Chapter 30
Morning in the clubhouse is usually one of two things.
Either it’s loud as hell from the second the sun comes up because somebody’s kid is already running the halls, somebody’s old lady is yelling for coffee, and at least one brother is stomping around acting like being awake before nine is a personal attack.
Or it’s quiet in that strange, almost sacred way it only gets when everybody was up too late the night before and the whole building feels like it’s still deciding whether it wants to be alive yet.
This morning lands somewhere in the middle.
There’s movement downstairs. A cabinet shutting. A low voice in the kitchen. The faint smell of coffee drifting under my door.
But up here, in my room, it’s still mostly quiet.
And for the first time in longer than I care to think about, that quiet doesn’t feel empty. It feels full. Warm. Right.
I wake up on my back with Allison tucked into my side, one of her legs thrown over mine under the blanket and her head pillowed against my chest like she ended up there by instinct sometime in the middle of the night.
My arm is around her. Her hand is curled low over my stomach. And the second I register exactly who’s in my bed and why, something deep in my chest goes tight and then settles all at once.
Not panic. Not the sharp, chaotic jolt I’m used to where wanting something too much immediately kicks every defense mechanism I’ve got into overdrive. Just this low, steady weight of reality.
She’s here.
Still.
After last night. After dinner. After me standing in front of our whole goddamn family and saying exactly what I should’ve said a long time ago.
She’s here.
And that still doesn’t feel entirely real.
I lie there for a minute just looking at the ceiling and listening to her breathe.
Because there’s a part of me that’s still waiting for this to feel wrong somehow. Too fast. Too exposed. Too much like one of those moments that only holds while the adrenaline does and then falls apart in daylight.
It doesn’t.
If anything, it feels more solid in the daylight. More ordinary. And maybe that’s what gets me the hardest.
Not the sex. Not the claiming. Not even the way the whole room shifted around us last night when I made it public and there was no taking it back.
This.
The normal of it.
The way her body fits against mine like it’s always belonged there.
The way I’m already thinking about whether she takes sugar in her coffee this early or if she wants food first. The way I know, without even asking, that if I shift too fast she’ll make that sleepy little annoyed sound and burrow deeper into me instead of rolling away.
That should probably scare me more than it does. Instead, it makes me feel like I’ve been starving and only just now figured out what being full is supposed to feel like.
Allison stirs a second later, making a soft noise low in her throat before she presses her face harder into my chest like she’s trying to hide from consciousness.
My mouth twitches before I can stop it. “Morning.”
She makes a sound that could mean absolutely anything. Then, muffled against my skin, “No.”
I huff a laugh. “No?”
“No morning.”
“Think the sun disagrees.”
“Sun can shut up.”
That gets a real laugh out of me, quiet enough not to shake her too much, and she finally lifts her head enough to glare at me through half-open eyes and sleep-mussed hair.
The glare would be a lot more effective if she didn’t still look soft and warm and wreck me a little just by existing this close to me.
“You’re annoyingly awake,” she mutters.
“I’ve been awake like three minutes.”
“That’s three too many.”
I grin. “You always this mean before coffee?”
“Yes.”
“Good to know.”
She squints at me like she’s deciding whether to tell me to go to hell or kiss me.
Then she does the second one. Just a quick press of her mouth to mine. Sleepy. Warm. Easy in a way that still feels new enough to stop my whole brain for half a second.
And Christ. That right there nearly kills me.
Because there’s no tension in it. No fear. No loaded edge like we’re both still waiting to see who’s going to pull back first.
It’s just a kiss.
A normal one. A good morning one. A we’re here and this is real one.
When she pulls back, she settles her chin on my chest and looks at me with that soft, sleep-heavy expression that makes my entire body feel too big for my skin. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks.
I drag my hand slowly down her back beneath the shirt she stole from me sometime last night and answer honestly. “Trying to get used to the fact that you’re here.”
Her face changes just slightly. Not sad. Not fragile. Just…something warmer. “I was here yesterday too.”
“Yeah.”
“And the night before.”
“Also true.”
She studies me for one long second like she’s trying to figure out if I’m being sweet or if I’m on the verge of some weird emotional spiral.
Honestly, it could go either way.
Then her mouth curves a little. “You’re being weird.”
“Probably.”
She hums and traces one absent little line over my stomach through the sheet.
And for a minute, we just stay there. No rush. No pressure. Just breathing in the quiet of the room while the rest of the clubhouse slowly wakes up around us.
I didn’t know I wanted this.
That’s maybe the dumbest thought I’ve ever had in my life, because obviously I wanted Allison. Obviously I wanted her in every way that mattered and a few that probably should’ve gotten me smacked sooner.
But this version of it? The small domestic parts? The coffee and quiet and sleepy kisses and figuring each other out without the world on fire around us?
I didn’t know I wanted this because I never let myself get far enough to imagine it. And now that I’ve got it, I can’t believe I ever thought fear was a good enough reason to stay away.
Eventually, she pushes up onto one elbow and says, “If I don’t get caffeine in the next ten minutes, I’m going to become unpleasant.”
I raise a brow. “More unpleasant?”
She smacks my chest lightly. “Rude.”
“Accurate.”
She narrows her eyes, then climbs off me and out of bed in one smooth motion that absolutely does not help the way my brain works where she’s concerned.
My shirt hangs off one shoulder, her legs bare beneath the hem, hair a mess down her back, and she has no business looking that good just heading for the bathroom like a normal human being.
She catches me staring halfway across the room and points at me. “No.”
I lean back against the headboard. “No what?”
“No looking at me like that before coffee.”
“Can’t help it.”
She disappears into the bathroom muttering something about me being “insufferable,” and I smile into the quiet room like an idiot because I’m pretty sure I’m never going to get tired of that.
By the time we make it downstairs, most of the house is awake enough to qualify as functioning. The kitchen is already full.
Mom’s at the stove.
Aunt Tracie’s at the counter slicing fruit.
Emma’s leaning against the island with a mug in her hands while Raven stands beside her helping Lexi reach the cereal boxes.
Mac is seated at the table looking deeply unimpressed by the concept of consciousness, Kya is complaining to Brooke about a dream she had where Dom forgot her at a grocery store, and Brooke is trying not to laugh while also eating what looks like peanut butter on a waffle, which honestly feels on brand for where her pregnancy cravings have gone lately.
The second Allison and I walk in together, every female eye in the room lifts. At once.
Jesus Christ.
Allison slows by half a step beside me.
I don’t. Not because I’m trying to make a point. Because I’m not leaving her hanging in the doorway like some kind of coward now that daylight’s here.
So I keep moving, brush my hand low across her back, and steer her toward the coffee pot like this is the most normal thing in the world.
And weirdly enough?
It is. It really is.
Mac is the first one to say anything. “Look who survived being publicly outed.”
Allison snorts.
Kya gasps like she’s been gifted oxygen.
Brooke grins into her waffle.
Emma, because she has more mercy than the rest of them combined, just holds up the extra mug she already poured and says, “Coffee?”
Allison’s whole face softens. “I love you.”
Emma smiles. “I know.”
I take the other mug off the counter and hand it to Allison before I pour my own, and something about the ease of that, of just moving around each other in the kitchen like we’ve always done this, hits me again right in the chest.
Not weird. Not forced. Easy.
I lean against the counter beside her while she takes her first sip and actually closes her eyes like she’s having a religious experience. “You okay?” I ask quietly.
She peeks up at me over the rim. “Now I am.”
That gets a grin out of me before I can stop it.
Across the kitchen, Aunt Tracie catches it.
Then she catches the way Allison’s standing half in my space like it’s already natural.
Then she looks at my mom.
Mom looks back.
And I swear to God, mothers should be illegal.
Because whatever silent conversation just happened between them takes about half a second and somehow contains approximately thirty years of emotional information I absolutely do not want decoded in real time before breakfast.
Dad comes in from outside a minute later with Uncle Torch and Cain behind him, and the whole energy of the room shifts just enough to remind me that normal couple mornings are apparently still going to include a rotating cast of overprotective men who have opinions about my life choices.
Fantastic.
Uncle Torch’s eyes hit me. Then Allison. Then the way we’re standing shoulder to shoulder at the counter. He doesn’t say anything.
Dad, on the other hand, just heads straight for the coffee like a man who’s chosen peace and intends to keep it.
Cain catches my eye once over Uncle Torch’s shoulder and gives me a look that says you alive?
I give him one back that says barely.
That gets the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.