Chapter 22
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Kendall
Ever since the guys took care of business a few days ago, a quiet relief has settled over me.
I never asked for any of the dark details, nor did I want to know them, but deep down, I can feel that Jerome is gone for good.
With that threat finally erased, the suffocating weight that’s been crushing me for so long has lifted, letting me breathe easy at last. Watching Kolter thrive within the schoolhouse walls is like witnessing a miracle in real-time, especially since he and Elodie have become practically inseparable.
Every afternoon, he wanders home with his fingers stained in vibrant streaks of paint and dustings of chalk, his voice never dropping as he excitedly recounts their latest playground conquests.
Seeing him laugh with such pure, unburdened joy alongside another child, after the nightmare we only just escaped, is a balm for my soul.
It brings me a deep, grounding sense of peace to realize he is finally building a foundation of happy memories instead of constantly scanning the shadows for a threat that no longer exists.
The morning air is crisp as I trek back from the schoolhouse after seeing Kolter off, my heart feeling a little lighter with every step.
I’m barely onto the clubhouse porch when Booker appears, his large frame leaning against the railing as he waits for me.
He closes the distance between us, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my lips that sends a familiar spark through my chest. “I’ve got something I want to show you,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that promises something special.
“Do I need to grab my riding gear?” I ask, hopeful because riding on the back of his bike has become a new addiction of mine.
“Not today,” he says, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest. “What I want to show you is right here on the compound. How about a stroll?” He extends his hand, waiting for me to lace my fingers with his. As soon as I do, he tugs me closer, draping a heavy, protective arm around my shoulders.
We walk toward the rise of the hill, and the moment we crest the top, my breath hitches at the sight waiting on the other side.
“Who lives there? It’s stunning,” I gush, my gaze lingering on the alabaster silhouette of the building.
It perches on the ridge with a quiet authority.
A sprawling, wrap-around porch encircles the entire structure, offering a safe haven where a person could finally let the day’s tension bleed away while the sun dips low.
The siding is pristine against the verdant hill, and the glass panes mirror the golden hour with a radiance that makes my heart swell. “It’s a farmhouse made of windows.”
“That right there is my vision of a dream,” he admits, gently guiding me forward from where I'd frozen in place, utterly captivated by the view.
“When the rest of the brothers began putting down roots, we all got to claim a parcel of the land to start building.
I chose this ridge because I've always been a fan of natural light.
It's a hell of a relief on my eyes after staring at the blue light of those monitors for hours on end.”
“This is yours?” I ask, my voice full of awe.
“It is,” he says, turning around to face me, he says, “Yeah. I realize how fast things are moving, but I brought you here because I want it to belong to both of us.”
“Both of us.” His words hang in the air, and the world outside fades. Booker relaxes as he studies the house, like he’s picturing a future waiting inside those walls. His usual guard drops, showing me the man he was when we first started flirting behind the screens.
Holding my hand tightly, almost fiercely, as if afraid I’ll disappear, he raises his head to look at me, his eyes brimming with raw emotion.
“I’m not skilled with words,” he admits, his voice rough against the quiet.
“I’ve spent my whole life focused solely on making it through the day, never giving a thought to the future, just trying to endure whatever hit was coming next.
But looking at you, Kendall, I see something far beyond basic survival.
” He pauses, jaw clenched, striving to articulate the feelings tangled inside him.
“I want to be the one who creates a home for us. Not for the club, not for any mission, just for you and me. I want to wake up here knowing you’re right beside me, and I want Kolter to grow up in a home where he never has to live in fear.
” He takes a deep breath and continues, “It’s complicated, and I’m far from perfect.
But I’m fully committed. If you’re ready to take a leap with someone who’s lived in the background for so long, I’m ready to hand over everything I have. ”
“I’d say you’re pretty damn good at this,” I contend as I face the house and imagine the future he was just talking about.
“For someone who claims he isn’t good with words, you managed to articulate everything my heart needed to hear.
” I turn back to him, reaching up to lay my hand gently against the stubble of his cheek.
The quiet strength radiating from him grounds me, banishing the last lingering doubts that have held me back.
The white farmhouse on the ridge, bathed in the soft glow of the sun, isn't just a building anymore—it's a promise of safety and a real home for Kolter and me. “We’ve both spent far too long just trying to survive,” I murmur, meeting his intense, searching gaze with complete certainty. “I’m ready to stop running, Booker. I’m ready to take that leap with you and build a life right here. ”
He guides me along the path toward the main entrance, his hand remaining firm against the small of my back.
The porch boards creak under our feet as we move, a solid, honest sound that feels right.
He stops at the threshold and digs into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys.
His fingers brush against my wrist, and I shiver, though the air is warm.
He finds the right one, sliding it into the lock with a click that echoes as it unlatches.
“Ready?” he asks, his gaze searching mine.
“I'm ready,” I whisper, and I truly mean it.
He turns the knob and shoves the door wide.
It swings open with a soft, effortless glide, revealing the inside of the home he's built.
I step over the threshold, my breath catching in my throat as I take it all in.
The entire space is open, flooded with midmorning light.
Every exterior wall seems to be made of glass.
The windows stretch from floor to ceiling, pulling the outside world in, turning the rolling green hills and the sky into living art.
Dust motes dance in the shafts of light, drifting like tiny stars.
I walk slowly into the center of the room, my hand trailing along the smooth surface of the wall.
It feels solid, real. There are no shadows here, just open space and possibility.
The air smells like fresh pine and sunlight.
It’s refreshing since I’ve become accustomed to smelling sweaty men and stale alcohol.
“It's breathtaking,” I murmur, my voice echoing slightly in the empty space. “I've never seen anything like it.”
Booker moves up behind me, stopping just a few feet away.
He doesn't crowd me, just watches as I explore the room.
“I wanted a place where I could see what's coming,” he announces, his voice low and steady.
“I spent too long living in the dark, watching monitors, waiting for the worst to happen. I built this so that whenever I look up, I see nothing but the horizon. I see you.”
I turn to face him, the light catching his features, softening the hard lines of his face. He looks less like the man who guards the clubhouse and more like the man who builds a future.
“You really designed this?” I ask, stepping toward him.
“I did,” he says, a ghost of a smile touching his lips.
“Every beam, every window. I wanted to build something that wouldn't break. Something that was strong enough to hold onto us.” He’s including me in this, but I can tell it was built before I ever made it to the clubhouse.
Does this mean he was constructing this with Vixen in mind?
One day I’ll ask him, but that day isn’t today.
It doesn’t feel important, what does, is the fact that he built this with me in mind, no matter what persona I wear.
I reach out, taking his hand, feeling the callouses that mark his work. He's built this for us, a fortress of glass that lets in the light instead of keeping the world out. It’s the ultimate contrast to the basement, the cages, the steel bars that once dictated our lives.
“It's perfect,” I tell him, leaning in until my forehead rests against his chest. I can hear the steady, reliable beat of his heart. “It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.”
He wraps his arms around me, holding me tight, and for the first time in years, I don't feel the need to look over my shoulder.
The windows stand as a promise, a wall that guards us but keeps us connected to the life we're finally choosing to live.
Here, within these glass walls, we're finally free to start over.
We don't have to hide anymore. We don't have to survive. We just get to live.
“Show me the rest. I want to see the kitchen, the bathrooms, the bedrooms, and more importantly, I want to see the closets,” I tease, knowing one day I’ll have a wardrobe to fill it.
He laughs, a genuine, warm sound that fills the empty hallway.
“Closets are crucial, got it. Come on.” He guides me deeper into the house, his hand never leaving the small of my back.
The kitchen is our first stop, and it’s everything I imagined and more.
The cabinets are a rich, dark wood that glows under the recessed lighting.
There’s a massive island in the center with a butcher-block top that looks like it’s seen a few test runs, even if the house is brand new.
“I built the island tall enough so you wouldn't have to hunch over while you're working,” he explains, his pride showing in the way he taps the smooth wood. “I figured you’d spend a lot of time in here since you told me once that cooking settles you.” I smile because when I told him that, it was in reference to my previous life, the one before Jerome took me and kept me.
I run my fingers over the surface, feeling the grain. It’s solid, reliable. “It’s perfect,” I say, repeating my previous words about this house. “It’s a real kitchen. I don't think I’ve had a real kitchen since I was a teenager.”
I open a cabinet, and it's perfectly organized, a testament to how meticulous he is. “I stocked some of the basics,” he adds, his voice dropping an octave. “Things like flour, spices, coffee. I didn't want you to have to worry about the little things when you move in.”
When, not if. He was certain I’d want to live here, and he was right, I do.
Next is the bathroom, and the moment I step inside, I stop breathing for a second.
It’s huge. The tub is claw-footed and sits right beneath a window that faces the dense woods, giving us total privacy while we soak.
“I wanted a place where you could just relax,” he says, leaning against the doorframe, watching me.
“No sirens, no rushing, just quiet.” The thought of sitting in that water, listening to nothing but the wind in the trees, makes my knees feel weak.
It’s such a simple luxury, one I never thought I’d be allowed to have.
I turn the faucet, and the water pressure is strong, a steady, powerful stream.
It feels like a small rebellion against the years of deprivation.
Then he leads me to the master bedroom. It’s simple, with a bed frame he clearly built himself, crafted from thick, rustic beams. But my focus lands on the closet door off to the side.
I pull it open, and my breath hitches. It’s massive.
There are shelves for shoes, racks for dresses, and enough room to actually organize a life.
I step inside, turning around to see the floor space.
For the first time, I imagine hanging up dresses that aren't meant for hiding or blending in.
I imagine buying soft fabrics and colors that aren't gray or black.
“It's empty,” I whisper, looking back at him.
Booker stands in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the soft hallway light.
He’s watching me with an intensity that makes me feel seen in a way I never have been before.
“It’s ready for you,” he replies. “I want you to fill it. I want you to have your own space here. Not because I’m giving it to you, but because this is your home now. ”
I walk out and close the gap between us. “You really thought of everything,” I say, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.