EPILOGUE
Six months later, the sun is back, painting everything in that mean, raw-boned yellow that makes it impossible to nap.
Especially here at the club, where there is always something happening.
The picture of Zane that hangs on the wall seems to be always smiling when I walk past. Sometimes, it’s like the ghost of him is what’s holding the walls up.
His cut still hangs in the main room, framed in old barnwood and already collecting dust. I think he’d like that.
The world’s a softer, gentler place, which is weird because the only thing gentler about us is the way we bruise now.
Mera and Nia have turned into DIY queens, hanging embarrassing motivational posters in every hallway.
“Live Laugh Love” makes an appearance, right next to the “NO DRUG TRANSACTIONS BY FRONT BAR” sign.
I am quite certain they’re doing it to stir the members, and it works, because they’re always taking them down and tossing them in the bin.
Today, Sable is slumped over at the counter, her stomach so swollen she has to get help when she gets up.
She doesn’t sleep anymore, just kind of dozes in thirty-minute intervals and yells at anyone who breathes too loud.
She’s had Braxton Hicks contractions for a week, swears every cramp is the real deal, and every time it’s not, she threatens to kill someone, mostly Kael.
I try not to laugh every time she does it, but it’s actually pretty funny.
Today, though, they have been regular and are slowly getting worse.
I think it’s baby time.
So we have spent the entire day here, counting every contraction and timing them.
Mera licks whipped cream off her thumb, then points the can at Sable. “Maybe if you just let Gage watch, it’d scare the baby out.”
Sable flips her off. “If I see Gage within a hundred feet of my vagina before six weeks postpartum, I’m putting him in the ground. It’s his damn fault I’m here.”
I am setting the table, lips twisting not to grin. “Pretty sure that’s called a hate crime, Sable.”
Nia pours more coffee and slides it down. Sable groans, rubbing her belly in slow, frustrated circles. “You ever feel like someone’s running a cheese grater up your spine?”
We giggle.
There is a low, familiar rumble outside. Kael’s truck. The second it screeches to a stop, Sable winces and clutches her stomach, then bares her teeth in a snarl. “This better be the real thing or I am going to rip this kid out myself and sell it on the black market.”
Kael comes in with a hurricane of boots and nerves, hair sticking up like he’s been electrocuted by anxiety. “It better be real this time, I’m not doing this again.”
Sable glares. “You aren’t doing it again?”
He looks at me for help. I shrug and hand him her overnight bag. “She’s been practicing the linebacker squat all morning. Might want to bring a towel for the car seat. Or two.”
Sable slides off the stool, grunting. We follow her out, Mera and Nia both sniffling already, and she flips us the bird as she waddles, full waddle, to the door.
“Don’t you dare name the baby after yourself, you narcissist!” Nia yells after her, waving a sticky spatula.
Sable turns at the door. “Screw you, my mother’s name was that, too. It’s not all about me, bitches.”
“Wait, is it a boy or a girl?” I ask. Genuinely, we don’t know. Sable has forbidden all discussion. She wants to meet the kid first, then decide.
“Hopefully a damn girl, because if it’s a boy, I’m going to scream. I can’t live with a miniature Gage getting around. He causes enough problems for me as it is.”
Sable takes another step, then freezes and clutches the wall. For a second, I think she’s going to pass out. Instead, she bares her teeth and lets out this guttural, animal sound I’m pretty sure will haunt me until I die. Kael keeps her moving, but he looks as terrified as we all feel.
She gets to the truck and manages to get herself in. Then we all watch the truck bounce down the drive, Sable’s curses audible even over the radio Kael has blasting. Nia stares after them, still sniffling, then slumps onto the step and bursts into full tears.
Mera squeals, “Oh my god, what if it’s twins?” Her delight is genuine and unholy, and I love it.
I flop next to Nia on the stoop, press my head against her shoulder. “Bet you twenty bucks it’s a girl,” I tell her.
She shakes her head. “No way. Sable’s all power, but this kid’s going to be a sweet little boy. I think that will be Zane’s way of haunting us all.”
I laugh. “If it’s a boy, she’ll eat him before kindergarten.”
We sit there, watching the dust trail fade into the distance, until the air grows thick with summer heat. Inside, the world is all clatter and hum; the club’s patched together again, maybe not the way it was before, but still holding.
“Should we do something?” Mera asks, after a while.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Paint a banner. Make a cake. Something baby-themed. A welcome-to-the-misery present.” She’s already pacing, hands flapping. “What do babies like?”
“Crying and food,” Nia says, grimly. “You can get both from Callie’s cooking.”
I flip her off from the porch.
But it gives us something to do, which is what we all crave.
We throw together a half-assed cake—lopsided, too much frosting, a box of sparklers stuck on top for “flare.” Mera scrawls “Welcome to Hell” on a scrap of cardboard and tapes it to the kitchen door.
Nia strings a row of empty tequila bottles across a window.
An odd touch.
There’s something about the chaos that makes the hours pass faster. We wait for word, phones clutched like lifelines. Mera refreshes the group text every ten minutes and gives us reports: Sable checked in. Sable cussed out a nurse. Sable threatened to leave if they didn’t bring her the “juice.”
I have never respected anyone more.
Evening falls, lazy and pink. Wolfe and Talon join us, looking unfazed by what’s happening.
Men. Knox is out on a run with the boys, but I know he’s checking his phone every five minutes, too.
We all gather in the main room, sprawled in a loose circle, watching the minutes tick away in the slow-motion ballet of anticipation.
At half past midnight, the text finally comes.
It’s a photo, blurry and glorious. Sable’s face is streaked with sweat and tears, her hair wild, and she’s giving the camera the finger with both hands.
Kael is off to the side, holding a tiny, red-faced baby in a flannel blanket, looking absolutely shell-shocked.
The caption says: “Meet Zane. 8lbs 6oz. Already hates the world but he’s damn cute. Fuck you all, I need sleep.”
“Oh my god,” Nia wheezes, grabbing my arm. “She actually named him after—”
Mera starts crying so hard she can’t talk. Wolfe’s face twists up and he turns, walking out. I don’t try to stop my own tears. I let them roll, hot and stinging, over cheeks stretched in the widest grin I didn’t know I still had in me.
We spend the next hour passing phones, staring at every blurry shot Kael sends.
Little Zane is squinty and furious, hands balled up like they’re ready to punch out the world.
In one picture, Sable is asleep, baby sprawled across her collarbone, and Kael looks smitten, which is incredible considering the baby isn’t his.
The world is suddenly soft-focus, all the edges smoothed out by something warm and sweet.
Even after everyone else heads to bed, I stay up, scrolling through the pictures, imagining what the kid’s life will look like. I hope he has Sable’s fire, Kael’s heart, and maybe, just a little, of the lunatic soul that made his namesake impossible to forget.
The clubhouse is quiet, a rare and gentle thing. I wander outside and slip into Knox’s room. He’s back from the run, sprawled across the bed, breathing deep enough that I know he’s half asleep but fighting it. I tiptoe in and slide under the covers, burrow my cold feet against his shins.
He grunts. Doesn’t open his eyes. “Fuck. Woman. I hope you’re in here because you have good news.”
“She did it,” I whisper. “It’s a boy, and they called him Zane.”
Knox huffs, cracks an eye open to smile at me. He yanks me closer, tucks my head under his chin. “Did she really name him Zane?”
“Swear to god.” I grin into his chest. “Can you imagine what that kid’s going to be like?”
He’s quiet for a long time, running his hand up and down my back. “He’s gonna be a terror,” he says finally. “Just like the last one.”
I think about that, about the first Zane, about all the times I thought he was too much, too loud, too wild. But without him, none of us would be here. “Maybe that’s exactly what we need.”
He hums, presses a kiss into my hair. “World’s always got room for another maniac.”
I can feel the thump of his heart, steady and sure. “What about us?” I ask, voice smaller than I mean it to be. “What do we do now?”
He rolls onto his side, facing me, eyes serious. “Whatever the hell we want. You’re not stuck anymore, Callie. You get to choose. Investigation is closed, Ralston is gone, and the farm is yours. It’s an open road ahead.”
I breathe that in, taste the freedom of it. “We could run,” I say, “or we could stay. Maybe build a life here, even if it cracks my teeth to admit it. The farm is growing on me.”
Knox snorts. “I’d settle for you not poisoning me with your chili again. Not sure the farm life is for you, sunshine.”
I punch his shoulder.
There’s a beat of silence, long and comfortable. “You ever miss her?” I ask.
He knows what I mean. “Every day. But it doesn’t hurt as much. Not when I’ve got you. You make the whole world right.”
I get that. Oh, do I get it.
We fall asleep, tangled together. I don’t dream of fire, or explosions, or running away. This time, I dream of a long road and the two of us on a bike, the world wide open and ours for the taking.
IN THE MORNING, I WAKE to the sound of laughter.
Not the fake kind, but the reckless, unfiltered joy that fills the compound like a flood.
I take my time getting up, then wander down to the kitchen in Knox’s stolen T-shirt, hair doing something that should probably be illegal, and see that everyone’s crowded around Mera’s phone.
Onscreen, Sable is FaceTiming with her adorable son.
Kael looks somewhat terrified, but happy. Zane is squirming in his arms, a red, angry peanut. I have only seen photos of Gage, but man, this boy looks like him. I don’t dare admit it.
I don’t get the chance. Mera is already in a teasing mood.
“Are you going to let Gage babysit him?”
“Not unless I want him to have a mullet by preschool,” Sable fires back.
I lean in, waving at the phone. “Congrats, Mama.”
Sable softens, just a little. “Thanks, Callie. Means a lot. He’s pretty cute, right?”
Kael chimes in, “She’s been crying for an hour, don’t let her fool you.”
Sable growls, but this time the threat is a joke. “I’m naming the next one after you, Kael. So you better pray to god I don’t get pregnant again.”
He looks like he wants to run.
I prop my chin on my hand, watching the parade of bikers that pass in and out of frame, each trying to get a peek at the baby.
For the first time in a long while, the whole place feels like home.
I think about what Knox said, about getting to choose, and realize that maybe, just maybe, this was the choice I wanted all along.
Wolfe comes in, tosses a folded bandana at me. “You missed the best part of the night.”
“What’s that?”
“We did Zane’s last call. Right through the middle of town, twenty seconds of engines screaming. Think the sheriff shit himself.”
I laugh, picturing it. “Wish I’d seen that.”
He shrugs, grin sly. “We’ll do it again. For the kid this time.”
After the call ends, we all drift outside, coffee in hand.
The sun’s high already, beating the world into submission.
I sit on the stoop, knees hugged to my chest, and watch the light spill over the bikes, the battered lawn, the peeling paint of the house.
Knox settles behind me, arms draped over my shoulders.
“What do you think he’ll be like?” I ask him.
“Trouble. Born and bred. But he’ll have a family.”
“The best family,” I grin.
We sit like that, not talking, not needing to.
I imagine Sable teaching her kid to throw punches in grade school, can already see him in a tiny leather jacket, wreaking havoc.
I wonder if, someday, I’ll have my own little wild thing to add to the club.
The thought used to terrify me. Now it just makes me smile.
Sable messages an hour later: “We’re coming home tomorrow. If anyone does a parade or hangs a stupid sign, I’ll hunt you down. All I want is shots and a nap.”
Mera’s fingers are already flying over her phone, planning the world’s loudest homecoming. I can’t help but laugh.
Knox pulls me closer, and in the sun and the laughter and the noise, I realize something. It doesn’t matter how broken the world tries to leave us. We always find a way to patch it back together. We don’t let go, not for anything.
“Oh Knox?” I say, a sly grin on my face.
“Yeah?”
“I won the bet.”
He grunts. “We’ll see. I’m not done with you yet.”
I grin. Someday, there’ll be stories told about all this. About the club, about the chaos, about the messes we made and the family we found in the middle of it. And maybe, if we’re lucky, the next generation will be even wilder, even louder, even more impossible than we were.
But for now, it’s enough.
Just this.
Just us.
And the horizon, wide open, waiting.