Chapter 20
CHAPTER
TWENTY
Kendall
I stand in the doorway after sneaking away from Booker while he was busy at the monitors, my fingers gripping the frame as I try to stay silent and just watch my boy live his best life.
The sight of Kolter sitting at that small table, acting like a normal child, makes my chest expand with so much love it nearly splits it in half.
I step inside, the floor beneath me barely creaking.
Jersey is sitting behind her desk, her gaze shifting from the window to him.
She senses me before I reach her, but she doesn't turn around right away.
“He's doing well,” Jersey says, her voice low.
I stop next to her, leaning against the edge of her desk while looking at my son. “Is he?” I ask, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to keep it steady. “He's missed so much. I'm terrified he's years behind, that he won't be able to catch up with kids his own age.”
Jersey finally turns her head. Her face is hard, but her eyes are kind. “Don't sell him short,” she chastises. “I've been watching how he processes the tasks. He's on track, Kendall. Honestly, he's picking up the concepts just as fast as any other five-year-old I've seen. Maybe faster.”
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. “You're sure?”
“I'm sure,” Jersey answers, nodding toward him. “He's catching on. It's like he's been waiting for the chance to use his brain for something other than survival. He's right where he needs to be.”
I watch Kolter reach for a crayon, his hand steady. It's a small thing, but it confirms what she says. He isn't broken, he’s just now being allowed to shine.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Don't thank me,” Jersey replies. “Just watch him. He's going to surprise you every single day.”
I nod, unable to find the words. The quiet of the room feels different now.
It isn't the suffocating silence of a prison or the tense quiet of the clubhouse.
It's the peaceful, humming stillness of a life that's finally starting to unfold the way it should.
Kolter laughs at something, and for the first time in my life, I don't feel the urge to scan the room for threats.
I just let myself listen to the sound of him being a child.
Just as I go to ask further questions about things I should be doing with him at home, the door swings open and a young woman comes strolling in, holding the bottom of her protruding belly.
“That’s Carolina. She’s special, and lights up any room she comes into,” Jersey tells me, a broad smile crossing her face.
I lean in close to Jersey, keeping my voice down. “Isn’t that the girl Slayer’s brother is with? The one Slayer took custody of, along with his brother, after they were removed from that home for neglect?”
“You’ve got it right,” she replies, her jaw tightening with visible frustration.
“The facility only bothered with the bare essentials, making sure they were fed, washed, and didn’t start brawls with the others.
They pretty much let them run wild, and it’s damn obvious they weren’t watching close enough, seeing as Carolina’s got a baby on the way. ”
“You’d assume they’d keep things more organized and structured,” I huff, my frustration bubbling over, “particularly when dealing with those who require extra care.”
“Slayer was absolutely livid when he got that call from the home,” Jersey explains, her voice tight with leftover frustration. “Finding out his brother got some girl pregnant under their watch... it practically sent him through the roof.”
Carolina shuffles further into the room, moving with that wobbling gait that comes when you're carrying a life. She’s wearing a faded band tee that stretches tight over her stomach, and she looks so damn young it makes my chest ache.
She scans the room, her eyes finding Kolter, and that tentative, soft smile spreads across her face.
It’s the kind of look that makes you want to protect her, no matter the cost.
“She’s a survivor, Kendall,” Jersey whispers, her tone stripping away the anger from a second ago.
“They all are. Slayer’s brother, Boston, is a good kid, but they were never given a fair shake in that home.
He’s doing his best to step up, but it’s a massive burden for a guy who never had a real family to model after since he was raised in a facility. ”
I watch Carolina carefully lower herself onto a chair, her hand resting instinctively on her belly. “Is she scared?” I ask, my voice barely audible.
Jersey’s gaze is penetrating as she observes the girl. “She’s terrified. But she’s here. She’s safe. And with Slayer watching their backs, she’s got a fighting chance. We’re going to make damn sure this baby gets a start that’s miles better than what the parents had.”
I nod, the reality of the situation sinking in. It’s one more life, one more small soul in our care. “Does she need anything? Extra food, help with the nursery?”
Jersey lets out a short, humorless laugh. “She needs space to breathe, and she needs to know she isn't in that shithouse anymore. Slayer’s already got the crib set up, and he’s hovering like a hawk. The girl has everything she needs, she just doesn't know it yet.”
I look back at Carolina, who is now watching Kolter draw with a soft, distant look.
She’s part of the fabric now, another thread in the messy, complicated tapestry of this life we’re building.
Seeing her here, surrounded by people who finally give a damn, makes the knot in my stomach loosen just a little more.
We are creating a sanctuary, and for the first time, I feel like we’re the ones strong enough to hold the walls up.
Jersey nods, her expression remaining fixed on the duo with a contemplative look. “This place is buzzing with fresh starts, Kendall. It goes way beyond just getting kids settled into their lessons. Did Booker happen to mention the celebration party we threw recently?”
“He didn’t,” I answer, shaking my head. “But between getting Kolter adjusted to his new reality and just trying to keep from drowning in my own thoughts, my focus has been elsewhere. Booker’s shared plenty of stories about the club and the wild stunts you guys pull to try and put me at ease around all these new faces, but he never mentioned a word about that. ”
“It was for Carolina,” Jersey explains, a genuine warmth coloring her voice. “We wanted to do something special. A gender reveal party. The whole club showed up, even the ones who act like they're too tough for that kind of stuff. They were acting like nervous schoolboys.”
I smile, imagining the scene, the rough bikers huddled around trying to be gentle. “I wish I'd been there. I bet that was quite the sight. I can only imagine Slayer standing there, looking like he's expecting a bomb to go off.”
Jersey lets out a soft, genuine laugh. “You're spot on.
It was. We didn't do the big flashy smoke or the cannons. We kept it simple. We had a table set up with a box in the middle. Everyone was buzzing with guesses, placing bets, shouting out their theories. Slayer looked like he was about to pass out from nerves, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.”
I can see him, hovering over that box like it holds the secrets of the universe. “So what was inside?”
“Baby shoes,” Jersey says, her eyes brightening with the memory.
“We told them the first pair revealed the secret. Carolina opened the lid, and the room went dead silent. She pulled out a tiny pair of pink ballet slippers. Everyone just stood there for a heartbeat, and then the place erupted in cheers.”
“A girl,” I whisper, the word feeling heavy and precious on my tongue. “A little girl. That’s incredible.”
Jersey nods, her gaze drifting back to the woman sitting quietly in the corner.
“Yeah. A girl. The guys started joking about how they're all doomed, how she's going to wrap every single one of them around her finger before she's even a week old.
Even the grizzled old-timers were smiling, looking soft for once.
It's the kind of hope you can't buy, Kendall. It's the real stuff.”
I look toward the corner where Carolina sits. She's watching the kids with that same distant, peaceful look I've noticed before. Knowing there's a girl on the way, another life protected within these walls, it changes things. It makes the sanctuary feel even more real, more permanent.
“I'm glad,” I tell Jersey, finding my voice again. “After everything, after all the darkness, a baby girl... it feels like a sign. Like we’re finally moving past the wrongdoings done to us and seeing the light at the end of a tunnel.”
“It’s a sign,” Jersey agrees, her tone turning firm.
“It's a promise. We're keeping that promise every day we make sure this place is safe.
Every day we make sure our children can just be kids, or we can just be moms, or teachers, just be people who aren't looking over their shoulders every five seconds.”
I think about the shoes, the tiny pink slippers. It's such a simple, delicate thing. It's so far removed from the weapons and the bikes and the fear. It reminds me that we aren't just surviving. We're planting seeds. We're making space for beauty where there used to only be grit.
“I want to help,” I say, and I mean it. “With the nursery, or whatever she needs. I want to be part of that. I’ve spent so long being afraid, and now I want to do something that’s about welcoming life, not just protecting it.”
Jersey looks at me, and there's no doubt in her eyes. “She'll appreciate that. She needs women around her who understand. Not just the bikers who want to protect her, but women who know what it's like to have to find your own strength in the middle of a disaster.”
“I know that life,” I say, my voice firm. “I'm ready to use what I've learned. Not to fight a war, but to build a home. I think that's what I've been waiting for all along, even when I didn't know it.”
The room feels fuller now. The air doesn't just hold the quiet—it holds the potential of all these lives.
Kolter's school days, Carolina's baby, the quiet moments of safety we're stitching together.
I don't feel the need to scan for threats anymore.
I just want to be here, to be part of this.
To watch the girl grow, to watch Kolter learn, to watch us finally become the people we were meant to be.
Jersey touches my arm, a quick, grounding motion. “We're doing it, Kendall. One day at a time. It’s not going to be perfect, and it won’t happen overnight, but we’re doing it.”
I look at her, really look at her. She's not just the guard anymore.
She's a part of this, a guardian of the hope we're cultivating.
I feel a knot loosen in my chest, a final lingering piece of the fear that's been gripping me for years.
It's okay to hope. It's okay to plan for a future that isn't measured in battles.
“One day at a time,” I echo. “And today, it's a good day.”
We stand there for a while longer, watching Kolter as he draws, watching the woman with the baby in her womb, watching the world inside these walls bloom.
It's not perfect. It's messy and complicated and we've all got scars that won't ever truly vanish.
But it's ours. And standing here, I realize that for the first time in a long time, it's enough. It’s something that will eventually bloom and grow, and I can’t wait to fertilize it and pray I have a green thumb.