Page 76 of Contracted to the Bikers

One Year Later…

Colorful streamers are strung across the beams in the main room at the clubhouse, and balloons bob lazily near the ceiling, bright against the dark wood. Boone set up a long table covered in food, with paper plates neatly stacked, everything organized in a way that makes the chaos feel intentional.

Outside, through the open doors, I can see the new addition to the compound.

The outhouse we built months ago for storage has turned into something else entirely. It’s now a play space, a daycare corner, with a small, fenced playground with swings and a slide. There are chalk drawings on the concrete, tiny handprints in paint along one wall, toys scattered everywhere, evidence of a different kind of life taking root here. The air is filled with laughter that doesn’t carry tension underneath it. The clubhouse is still the stronghold of Iron Vale MC, still a place for motorcycle lovers to come together over a beer and a burger, to shoot the breeze and play snooker, or to hook up with one of the women who hang around at night like groupies. But in the daytime, it’s also a family space, a place for the members with kids to spend time with their two main loves.

Jessy’s standing beside me with frosting on her cheek and a plastic crown slightly askew on her head, looking like she owns the entire world. In a way, she does, she’s my world.

I shift my weight slightly, adjusting the baby on my hip. “Gimme my baby,” Jessy demands, her arms outstretched, sticky fingers wiggling.

I laugh, glancing down at her. “Please,” I gently scold. “And Rowan’s our baby,” I correct.

She considers that. Then nods, satisfied. “Okay. But mostly mine.”

I don’t argue with my stubborn, wonderful girl. I love how much she adores her baby brother.

In my arms, my son squirms slightly, chubby fingers gripping the front of my shirt, his soft hair brushing against my chin.

“Easy, little man,” I murmur.

My boy is going to be as much of a handful as his big sister, if the way he already tries to grab everything within reach is anything to go by. Rowan’s eyes are locked upward, tracking the movement of a balloon drifting lazily overhead, his tiny hand opening and closing like he’s trying to catch it.

“He likes the balloons,” Boone says, stepping up beside me, his voice softer than it ever used to be.

“I think he likes everything colorful,” I reply.

Boone smiles, reaching out to brush a hand gently over Rowan’s head, the gesture so natural now it still sometimes catches me off guard. He looks at ease, a natural father. All of them are.

Cruz is across the room, trying and failing to teach a group of kids how to stack cups into some kind of elaborate tower, his exaggerated instructions making them laugh more than listen. Rook stands near the door, talking to Miguel Alvarez, his posture relaxed but still watchful in that way I don’t think will ever fully leave him. I watch them for a moment, feeling utterly content.

I move over to the playpen we’ve set up for Rowan to keep him from crawling off, placing him down among the pile of toys he’s amassed today. He’s more interested in the wrapping paper, though, clutching it tightly in his little fists.

“Happy birthday, little man,” David says, crouching down slightly in front of Rowan, holding out a brightly wrapped gift.

Rowan immediately tries to grab it, and I deftly take it from David before he can reach it. I open it, revealing an adorable little play judge’s gavel.

“Is it okay?” David asks anxiously. “The clerk promised it was okay for babies.”

I smile, gently touching his arm. “It’s perfect.” I remove the packaging and hand it to Rowan, who grabs it with his chubby fingers and bashes it on the floor, giggling with delight. “He loves it.”

David beams. Behind him, a couple of the other lawyers linger, more relaxed than I’ve ever seen them, ties loosened, jackets off, blending awkwardly but genuinely into the chaos of the clubhouse.

They’re not the only ones who are a little out of place. Connor is here. I spotted him arriving a moment ago, walking in hesitantly, as if he might turn and run at any moment. His presence feels strange. Not wrong, just… unexpected. He stands off to the side at first, watching, hands shoved into his pockets like he’s not entirely sure what to do with himself. But Jessy spots him almost immediately.

“Connor!” She runs straight to him. Their relationship is growing, slowly but surely, though much to his disappointment, she still refuses to call him dad. Jessy is still closer to Boone, Rook, and Cruz, probably always will be, but she’s let Connor in, slowly, on her terms, and he’s accepted that without pushing or trying to replace her dads. He’s just been happy to be a part of her life. Which means he’s earned the begrudging acceptance and respect of her dads.

He startles slightly, then crouches instinctively as she launches into him. “Hey, kid,” he says, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard it.

She grabs his hand. “You have to see my brother.”

“I do?” he asks.

“Yes. Rowan’s very important.”

I bite back a smile as she drags him over. Connor meets my eyes briefly, something uncertain flickering there, but I nod slightly. I’ve left Rowan at home with the guys on all of Jessy’s previous visits with Connor, or one of the men has taken her to meet with him.

“Think he’s going to let me hold him?” Connor asks quietly, looking to me for permission.