us together. "So it's true then? You're out for good?"
Trenton nods once. "Honorable discharges. Paperwork's done."
A roar goes up from the younger men. I scan their faces, boys I knew, now all sharp features and broad shoulders. They carry their fathers' legacies in the set of their jaws and the confidence in their eyes. They aren't boys anymore.
"You look good, Morgan," Harlan says, his voice warm with affection. "Really good."
"Taking care of herself while you two were gone," Cole adds, punching Trenton's shoulder lightly. "Unlike these idiots who kept trying to get themselves killed."
The banter flows, a familiar current pulling them all along. I watch them, a laugh catching in my throat. It's like listening to a song I haven't heard in years but still knowing every word. Six years, and not a single note is out of place.
"Remember when you three used to sneak out to the quarry?" Greyson asks, grinning. "Dad nearly skinned you alive when he found out."
Trenton's lips quirk. "Worth it."
"Was it?" Matthew counters with a laugh. "Torch didn't let you ride for a month."
"Totally worth it," Trenton insists, his hand finding mine.
I squeeze back, the emotion making my chest tight. The faces are the same, but the years have carved new lines into them, leaving echoes of their fathers in the corners of their eyes. It's our shared history staring back at me.
"We've missed this," I admit, gesturing at all of them. "All of you."
"Not as much as we've missed you," Zach says, surprising me with the sincerity in his voice. "The club wasn't the same without you three together."
The older generation watches from a distance, letting the second generation have their moment. I catch Kyle's eye over Greyson's shoulder, and he nods once. Approval, acceptance, family.
They bicker good-naturedly, the dynamic between them unchanged despite the years. I watch them go, these men who are more family than friends, and feel the tightness I've carried all week quietly leave my chest.
The low rumble of conversation quickly swells. Someone cranks up the music, and the air thickens with the smell of spilled beer and old stories despite the early hour. Butch finds me, pressing my favorite brand into my hand with a familiar wink.
"I thought you two had another three weeks," Greyson says, arm around Matthew's shoulders. "What changed?"
"Wait," Techy says, eyes narrowing. "Does your old man know?"
Trenton shakes his head. "No one knew except Morgan."
I feel a sudden surge of emotion as I watch the realization spread through the room. These men, these dangerous, loyal men, are genuinely happy to have their brothers home.
Trenton and Matthew exchange a look. Without a word, they move toward the wall of shadow boxes.
"Let me," Greyson says, reaching for the framed patches.
Trenton shakes his head. "We've got it."
I watch, barely breathing, as they remove their own patches from the wall. The leather cuts have hung there for years, symbols of absence. Now they're coming down, to be worn again.
Matthew lifts his first, running his fingers over the Devil Souls' emblem. "Feels right."
Trenton nods, holding his own. "Like coming home."
The commotion in the main room shifts as the back door opens again.
The crowd parts like water, and there he is.
Torch, Trenton's father, the Devil Souls' vice president.
His tall frame fills the doorway, cut emblazoned with the MC's colors.
He's scanning the room with that familiar intensity, probably wondering what's causing the uproar at nine a.m. on a Saturday.
Then his eyes lock on Trenton.
For a split second, nothing happens. Torch's face, always so controlled, so carefully composed, completely shatters. His jaw drops. His eyes widen. The clipboard in his hand clatters to the floor.
"Son?"
The word barely makes it out of his throat.
Trenton moves through the crowd, and I watch from my spot by the bar as father and son face each other after years of separation. Torch's hands are shaking. Actually shaking. I've never seen this man show weakness before.
"You're supposed to be—" Torch starts, his voice rough. "Your mother said—"
"I know," Trenton interrupts. "We wanted to surprise everyone."
Then Torch pulls his son into a hug so fierce I can see the strain in Trenton's shoulders. It's the first time I've ever seen them embrace like this, all the pretense of toughness, of club loyalty, stripped away. Just a father holding his son.
The room has gone quiet. Even the rowdiest of the prospects have stopped their celebration to watch.
"How?" Torch asks when they finally separate. "You still had another tour."
"Honorable discharge," Trenton explains. "For both of us. We're out, Dad. For good this time."
Torch looks at Matthew, then at me, understanding dawning on his face. "You're home."
It's not a question.
"We're home," Matthew confirms, moving to stand beside Trenton. "All of us."
Torch's gaze finds me across the room. There's something in his expression I can't quite read. Relief, maybe. Or pride. Or both.
"Kayla's going to kill me for not calling her," he says, but he's smiling now, the shock giving way to pure joy. "She'll want to see you right away."
Trenton nods. "We'll head over after breakfast."
The club erupts again, but I'm watching Torch, watching the way his eyes keep returning to his son, as if making sure Trenton won't disappear. Six years of deployment, of video calls, of pretending everything is fine, it's all caught up with him in this moment.
"Drinks!" Greyson announces, already pulling bottles from behind the bar. "Real ones. No fucking coffee this morning."
A glass is pressed into my hand. I recognize the amber of good whiskey, not the watered-down stuff served to hangers-on, but the liquor reserved for family.
I take a sip, the burn warming my throat as I watch our family, our real family, reunite around us. Trenton and Torch have moved to a corner, heads bent together in quiet conversation. Matthew's surrounded by the younger members, laughing at some story being told.
The smell of it. The noise of it. The bone-deep feeling of being home.