Chapter 14
Splinter woke to sunlight and the sound of Mae's voice through the wall.
"I want pancakes! Diana said the kitchen has pancakes!"
The demanding clarity of a five-year-old who had decided breakfast was the most important thing in the universe. He smiled before he was fully conscious, the expression unfamiliar on his face but settling there like it belonged.
Ivy stirred against him, warm and solid and his.
"She's going to keep yelling until someone feeds her," she mumbled into his chest.
"Probably."
"You should go make pancakes."
"Me?"
"You're the one she'll listen to." Ivy lifted her head, and the sleep-soft look in her eyes made his chest tight. "Besides, I need five more minutes. Someone kept me up half the night."
"Pretty sure you started that."
"Pretty sure I don't regret it."
He kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her mouth—soft and lingering, the kind of kiss that said good morning and I'm glad you're here and I'm not going anywhere all at once.
"Five minutes," he said. "Then I'm sending her in to jump on you."
"You wouldn't."
"Try me."
The compound kitchen was quieter than usual—most of the brothers had been up late dealing with the aftermath of yesterday's assault, and the normal breakfast chaos had been replaced by a skeleton crew of prospects and a few early risers.
Mae found him before he found the pancake mix.
"Splinter!" She launched herself at his legs with the full-body enthusiasm only children possessed. "Diana said you made bad guys go away yesterday. Did you? Did you make them go away?"
He crouched to her level, taking in her bright eyes and the wooden rabbit clutched in one hand. No fear there. No shadows. Just a kid who'd slept through a war and woken up hungry.
"Yeah, little one. Bad guys are gone."
"Forever?"
The question hit harder than it should have. He thought about Messer, still out there. About the threats that remained, the violence that wasn't finished, the danger that would circle back eventually because it always did.
"For now," he said carefully. "And I'm working on forever."
Mae considered this with the gravity of a tiny philosopher. "Okay. Can I have pancakes now?"
"Yeah. You can have pancakes."
He made them the way his grandfather had taught him—buttermilk batter, cast iron pan, a little patience. Mae sat on the counter beside him, legs swinging, narrating everything she saw with the running commentary that seemed to be her default setting.
"That one looks like a bunny. That one looks like a cloud. That one looks like Mama when she's tired."
"How does your mama look when she's tired?"
"Flat." Mae demonstrated by pressing her palms together. "Like she got squished by a giant."
Splinter laughed—actually laughed, the sound surprising him the way it always did when this kid pulled it out of him.
"Don't tell her I said that," Mae added quickly. "She gets grumpy when I say she looks squished."
"Your secret's safe with me."
By the time Ivy appeared, there was a stack of pancakes on the table and Mae was on her third—or possibly fourth, the count had gotten fuzzy somewhere around the bunny-shaped one.
"You made breakfast." Ivy stopped in the doorway, something soft in her expression.
"Mae demanded pancakes. I figured compliance was easier than resistance."
"Smart man." She crossed to the table, dropped a kiss on Mae's head, then detoured to press her lips against Splinter's cheek. The casual intimacy of it—the assumption that she could touch him, that he'd welcome it—settled something in his chest.
This was what he'd never had. This easy warmth. This sense of belonging to something bigger than himself.
"Coffee?" he asked.
"God, yes."
They ate together, the three of them, while morning light spilled through the kitchen windows and compound life stirred around them.
Mae finished her pancakes and asked to go find Diana. Ivy let her go with instructions to stay in the residential wing, and suddenly it was just the two of them at the table, coffee cooling between them.
"We should talk about the diner," Ivy said.
"Yeah."
"The insurance should cover some of the equipment. Not all of it—the policy was basic, couldn't afford better—but enough to start. The structure's sound, you said?"
"Sound enough. Back wall needs work, and the storage room's going to need rebuilding from the studs out. But the kitchen's intact. The counter. The booth where Mae colored." He paused. "The bones are good. Everything else is just... work."
Ivy wrapped her hands around her coffee cup, staring into it like the answers she needed might be floating in the dark liquid.
"I've been thinking about after."
"After?"
"After this is over. After Messer's dealt with and the danger's gone and we're not living in crisis mode anymore.
" She looked up, and the uncertainty in her eyes made him want to fix everything, build walls against every threat, keep her safe forever through sheer force of will. "What happens then?"
Splinter set down his own cup. "What do you want to happen?"
"That's not fair. You can't answer a question with a question."
"I can when I don't know the answer." He reached across the table, covered her hand with his.
"I've never done this before, Ivy. Never had someone to plan a future with.
Never had anything worth keeping past the next job, the next paycheck, the next place to sleep.
You're asking me what happens after, and the honest answer is I don't know.
But I know I want to find out. With you. "
Her fingers turned under his, lacing through.
"The diner could reopen," she said slowly. "Mae could go back to school. We could have... a life. A real one. Not just surviving from one crisis to the next."
"You want that?"
"I want to know if you want it." Her gaze held his, steady and searching.
"Because if we're doing this—if we're building something—then I need to know you're building it too.
Not just protecting me until the danger passes and then...
disappearing. Moving on. Finding the next thing that needs fixing. "
The words landed in his chest like stones.
"You think I'd leave?"
"I think every man I've ever counted on has left.
" Her voice was quiet, raw. "Mae's father.
My own father, before I was old enough to remember his face.
Even my grandfather, in a way—he left my grandmother with debt she couldn't pay and a legacy that nearly destroyed us.
So forgive me if I need to hear you say it. Out loud. In actual words."
Splinter stood, came around the table, crouched beside her chair so they were eye to eye. Her hand stayed in his, the connection unbroken.
"I never expected to have people," he said. "Grew up alone, stayed alone, figured alone was safer than the alternative. Then Timber found me and brought me to the club, and I thought maybe brothers were enough. Maybe having people to ride with, fight with, was all the connection I needed."
"And now?"
"Now I have you. And Mae." His thumb traced circles on her palm.
"Now I have a woman who sees me—really sees me, not just the patch or the violence or the prospect trying to earn his place.
A kid who looks at me like I'm something worth trusting.
A future I didn't know I wanted until it was standing right in front of me. "
Ivy's eyes glistened. She blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall.
"That's a lot of words for a man who barely talked when we met."
"You're worth the words." He brought her hand to his lips, pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "You're worth everything. The diner, the future, the life you're talking about—I want that. All of it. With you."
"And Mae?"
"Mae's mine." The words came out fierce, certain, the most honest thing he'd ever said.
"I know I don't have a claim on her. Know I'm not her father, not legally, not by blood.
But she's mine anyway. Claimed her the first time she held my hand in that truck, and I'm not giving her up. Either of you."
Ivy made a sound that was half laugh, half sob. "You're serious."
"I'm always serious. Ask anyone—they'll tell you Splinter doesn't joke."
"You made me a bunny pancake."
"That was for Mae."
"You made me a bunny pancake. I saw you flip it onto my plate when you thought I wasn't looking."
He felt heat climb his neck. "Maybe I made one bunny pancake. For you. Because you deserved something that wasn't flat and boring."
Ivy laughed, and the sound was the most beautiful thing he'd heard in his entire life. She leaned forward, pressed her forehead to his, and for a moment they just breathed together.
"Stay," she whispered.
"I'm staying."
"Keep saying it."
"As many times as you need." He cupped her face in his hands, tilted her eyes up to meet his. "I'm staying, Ivy. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. You have me—all of me—for as long as you want me."
"What if I want you forever?"
"Then forever's what you'll get."
She kissed him, soft and certain, and when they broke apart her eyes were clear.
"I have people now," he said. "You and Mae. That's more than I ever thought I'd have. More than I ever thought I deserved."
"You deserve it." Her hand came up to cover his where it rested on her cheek. "You deserve everything good, Arlo Halcomb. And I'm going to spend however long it takes convincing you of that."
The sound of his real name in her mouth still undid him. Probably always would.
"Then we're doing this," he said. "Building something. Together."
"Together."
"The diner. Mae. Whatever comes after Messer—we figure it out as a team."
"A team." She smiled, and the hope in it made his chest ache. "I like the sound of that."
"Good." He stood, pulled her up with him, wrapped his arms around her and held on. "Because you have me now, Ivy Caudill. You have me, and keeping me is just a matter of staying."
She pressed her face into his chest, and he felt her smile against his shirt.
"I can do that," she said.
"I know you can."
They stood there, wrapped around each other, while the compound stirred to life around them.