Page 41 of Ranger’s Protection

None of us are.

We're brothers. We're family. We're the Iron Phoenix.

And we protect our own.

Always.

Epilogue - Delilah

Two Years Later

The kitchen smells like burnt cookies.

I stare at the tray I just pulled from the oven, what were supposed to be chocolate chip cookies but now look more like chocolate charcoal disasters, and feel tears prick my eyes for absolutely no logical reason.

Pregnancy hormones are a bitch.

I'm six months along, showing enough that I had to start wearing Graham's shirts because most of my regular clothes don't fit anymore, and apparently my ability to bake has completely abandoned me along with my ankles.

Who knew swollen ankles were a thing that happened? I knew. Intellectually. But experiencing it is different than knowing about it.

I abandon the burnt cookies on the counter and waddle, because that's what I do now, waddle, to the living room couch. Our couch. In our house. The small two-story cottage we bought in the center of Millhaven eight months ago when we decided we needed more space than Graham's room at the clubhouse could provide.

The house is perfect. White siding with blue shutters. A front porch with a swing, and a backyard big enough for the dog we're planning to get after the baby comes. Three bedrooms upstairs: one for us, one for the nursery we're still setting up, one for guests or future children if we decide we want more than one.

It's the kind of house I used to dream about when I was a kid. The kind of home my mom worked two jobs to try to give me but never quite managed. The kind of place that feels permanent like it was always meant to be ours.

Graham insisted on buying it outright. No mortgage, no debt, just cash from money he'd saved over years of military service and MC work. Said he wanted me to feel secure. Wanted our baby to grow up somewhere that couldn't be taken away.

I cried when he told me that. Blamed it on hormones then too, but it wasn't just hormones. It was the overwhelming reality that this man, this tactical, dangerous, beautiful man, loves me so completely that he plans our entire life around making sure I feel safe.

The front door opens and I hear his keys hit the bowl on the entry table, his boots on the hardwood floor, the familiar sounds of Graham coming home.

"Delilah?" he calls out.

"In here. On the couch. Being useless."

He appears in the doorway, still in his jeans and leather cut, his hair slightly messy from the wind, and just the sight of him makes my chest tight with how much I love him. Two years together and he still makes me feel like a teenager with her first crush.

"You're not useless," he says, crossing to the couch and leaning down to kiss me. "You're growing a human. That's the opposite of useless."

"I burnt the cookies."

He glances toward the kitchen, where smoke is probably still visible. "I can see that. Or smell it, more accurately."

"I used to be able to bake. Before I got pregnant. Now apparently my brain doesn't work anymore, and I can't even follow a recipe without destroying everything."

"Baby, you’re pregnant." He sits beside me, pulling my swollen feet into his lap and starting to massage them without me even asking. Because he's perfect. Because he notices everything. "The cookies don't matter. You matter. This little one matters." He puts his hand on my belly, where our daughter is currently practicing what I can only assume is kickboxing.

She kicks against his palm immediately, like she recognizes her daddy's touch.

"She's active today," Graham observes, his expression softening the way it always does when he feels her move.

"She's active every day. I think we're having a future UFC fighter."

"Or a soccer player."

"Or both. She can be both."