24. Stone
I hang back longer than I mean to. Not because I don’t want to be with her — but because watching her with Angel does something to my chest I can’t quite name.
She held that little girl’s hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. Guiding her through the house, listening to her chatter, helping her find her dad. Calm. Steady. Gentle. And fierce when it mattered.
I think about that — about her with a child, about a future I haven’t let myself imagine until now. I think about the kids I could have with her someday, the home we could build. My chest tightens, a mix of longing and something closer to awe.
She’s not ready for that yet. I know it. And I accept it. I’ll wait. I’ll fight. I’ll be here — as much as she’ll let me — until the day she’s ready.
Then I move through the clubhouse. Long tables are arranged to fit everyone.
Lex is sitting at the table with my parents and Ashley, curled into the space like she’s always belonged there. My mom is talking — hands moving, eyes bright — and Lex is listening the way she always does, fully present, laughing at the right moments, asking questions that aren’t polite filler but real curiosity. My dad sits across from them, quieter, watching her over the rim of his coffee mug with the calm assessment he’s always had. Ashley is leaned in close, already comfortable enough to tease, already brushing Lex’s arm when she laughs.
She fits.
Too easily. Too perfectly.
I think about Angel again, her tiny hand in Lex’s. About the warmth Lex brings to that room, to that little girl. About the life I want with her — someday, somehow — even if it has to be patient.
And for the first time in a long while, I can picture it: chaos and leather and engines and noise, yes. But also warmth. Laughter. Family. Lex in the middle of it all.
My sister says something, and Lex grins — wide, unguarded — then fires back without missing a beat. Ashley laughs, throws her head back, delighted.
That’s it. That’s the moment.
Something in my chest settles for good.
She became my entire life without ever demanding to be.
I didn’t plan it. Hell, I didn’t even see it coming. One night she stumbled into my world bleeding and terrified, and now she’s here, stealing my family’s attention like she was always meant to. Loving her didn’t happen slowly. It hit me all at once and never let go.
I love her in a way that scares me — in a way that rewired me. Every future I picture has her in it, steady and sharp and alive. I’d burn cities to keep her safe. I’d walk away from anything if she asked.
I don’t think she knows how deep it goes.
Maybe that’s okay.
The door opens, and I tense before I even see who it is.
Rasmus.
He steps inside with that polite, careful posture of his, like he’s entering a room that might bite. His eyes sweep the clubhouse once — taking in the noise, the colors, the chaos — and then they find Lex.
Her whole face changes.
She lights up instantly.
There’s a flicker in my gut — instinctive, old, territorial — and I don’t even bother pretending it isn’t there. I don’t like him. Never really have. He’s too close to her history, too steady, too damn normal for a world like mine.
But Lex beams when she sees him, and that matters more than my discomfort.
She crosses the room without hesitation and pulls him into a hug. He stiffens for half a second — surprised — then laughs quietly and hugs her back, hands respectful, space kept. No lingering. No bullshit.
I watch anyway.
Always do.
He says something low enough I can’t catch it. Lex rolls her eyes, smiling. He doesn’t overstep. Doesn’t try to be more than he is. Doesn’t touch Lex again after that first hug.
And it’s obvious — painfully obvious — that whatever they are, it’s not that.
I hate him less than I did five minutes ago.
That’s progress.
I push off the wall and head over, slipping my hand around Lex’s waist as I get close, fingers splaying over her hip in a way that isn’t subtle at all. She leans into me automatically, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Rasmus,” I say, giving him a nod that’s polite on the surface and something else underneath. “Glad you could make it.”
He meets my eyes, calm as ever. “Thanks for the invite,” he replies, accent smooth, tone careful — like he knows exactly what I’m doing and refuses to take the bait.
“Of course,” I say, tightening my arm around Lex just enough to make a point. “You mean a lot to Lex.”
Her elbow finds my ribs without looking. Not hard — just a warning.
Rasmus notices. I can tell by the way his mouth twitches.
“Come on,” I add, jerking my chin toward the kitchen. “You haven’t met my sister yet.”
Ashley appears like she was summoned by the word sister, bright smile already in place. “Hi. I’m Ashley,” she says, sticking out a hand. “I’ve heard approximately nothing about you, which means you must be interesting.”
Rasmus blinks, caught off guard, then takes her hand. “Rasmus. I’ll try not to disappoint.”
And I see it.
The faint color climbing up his neck. The way his attention lingers on her for half a second too long. The careful way he straightens, like he suddenly remembers he has a spine.
Huh.
I know that look.
It’s the same damn way I look at Lex.
The realization settles in, easing something in my chest I didn’t even know was tight. Lex needs people outside this life — people who don’t wear patches, who don’t live in the noise and the weight of it all. She needs a version of herself that exists beyond me, beyond Broken Halos.
I know that. I accept it.
And watching Rasmus trip over his own composure because of my sister makes him feel a hell of a lot less like a threat.
Lex glances up at me then, catching me watching her. She smiles — soft, private — like the room falls away for a second and it’s just us.
My chest tightens.
Yeah.
This is it.
The chaos. The family. The future I never planned but can’t imagine walking away from.
I already have everything.
It’s later by the time the clubhouse starts to empty.
Plates stacked. Laughter fading. My mom hugging Lex like she’s already decided she’s permanent.She is. Ashley promising texts, already making plans. My dad claps me on the shoulder on his way out, says nothing — which, from him, says everything.
Lex disappears in the kitchen to pack leftovers, and the quiet that settles afterward feels thick. Earned. The good kind of tired.
Bruiser’s already grabbing his helmet when I step outside.
“Ride?” he asks.
I nod.
The road clears my head the way it always has. Engine roaring. Wind ripping through me. Movement keeping my thoughts from stacking too close. Bruiser rides beside me, steady as ever. Sons of the old guard. Prez and VP blood. This is the language we learned first.
When we stop, engines ticking as they cool, Bruiser swings off his bike and presses a bottle of water into my hand. He studies me for a beat, like he’s reading the last few hours written all over my face.
Then he says, casual as hell, “You gonna put a ring on her or what?”
I choke out a breath. “Jesus. No warm-up at all?”
He shrugs. “You don’t need it.”
I take a drink, stare out into the dark. “Yeah,” I say finally. “I am.”
No hesitation. No testing the words.
Bruiser nods once. No surprise. “Figured.”
He shifts his weight, boots scraping the ground. “My old man used to say bikers are built different,” he continues. “We don’t ease into shit. We don’t test-drive. When it hits, it hits all at once.”
“Mine said the same,” I reply. “Said you know, or you don’t.”
Bruiser huffs quietly. “I know.”
I glance at him.
He’s looking out into the dark, jaw tight, hands shoved into his pockets like he doesn’t want to give too much away.
“Haven’t found it yet,” he admits. “The one that makes everything else go quiet.”
I say nothing. Don’t need to.
“But I want it,” he adds after a beat. “Same as you. Not halfway. Not temporary. The real thing.”
Something in my chest eases.
“When you find her,” I say, “don’t let her walk.”
His mouth twists into something sharp. “Wouldn’t.”
There’s a stretch of silence — familiar, unforced.
“She’s already yours,” he says finally. “Marriage just makes it louder.”
“I don’t want loud,” I tell him. “I want permanent.”
That earns me a slow nod. Respect. Understanding.
“Then don’t fuck it up,” he says.
I smirk faintly. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
He bumps his shoulder into mine, solid and grounding, then turns back toward his bike, conversation closed the way his always are.
And somehow, that’s all the blessing I need.