Page 15 of Echo’s Secret

"Try looking at them every day for eight months."

"I'm going to," he says. "Every day from now on. I'm not missing any more of his life."

"Tell me about your brothers," I say, changing the subject before I start crying again. "The club. I don't know anything about this world."

So, he tells me. About Phoenix who founded the Iron Phoenix after leaving a corrupt MC. About Judge who spent twenty years in the military and knows sign language. About Brick who thrives on violence but fell for a woman who'd been hurt by men her whole life. About Canvas who's covered in tattoos and loves fantasy novels. About Saint who's Demon's younger brother but chose the opposite path, and everything about the rest.

He tells me about the women. Ivy who ran from an abusive fiancé. Nora, who was emotionally destroyed by her ex. Eden, who's a trauma nurse and took a bullet for Canvas. Rosie who was locked in a warehouse by her ex-boyfriend. Quinn who can't have biological children but became a mother anyway to Mariah.

He tells me about the war with the Vipers. About the warehouse raid. About tonight's attack that burned their clubhouse down.

And I listen, trying to understand this world I've walked into. This family built from broken people who chose each other.

"They're all survivors," I say when he finishes.

"Yeah."

"Like us."

"Like us."

Theo stretches in his sleep, making that little sound babies make when they're dreaming. Both Wesley and I go still, watching him. Waiting to see if he'll wake.

He settles back into deep sleep.

"I'm glad I came here," I whisper. "I'm still scared. Still don't trust this won't all fall apart. But I'm glad I came."

"Me too."

We sit there on the floor, backs against the bed where our son sleeps, and for the first time in months, I don't feel completely alone.

Maybe Wesley's right. Maybe we can't have the happy endings other people get.

But maybe we can make our own.

Different ones.

Ones that make sense for people like us.

Chapter 5 - Echo

The sun starts bleeding through the window, washing the room in pale morning light. I check my watch. 0800 hours. Eight in the morning. We've been sitting on this floor for almost an hour, backs against the bed, talking in whispers while Theo sleeps above us.

My legs are starting to go numb, but I don't move. Don't want to disturb this fragile peace we've found.

Hannah's leaned her head back against the mattress, eyes closed. She looks exhausted. Dark circles under her eyes. Lines around her mouth that weren't there when we were kids. She's only thirty-four but right now she looks older.

Being a single mother to a sick baby will do that.

My son. The thought still feels surreal. Eight months of his life I missed completely. First smile, first laugh, first time he rolled over, all of it happened without me. And now I'm sitting here trying to figure out how to make up for lost time when I don't even know how to be a father.

"You hungry?" I ask.

She opens her eyes and looks at me. "What?"

"Food. Breakfast. You've been here since what, six this morning? You must be hungry."

"I don't want to leave Theo alone."