Page 77 of Contracted to the Bikers

Jessy crosses her arms. “Maybe. He drools,” she warns.

Connor smiles, eyes misting, perhaps remembering Jessy at that age. “I can handle that.”

She studies him for a long second before nodding. “Okay. But if you drop him, I’ll tell.”

“Fair,” he says, stifling a laugh.

I carefully pass Rowan over, watching Connor’s hands as they adjust, a little awkward at first, then steadier as Rowan settles against him. “There you go,” I say.

Connor exhales, something like relief flickering across his face. “Hey, little guy,” he murmurs.

Rowan immediately reaches for his shirt, gripping it tightly in his fist and looking him in the eye with a frown as if he’s sizing him up.

“Yeah,” Connor huffs a quiet laugh. “That tracks.”

Across the room, Cruz whistles. “Look at that. Just like his dad.”

Connor flips him off half-heartedly.

Jessy beams. “That’s my brother.”

Later, I catch Connor talking to one of the women from the club. Their conversation is easy, her laugh genuine, his posture is less guarded than I’ve ever seen it. It makes something in me settle, and I realize I’ve truly moved on. I’m happy for him, and I think he’s happy for me, too. We might never be friends, but we can be civil and get along for our daughter’s sake.

“Cake!” Jessy announces loudly, dragging Boone toward the table.

The room shifts immediately, attention snapping to the center as Rook carefully places Rowan in his high chair, a tiny crown now crookedly perched on his head. He frowns, pulling it off his head, and begins chewing it.

The candles flicker softly, the room dimming just slightly as someone turns down the lights. We gather close, a family in every way that counts.

“Ready?” I ask Jessy.

She nods vigorously. “Ready!”

We sing. Badly. Loudly. Rowan stares at us like we’ve all lost our minds, the paper crown fluttering to the floor. Boone walks in with the cake, Cruz scoops Jessy up in his arms, and Rook wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me close. We crowd around the highchair, and Jessy does the honors of blowing out the candles. Rowan laughs delightedly, clapping his hands together when we place a small amount of cake in front of him. He immediately grabs a fistful and shoves it in his mouth, eyes widening. He crams more in, making us all laugh.

Connor pulls out his camera, calling for us to gather round, and he snaps a photo of us all, our perfectly imperfect, happy family, capturing the moment forever.

∞∞∞

Later, when the sun dips lower and the party softens, slowly winding down, I step outside for a moment, the evening air warm against my skin, the distant sound of laughter still drifting out from inside. Parents carrying sugar-crashed children in their arms drift past me, buckling sleeping kids into car seats, and waving silent goodbyes. The tires crunch on gravel, and I wave as they pull away, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

“Sloane.”

I turn. Alvarez stands there, hands in his pockets, expression serious but not heavy. “Hey,” I say. “Everything okay?”

He nods. “Better than okay.”

Something in his tone sharpens my attention. “What is it?”

He takes a step closer. “We’re moving forward today,” he says. “The charges are going through.”

My heart skips. “Briggs?”

“And Escar,” he confirms. “We’ve got them for it all. The kidnapping. The bombing. Everything.”

For a second, I just stare at him. After all this time. After everything. “We have what we need?” I ask.

“We do.”