Epilogue
Sloane
One Year Later…
Colorful streamers are strung across the beams in the main room at the clubhouse, and balloons bob lazily near the ceiling, bright against the dark wood. Boone set up a long table covered in food, with paper plates neatly stacked, everything organized in a way that makes the chaos feel intentional.
Outside, through the open doors, I can see the new addition to the compound.
The outhouse we built months ago for storage has turned into something else entirely.
It’s now a play space, a daycare corner, with a small, fenced playground with swings and a slide.
There are chalk drawings on the concrete, tiny handprints in paint along one wall, toys scattered everywhere, evidence of a different kind of life taking root here.
The air is filled with laughter that doesn’t carry tension underneath it.
The clubhouse is still the stronghold of Iron Vale MC, still a place for motorcycle lovers to come together over a beer and a burger, to shoot the breeze and play snooker, or to hook up with one of the women who hang around at night like groupies.
But in the daytime, it’s also a family space, a place for the members with kids to spend time with their two main loves.
Jessy’s standing beside me with frosting on her cheek and a plastic crown slightly askew on her head, looking like she owns the entire world. In a way, she does, she’s my world.
I shift my weight slightly, adjusting the baby on my hip. “Gimme my baby,” Jessy demands, her arms outstretched, sticky fingers wiggling.
I laugh, glancing down at her. “Please,” I gently scold. “And Rowan’s our baby,” I correct.
She considers that. Then nods, satisfied. “Okay. But mostly mine.”
I don’t argue with my stubborn, wonderful girl. I love how much she adores her baby brother.
In my arms, my son squirms slightly, chubby fingers gripping the front of my shirt, his soft hair brushing against my chin.
“Easy, little man,” I murmur.
My boy is going to be as much of a handful as his big sister, if the way he already tries to grab everything within reach is anything to go by.
Rowan’s eyes are locked upward, tracking the movement of a balloon drifting lazily overhead, his tiny hand opening and closing like he’s trying to catch it.
“He likes the balloons,” Boone says, stepping up beside me, his voice softer than it ever used to be.
“I think he likes everything colorful,” I reply.
Boone smiles, reaching out to brush a hand gently over Rowan’s head, the gesture so natural now it still sometimes catches me off guard. He looks at ease, a natural father. All of them are.
Cruz is across the room, trying and failing to teach a group of kids how to stack cups into some kind of elaborate tower, his exaggerated instructions making them laugh more than listen.
Rook stands near the door, talking to Miguel Alvarez, his posture relaxed but still watchful in that way I don’t think will ever fully leave him.
I watch them for a moment, feeling utterly content.
I move over to the playpen we’ve set up for Rowan to keep him from crawling off, placing him down among the pile of toys he’s amassed today. He’s more interested in the wrapping paper, though, clutching it tightly in his little fists.
“Happy birthday, little man,” David says, crouching down slightly in front of Rowan, holding out a brightly wrapped gift.
Rowan immediately tries to grab it, and I deftly take it from David before he can reach it. I open it, revealing an adorable little play judge’s gavel.
“Is it okay?” David asks anxiously. “The clerk promised it was okay for babies.”
I smile, gently touching his arm. “It’s perfect.” I remove the packaging and hand it to Rowan, who grabs it with his chubby fingers and bashes it on the floor, giggling with delight. “He loves it.”
David beams. Behind him, a couple of the other lawyers linger, more relaxed than I’ve ever seen them, ties loosened, jackets off, blending awkwardly but genuinely into the chaos of the clubhouse.
They’re not the only ones who are a little out of place.
Connor is here. I spotted him arriving a moment ago, walking in hesitantly, as if he might turn and run at any moment.
His presence feels strange. Not wrong, just…
unexpected. He stands off to the side at first, watching, hands shoved into his pockets like he’s not entirely sure what to do with himself. But Jessy spots him almost immediately.
“Connor!” She runs straight to him. Their relationship is growing, slowly but surely, though much to his disappointment, she still refuses to call him dad.
Jessy is still closer to Boone, Rook, and Cruz, probably always will be, but she’s let Connor in, slowly, on her terms, and he’s accepted that without pushing or trying to replace her dads.
He’s just been happy to be a part of her life.
Which means he’s earned the begrudging acceptance and respect of her dads.
He startles slightly, then crouches instinctively as she launches into him. “Hey, kid,” he says, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard it.
She grabs his hand. “You have to see my brother.”
“I do?” he asks.
“Yes. Rowan’s very important.”
I bite back a smile as she drags him over. Connor meets my eyes briefly, something uncertain flickering there, but I nod slightly. I’ve left Rowan at home with the guys on all of Jessy’s previous visits with Connor, or one of the men has taken her to meet with him.
“Think he’s going to let me hold him?” Connor asks quietly, looking to me for permission.
Jessy crosses her arms. “Maybe. He drools,” she warns.
Connor smiles, eyes misting, perhaps remembering Jessy at that age. “I can handle that.”
She studies him for a long second before nodding. “Okay. But if you drop him, I’ll tell.”
“Fair,” he says, stifling a laugh.
I carefully pass Rowan over, watching Connor’s hands as they adjust, a little awkward at first, then steadier as Rowan settles against him. “There you go,” I say.
Connor exhales, something like relief flickering across his face. “Hey, little guy,” he murmurs.
Rowan immediately reaches for his shirt, gripping it tightly in his fist and looking him in the eye with a frown as if he’s sizing him up.
“Yeah,” Connor huffs a quiet laugh. “That tracks.”
Across the room, Cruz whistles. “Look at that. Just like his dad.”
Connor flips him off half-heartedly.
Jessy beams. “That’s my brother.”
Later, I catch Connor talking to one of the women from the club.
Their conversation is easy, her laugh genuine, his posture is less guarded than I’ve ever seen it.
It makes something in me settle, and I realize I’ve truly moved on.
I’m happy for him, and I think he’s happy for me, too.
We might never be friends, but we can be civil and get along for our daughter’s sake.
“Cake!” Jessy announces loudly, dragging Boone toward the table.
The room shifts immediately, attention snapping to the center as Rook carefully places Rowan in his high chair, a tiny crown now crookedly perched on his head. He frowns, pulling it off his head, and begins chewing it.
The candles flicker softly, the room dimming just slightly as someone turns down the lights. We gather close, a family in every way that counts.
“Ready?” I ask Jessy.
She nods vigorously. “Ready!”
We sing. Badly. Loudly. Rowan stares at us like we’ve all lost our minds, the paper crown fluttering to the floor.
Boone walks in with the cake, Cruz scoops Jessy up in his arms, and Rook wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me close.
We crowd around the highchair, and Jessy does the honors of blowing out the candles.
Rowan laughs delightedly, clapping his hands together when we place a small amount of cake in front of him.
He immediately grabs a fistful and shoves it in his mouth, eyes widening. He crams more in, making us all laugh.
Connor pulls out his camera, calling for us to gather round, and he snaps a photo of us all, our perfectly imperfect, happy family, capturing the moment forever.
∞∞∞
Later, when the sun dips lower and the party softens, slowly winding down, I step outside for a moment, the evening air warm against my skin, the distant sound of laughter still drifting out from inside.
Parents carrying sugar-crashed children in their arms drift past me, buckling sleeping kids into car seats, and waving silent goodbyes.
The tires crunch on gravel, and I wave as they pull away, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
“Sloane.”
I turn. Alvarez stands there, hands in his pockets, expression serious but not heavy. “Hey,” I say. “Everything okay?”
He nods. “Better than okay.”
Something in his tone sharpens my attention. “What is it?”
He takes a step closer. “We’re moving forward today,” he says. “The charges are going through.”
My heart skips. “Briggs?”
“And Escar,” he confirms. “We’ve got them for it all. The kidnapping. The bombing. Everything.”
For a second, I just stare at him. After all this time. After everything. “We have what we need?” I ask.
“We do.”
Relief hits me so hard it almost knocks the breath out of me. “Thank you,” I say quietly.
He shakes his head. “You built the case.”
“No, we did. I think this calls for a celebration. I’m pretty sure there’s a bottle of champagne somewhere inside,” I say with a smile.
He nods, holding the door open and gesturing for me to lead the way.
When I turn back toward the clubhouse, the light spills out through the open doors, warm and golden, wrapping around the sound of Jessy’s laughter and Rowan’s soft babbling.
“I’ll be right with you,” I tell him.
Alvarez gives me a small nod, like he knows exactly what this news means to me, not just legally, but personally, before heading inside. I turn back, looking up at the sky, painted in orange as the sun dips behind the trees. I breathe, letting the news settle. The end is finally within reach.
The door creaks again behind me. I don’t turn, my body is so attuned to them that I don’t need to.
“What’d he say?” Cruz asks.
I do turn then. All three of my men have come to check on me. Rook stands in the center, steady as ever. Boone is slightly to my left, already reading my face. Cruz, on the other side, as always, his restless energy is barely contained, but it’s quieter now that he’s a father, more grounded.
“They’re filing the charges,” I tell them. “They have enough to charge both Briggs and Escar for everything. Jessy’s kidnapping. The bombing. All of it.”
They’re silent for a moment, taking it in. Cruz lets out a low whistle, running a hand through his hair. “About damn time.”
Boone exhales slowly, his shoulders dropping as the tension I didn’t even realize he was still carrying finally releases.
Rook doesn’t say anything at first. He looks at me closely, eyes narrowing. We’ve had false alarms before. “Are you sure?” he asks quietly.
I nod. “We have what we need.”
His hand comes up to my face, rough palm warm against my cheek, grounding and steady in a way that still makes something in me melt every time. “Good,” he says.
That one word carries a whole host of feelings, shared emotions, and sleepless nights we’ve shared in our dogged pursuit of justice.
Cruz steps in next, arms wrapping around both of us, pulling us closer with zero regard for space or subtlety. “That’s it, then,” he says. “We won.”
Boone moves in behind me, his arms circling my waist, his chest warm against my back, solid and unshakable. “You did it,” he murmurs near my ear.
We did it. For once, I don’t argue. I find myself uncharacteristically at a loss for words. My men are holding me like I’m something precious, theirs. We belong to each other in every way that matters. We don’t need to say a word.
Emotion rises in my chest, sharp and sudden, relief, pride, love, so much love.
I turn slightly in their hold, reaching for Boone, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth.
He leans into it immediately, steady and grounding like always, his hand sliding up my back in a slow, reassuring stroke.
Cruz doesn’t wait his turn, he never does, grinning as he leans in next, catching my mouth, his kiss full of that spark that never quite dims in him.
“Celebration part two?” he murmurs against my lips.
I laugh softly. “Later.”
“Promise?” he purrs.
Deep in my core, I feel a twitch of desire. Our sex life has well and truly returned now Rowan is sleeping through the night. “Definitely.”
Rook watches us for a second, something softer in his expression now, before he pulls me back to him, his kiss slower, deeper, the kind that lingers. The kind that feels like a promise. Like home. When we pull apart, he rests his forehead briefly against mine. “It’s over,” he says.
“Almost,” I correct gently.
He nods. “Close enough.”
Boone’s hand finds mine, threading our fingers together. Cruz slings an arm around my shoulders. Rook stays close, solid, and steady at my side. The four of us fit together like pieces of a puzzle, incomplete without all the parts.
From inside, Jessy’s voice bellows out, “Mommy! Rowan’s trying to eat my cake!”
Cruz snorts. “Uh oh, seems like his big sister’s sharing only goes so far.”
I shake my head, laughing, already turning back toward the light spilling from the doorway. “Come on,” I say.
My men follow without hesitation. They always do.
As we step back inside, into the warmth, the noise, the chaotic life we built together, I don’t feel fear or uncertainty anymore.
I feel an unshakeable conviction that no matter what comes next, good times or bad, we’ll get through them together, and that’s more than enough.
THE END