30. MARCY #2
“I hate all of you,” I grumble even as I slide my arms into the coat.
“You love us,” Ryder teases.
“Unfortunately.”
Outside, the driveway looks more like a dealership than a home. Parked neatly are three new cars—SUVs, all black and shining under the late afternoon sun. When they first discussed buying them, I thought it was a bit excessive. CJ already had a car, after all, but they insisted.
We pile into one of the SUVs, Sam insisting on being in charge of the radio.
“Bud, we aren’t driving that far,” Ryder tells him, but Sam doesn’t seem to care. He blasts Twenty One Pilots loudly and proceeds to sing along to it.
We’re driving for maybe ten, fifteen minutes—past the edge of town, where the houses grow farther apart and the trees stretch a little taller.
Hawk’s humming softly to something on the radio.
Ryder’s tapping his fingers against the armrest in rhythm.
CJ is quiet behind me, but there’s a look in his eyes I recognize now.
Contentment. Peace.
When Hawk finally slows down, my breath catches.
The neighborhoods thin out, giving way to winding roads lined with tall pines and sprawling open land. There’s a quiet sort of beauty to this stretch—space and sky and silence.
But then Hawk slows the car and turns into a long, stone-lined driveway, and my breath catches.
Because this? This isn’t just a house.
It’s a mansion.
“Wait,” I murmur, leaning forward as the car rolls to a smooth stop. “What is this?”
The house sits proudly on a hill, bathed in golden afternoon light.
It’s the kind of place you see in magazines—a blend of classic and modern.
Cream stone fa?ade, black shutters, and big bay windows that gleam in the sun.
A wide porch wraps around the front, complete with hanging lanterns and double French doors that beg to be opened on warm summer nights.
CJ smiles from beside me. “Home.”
Ryder’s already out of the car and opening my door. “Come on, mama. Let’s give you the tour.”
The front door opens with a soft creak, revealing wide-planked wooden floors and high ceilings with exposed beams. Everything smells like cedar and new paint, and my boots echo softly as I step inside.
It’s open and airy, but warm. The kind of place that feels like someone could live in it loudly.
To the left, there’s a big living room with a deep sectional, a wood stove in the corner, and shelves already half-filled with books, helmets, and—yep—Sam’s action figures.
The kitchen is open, industrial-style with a long reclaimed wood island, black steel appliances, and a row of mugs already hanging above the sink.
They guide me down a wide hall. Six bedrooms, each with large windows and soft, neutral walls. Two already have baby stuff stacked in the corners. The others are empty but full of potential.
Then the master bedroom.
The bed is huge. Bigger than anything I’ve ever seen. Clearly custom-made.
“For when we all want to sleep together,” CJ says, voice low behind me.
I blink back something stupidly emotional and nod. Before I can say anything, Sam yells from the backyard, “Guys! You gotta come see this!”
We follow him out back onto a big deck. There’s a wide yard, a fire pit, and at the far end, a giant pile of lumber and supplies.
“Treehouse 2.0,” Sam grins. “With stairs and a trapdoor and everything!”
Hawk laughs. Ryder fist-bumps him. CJ wraps an arm around me from behind.
“We couldn’t think of a better way to start the next chapter,” CJ murmurs.
I run my hand over my stomach. Neither can I.
We’re still out back when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out lazily, expecting a group text or maybe some spam, but then I see the subject line.
“Congratulations! Your nonprofit registration has been approved.”
I blink.
My heart stutters once, then lifts like a balloon.
“Oh my God,” I breathe, eyes scanning the message again. “It’s approved.”
CJ looks over, brows raised. “What is?”
“My charity,” I say, grinning as I look up at all three of them. “It’s official.”
Ryder straightens. “Wait, seriously?”
I nod, tears threatening. “I filed the paperwork months ago. I didn’t think it would actually go through. But it did.”
“Wait, is it for the same thing you mentioned to me that day?” Hawk asks.
I’m surprised he remembers the conversation. “Yes, actually.”
“What is it about?” Ryder says.
“It’s for women like me. Women who are just starting over, coming out of abusive homes, divorces, or just…
tough situations. The ones who don’t have a support system or money or anywhere safe to land.
” I smile, blinking the tears back. “I want to give them six months of housing. Just six months. A real roof over their heads. A chance to catch their breath. And I want to help them find jobs. Not handouts—real tools to rebuild their lives.”
None of the men say anything for a second. Then CJ nods, slow and full of quiet respect. “That’s fucking amazing.”
“You’re gonna change lives,” Ryder says, pride clear in his voice.
“You already changed ours,” Hawk adds.
I laugh, emotional but happy.
Hawk rubs the back of his neck. “Well, I guess consider my paycheck as your first donation.”
“You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack,” he smirks. “We’ve got your back. Whatever you need—security, muscle, rides to job interviews—12 Devils are in.”
Ryder leans against the railing beside me. “You’re building something real. We want in.”
CJ kisses my temple. “Looks like this family just got a whole lot bigger. In fact, I was thinking we can have some of them who are displaced right in the outhouse we were building…”
“Oh my God,” I gush, cupping my face. “You would do that?”
CJ kisses me softly. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”
I rest my hand on my belly, heart full. It really is the start of something. Not just for me, or my babies, or the men I love.
But for every woman who’s ever been made to feel small.
Not anymore.