Epilogue London
Three weeks later…
I'm curled in the armchair in our room, scrolling through job listings on my phone, when I get a text from Sarah—nothing but a thumbs-up emoji.
I know what it means. It’s our code to tell me my mother’s progressing well.
Doc and Sarah have been checking in on my mom regularly, because I just can’t.
Zeus says I don’t have to visit her until I’m ready.
“Maybe not ever, if that's what you decide,” he says. “Nobody's going to judge you either way."
Honestly, I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. I imagine I will someday.
I pull my knees to my chest. The club set her up with everything she needs—rehab paid in full, an efficiency apartment waiting for her when she graduates the program, even a job lined up at a dry cleaners owned by one of the club's associates. Chaos assured me they’d keep eyes on her and make sure she stays clean and doesn't reconnect with her druggie contacts.
It's more than she deserves. I know that. But she's still my mother. And I'm glad she isn't dead in a ditch somewhere.
As for Kandi. She's gone—platinum hair, venomous tongue, and all. According to Rowan, as soon as Chaos heard about her loose tongue, he booted her out the door.
Good riddance.
"Get dressed." Zeus fills the doorway, freshly showered, smelling like cedar and clean skin. “I want to take you somewhere."
I look up from my phone. "Where?"
"It's a surprise."
His grin stretches wide—devastating, full-wattage. "Trust me."
Twenty minutes later, I'm on the back of his Harley, my arms locked around his waist, my cheek pressed against his leather cut. The engine rumbles beneath us as we wind through streets that grow progressively greener—residential neighborhoods giving way to tree-lined boulevards.
He pulls into the parking lot of a well-manicured building. The sign reads: Sunrise Manor Memory Care Facility.
"A nursing home?" I dismount and pull off my helmet, confused.
Zeus takes the helmet from me, hooks it on the handlebar, and extends his hand. "Come on. I don’t want to be late.”
Inside, the lobby is clean and cheerful—fresh flowers on the reception desk, a piano melody drifting from a speaker, and the scent of cinnamon and something baked hanging in the air.
"Robert!" A nurse behind the desk lights up when she sees Zeus. "We haven't seen you in a while."
I cock a brow up at Zeus. "Robert?"
“Just go with it," he mutters, his ears turning faintly pink.
More staff appear as we walk the corridor—every single one of them greeting him as Robert. A male orderly fist-bumps him. A woman pushing a medication cart waves. By the third "Robert," I'm biting my cheek to keep from laughing.
I tug his hand. "Why is everyone calling you Robert?"
He whistles a few bars of something casual and doesn't answer—pretends he didn't hear me—which only makes it worse.
We round a corner into a sunlit common room, and a small, silver-haired woman in a floral cardigan looks up from a jigsaw puzzle.
Zeus, my big, tattooed, leather-wearing biker—crosses the room in three strides, bends down, and presses a gentle kiss to the old woman's papery cheek.
"Hello, Eleanor." His voice is softer than I've ever heard it.
Her rheumy eyes look up at him. “Do I know you?”
Zeus doesn’t miss a beat. “I don’t know, but I’d sure like to know a beautiful gal like you."
"Oh, stop it. You charmer you." She swats his arm, pink creeping into her wrinkled cheeks. “Has anyone ever told you that you look just like Robert Redford?”
Zeus grins widely. “A time or two.” Zeus reaches back for my hand and draws me forward. "Eleanor, this is London. My girl."
Eleanor's gaze moves between us, and her smile deepens until every crease on her face participates. "Well, Mr. Redford, you have a lovely lady friend.”
“Please,” Zeus tells her, “Call me Robert. I insist.”
I glance at Zeus. He just shrugs, that crooked grin in full effect, and mouths the word alzheimers.
She takes my hand in both of hers—her skin is tissue-paper soft. "Sit, please."
I sit beside Eleanor and Zeus drops into the chair on Eleanor's other side, stretching his long legs out and crossing his arms over his chest. "Eleanor is Rowan's grandmother," he explains to me. "We've been buddies for a while now."
Zeus catches my eye over Eleanor's head and winks. This is the version of Zeus I’ve been seeing lately—a funny, cocky, charismatic man. And I love it.
"Now." Eleanor straightens in her chair with surprising authority. "I hear there's a shuffleboard tournament starting in ten minutes, and I need a team."
Zeus rubs his palms together. “You got one. The three of us will slaughter all competitors.”
My jaw drops. I lean over and whisper in Zeus’s ear, “I’ve never played shuffleboard in my life."
He whispers back, “Neither has Eleanor, and she's won three tournaments."
We make our way to the activity room where a shuffleboard court is taped onto the polished floor. Other residents gather—some in wheelchairs, some with walkers, all of them eyeing Zeus with a mixture of familiarity and amusement.
The tournament begins, and Zeus transforms.
He pumps his fist when Eleanor scores. He and Harold, a ninety-year-old who apparently beat them last time, trash-talk each other.
He launches into an impression of Eleanor's victory dance from a previous tournament—shuffling his big frame side to side with his arms raised, chin tilted high like he's accepting an Academy Award—and a nurse laughs so hard she’s in tears.
He high-fives me with both hands when I land a puck in the scoring zone by pure luck.
"That's my girl!" He scoops me up and spins me—right there in the middle of a memory care facility, surrounded by elderly residents who clap and cheer.
My man is theatrical and competitive and ridiculous, and I love every single inch of him.
When we win—barely, by two points, and only because Harold's partner got distracted by the snack cart—Zeus celebrates like we've won the Super Bowl. Arms in the air, victory lap around the shuffleboard court, a bow to Eleanor who curtsies back with regal grace.
"The dream team,” he declares to the room at large.
Eleanor tugs my sleeve as Zeus accepts congratulatory handshakes from the staff. Her eyes are clear in this moment—focused and knowing. "He's a good man,” she says. "Hold onto him."
I squeeze her hand. "I plan to."
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Next series: Hellbound Devils MC
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