6. Rory
RORY
Luna has pizza sauce on both cheeks, her chin, and somehow in her hair.
"More pepperoni!" she announces, reaching across the kitchen table for another slice.
"Slow down, baby." I pass her a napkin she immediately ignores.
Doc grins from across the table, on his third slice, at ease in sweats and an old t-shirt. Friday night pizza has become our thing—Luna's choice, always pepperoni, always from the same place.
Three months of this.
Three months since Matt ran. Three months of pizza nights and bedtime routines and waking up in the same bed. Three months of being exactly where I'm supposed to be.
"Daddy Doc, Mr. Hops wants pizza too."
"Mr. Hops is a stuffed bunny," Doc says reasonably.
"He's hungry!"
Doc tears off a tiny piece of crust and hands it to her. "There. Now he's fed."
Luna holds it up to the rabbit's face, makes elaborate chewing noises, then eats it herself. "He says thank you."
"I bet he does." He catches my eye, that slow smile that still makes my ribs tighten.
Daddy Doc.
She started calling him that six weeks ago, casual as anything. We'd been at the park when another kid asked who he was. Luna had looked up at Doc with absolute certainty and said, "My Daddy Doc."
He'd frozen mid-push on her swing. His gaze found mine across the playground—questioning, asking permission, asking if this was okay, asking if he was allowed to be this to her.
I'd nodded, words sticking in my throat.
That night, after Luna fell asleep, he'd pulled me into his arms and held on like his life depended on it.
"I don't deserve this," he'd whispered against my hair.
"You deserve everything," I'd told him.
And I'd meant it.
This is real. This Friday night with pizza grease and a four-year-old's negotiations about stuffed animal dining preferences—this is my life now.
I work morning shifts at Sweet Salvation with Maddie, helping with the baking and counter work. Good, honest work that lets me be home by two when Luna gets out of preschool. Doc's flexible schedule with his clinic and other MC business means he can pick her up most days.
The other moms at preschool definitely notice him.
Hard not to—six-foot-three of tattooed muscle, all protective intensity and barely contained alpha energy. But when Luna runs out of the building and launches herself at him, shrieking "Daddy Doc!" at the top of her lungs, those other moms get the message loud and clear.
He's taken.
Very, very taken.
"Can I have ice cream?" Luna asks, pizza forgotten.
"After bath," Doc says.
"But I want it now!"
"Bath first. Then ice cream. Then story time."
Luna considers this, sauce-covered face scrunched in concentration. "Two scoops?"
Doc raises an eyebrow. "One scoop. Take it or leave it."
"Fine." Luna sighs with the weight of the world on her small shoulders. "One scoop."
I hide my smile behind my water glass. He's better at negotiating with her than I am—never budges on the important stuff, but makes her feel like she's winning anyway.
Matt feels like a nightmare from another life. Someone I used to know. Someone who doesn't matter anymore.
We verified last month that he moved—Pope's contacts confirmed he transferred to a department three states away. Far enough that he'd never make the drive. Far enough that he's finally, truly gone.
I should feel relief.
Instead, I feel... free.
Bath time is the usual chaos—Luna's rubber duck collection, enough splashing to soak the bathroom floor, and negotiations about how much soap is "too much."
I handles the actual washing while he lays out pajamas. By the time he carries her out in her PJ’s, she's yawning despite her earlier insistence that she's "not even tired."
Pajamas. Teeth brushing. The promised ice cream, eaten at the kitchen table with exaggerated care.
"Story time!" Luna announces, climbing onto the couch with Mr. Hops.
Doc settles beside her, and she immediately burrows into his side. I sit on her other side, and she grabs my hand like she needs to make sure we're both there.
"Which one tonight?" Doc asks.
"The bunny one!"
Of course. The one about the bunny who's scared of the dark—we've read it approximately eight hundred times.
Doc does all the voices, making Luna giggle so hard she gets the hiccups. By the time he reaches the end, her eyes droop.
"Love you, Daddy Doc," she mumbles, half-asleep.
He freezes for a second—it still catches him off-guard sometimes, hearing her say it. Then he bends down and kisses her forehead. "Love you too, princess. Sweet dreams."
"Love you, Mommy."
"Love you, baby girl."
He carries her to bed, tucking her in with practiced ease. We slip out together, leaving the door cracked and the hallway light on like she prefers.
By seven-thirty, she's out.
In the living room, Doc pulls me onto the couch, arranging me so I'm sprawled across his lap. His hand slides under my shirt, palm warm against my lower back.
"Friday night," I say. "We're wild."
"Wildest people I know." His other hand comes up to play with my hair. "Pizza, ice cream, bedtime stories. Living on the edge."
We sit like this sometimes—touching, being. After years of fighting for every moment of peace, the simple act of existing together feels revolutionary.
"Never thought I'd have this," he says quietly, his fingers moving against my skin.
I shift to look at him. "Have what?"
"This. Family. Someone to come home to." His jaw works. "Someone who wants me to come home."
"Doc—"
"I was good at being alone." His eyes meet mine, dark and intense. "I convinced myself it was better that way. Safer. That I was too broken for anything else."
"You're not—"
"I know." He cups my face. "You showed me that. You and Luna both. You showed me I could be more than my worst moments."
I kiss him because words aren't enough. Because three months ago I was running, and now I'm home. Because he gave us safety and I gave him purpose and somehow we built this—this life, this family, this thing that fits.
He kisses back slow and deep, the kind that says we've got time, we've got all night, we've got forever.
When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, his smile is pure satisfaction.
"Bedroom?" he suggests.
"Bedroom," I agree.
The bedroom door clicks shut behind us. Doc's hands frame my face, thumbs stroking my cheekbones as he studies me like he's memorizing every detail.
"You're so damn beautiful," he murmurs.
"You say that every day."
"Because it's true every day." He kisses me again, slower this time, taking his time like we have all night. Which we do.
My fingers find the hem of his shirt, tugging it up. He breaks the kiss long enough to pull it over his head, and then his hands are on me, warm and sure as he lifts my shirt away.
We've done this enough times now that there's no awkwardness, no hesitation. The easy confidence of knowing what the other person needs, what makes them gasp or moan or grip tighter.
He walks me backward toward the bed, his mouth never leaving mine. The backs of my knees hit the mattress and I fall, pulling him down with me.
"I love you," I whisper against his lips.
"I love you too." His weight settles over me, solid and real and everything I never knew I needed. "So damn much."
His mouth trails down my neck, finding that spot below my ear that makes me shiver. One hand slides up my ribs, reverent and possessive at the same time. Everything about the way he touches me says mine—not in a controlling way, but in the way of a man who can't believe his luck.
I arch into him, fingers threading through his hair. "Doc—"
"I've got you, sweetheart." His voice drops lower, rough with want. "Always got you."
Clothes disappear between kisses. His hands map every curve like he's learning me all over again, like he hasn't memorized every inch. When he finally settles between my thighs, his forehead drops to mine.
"Still can't believe you're real," he breathes.
"I'm real." I wrap my legs around him. "We're real."
He moves slow and deliberate, every thrust a promise. There's no rush, no urgency. The steady rhythm of two people who know they have all the time in the world. His hand finds mine, fingers lacing together above my head.
"Tell me what you need," he says against my mouth.
"This." My free hand grips his shoulder. "You."
The pleasure builds gradually, a tide rising between us. His name falls from my lips—raw, necessary. He responds with his own litany of praise—how good I am, how right this is, how he never wants to let go.
When I finally break, he's right there with me, my name a rough exhale against my neck. We hold each other through the aftershocks, breathing hard, hearts pounding in sync.
"Damn," he finally says.
I laugh, breathless. "Yeah. Damn."
He rolls to his back, pulling me with him so I'm sprawled across his chest. His fingers trail up and down my spine, steady and soothing.
"Stay like this forever?" I suggest.
"Deal." He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "Although eventually Luna's going to wake up and want breakfast."
"Details."
We lie tangled together in the dark, his heartbeat steady under my ear. His hand runs through my hair in long, soothing strokes.
"You deserve it all," I whisper.
His arms tighten around me. "Already got it."
Six months.
Half a year since I showed up at his clinic at one in the morning, desperate and afraid.
Six months of building a life I didn't know I could have.
Saturday morning means the farmers market—our weekly ritual. Luna rides on Doc's shoulders, pointing out every flower and vegetable with enthusiastic commentary. I walk beside them, grocery bag over my shoulder, pretending not to notice how every woman we pass does a double-take.
He's mine. They can look all they want.
"Daddy Doc, can we get strawberries?"
"Whatever you want, princess."
We're loading up on produce when I spot Maddie and Jax across the way, their toddler Emmett balanced on Jax's hip. Maddie waves us over.
"Look at you three," she says, grinning. "Domestic as hell."
"Says the woman buying organic baby food," I counter.
"Fair point." She shifts her own grocery bag. "Luna, want to help Emmett pick out some flowers?"
Luna scrambles down from Doc's shoulders, taking Emmett's chubby hand with careful gentleness.
"I've got them," Jax says, following the kids toward the flower stall.
Maddie loops her arm through mine. "So. Six months in. How's it going?"
"Good." Better than good. Right, actually, but I don't want to jinx it.
"Just good?" She bumps my shoulder. "Girl, I've seen the way that man looks at you. That's not 'good.' That's 'I would burn down the world for you' territory."
Heat creeps into my cheeks. "It's really good, Maddie. Like, scary good. Like I keep waiting for something to go wrong."
"It's not too easy. You both earned this." She squeezes my arm. "You got out of a bad situation, he got help for his trauma, and now you're building something healthy. That's not luck—that's work."
Rev and Eden appear nearby, Eden's hand resting on her small baby bump. Pope holds court near the coffee stand, keeping watch over his people like always.
This is what safety looks like—not one man protecting me, but an entire family standing guard.
Doc appears at my side, Luna back on his shoulders. "Ready?"
"Almost." I study him with Luna, the easy way he handles her weight, the protective hand keeping her steady. Patient and present and devoted.
The words slip out before I can stop them. "Want more?"
He goes very still. "More?"
"Kids." My pulse kicks up. "Someday. When we're ready. Do you... would you want more?"
His eyes search mine, intense and hopeful. "Someday?"
"Maybe sooner than someday." I step closer. "Maybe we see what happens."
"Yeah?" His voice drops, rough with emotion.
"Yeah."
He kisses me right there in the middle of the farmers market, Luna shrieking "Gross!" from her perch on his shoulders, Maddie wolf-whistling in the background.
When he pulls back, his eyes are bright. "Let's see what happens."
That night, we declare it family movie night. Luna's choice, which means we're watching her current obsession for the third time this week. She settles between us on the couch, Mr. Hops tucked under one arm, a bowl of popcorn balanced on her lap.
"Best family ever," she announces with the absolute certainty of a four-year-old.
Doc's hand finds mine across Luna's small body. His fingers lace with mine, steady and sure.
"Yeah," I agree, looking at my daughter and the man who became her father by choice. "We really are."
Luna falls asleep before the movie ends, popcorn kernels scattered across her pajamas. Doc carries her to bed without waking her, tucking her in with practiced ease.
When he returns, he pulls me back to the couch, settling me between his legs.
"You really want more?" he asks quietly.
"With you? Yes." I twist to see his face. "But only if you do."
"I want everything with you." His hands spread over my stomach, warm and possessive. "You, Luna, more kids if that's what happens. I want the whole damn thing, Rory. The chaos and the routine and the life you've given me."
"We gave each other this."
"Yeah." He kisses my temple. "We did."
We sit like that until the movie ends, until the apartment is quiet except for Luna's soft breathing through the monitor. Until it's us in the peace we built from broken pieces.
Matt is gone.
The nightmares have stopped.
We're home.
And maybe that's what salvation looks like—not the absence of pain, but the presence of something worth healing for. Not running from the past, but building toward the future.
One farmers market Saturday.
One bedtime story.
One moment after another.
Until those moments become a life.
Until that life becomes everything.
"Love you," I whisper.
"Love you too." His arms tighten around me. "Forever."
And I believe him.
Because forever starts with choosing to stay.
And we've both chosen each other.
Every day.
Every moment.
Luna's soft breathing drifts through the monitor. Doc's heartbeat steady under my palm. The weight of his arms around me—solid and real and ours.
This is what comes next. Not survival, but the beautiful, ordinary magic of building a future together.
And I can't wait to see what that looks like.