Page 106 of Baby for the Bikers

“Fair enough,” Maddox replies. “But you were being trained to be the next leader, and you can kick ass more than most men. Plus you bake the best brownies and you’re super supportive…”

“And the list goes on and on,” Ryder finishes. “You’re everything we’ve wanted and now, you’ve blessed us with a little one, growing in there.” He points to my stomach.

Tears I’ve been holding back all morning spill over, tracking through the dirt and soot on my cheeks. “You can’t just say things like that,” I manage, torn between laughing and sobbing. “You’re supposed to freak out. Have an existential crisis. Something. It’s a whole baby—completely out of the blue at that.”

Maddox grins, stepping closer to wipe away a tear with his thumb. “Sorry to disappoint you, princess, but we’re kind of pastthe freaking out stage. We survived your dad’s murder squad yesterday. A baby’s cake compared to that.”

“You’re both oversimplifying,” Ryder weighs in, serious as always. “A child changes everything.”

My heart sinks for a moment, until he continues.

“But some changes are worth making.” A rare smile softens his features. “This one definitely is.”

Yesterday’s violence, my father’s fall, the destruction surrounding us—none of it matters compared to this moment of perfect understanding.

Brick’s eyes never leave mine, even as he addresses his brothers. “We’re going to need a bigger house.”

“And a new diner,” Ryder adds, looking around at the destruction.

“And probably a shitload of baby books,” Maddox chimes in. “None of us knows the first thing about kids.”

“There’s more,” I say, remembering the two terrified girls waiting at Rose’s house. “Penny and Emma. They need a place too, at least until we figure out a more permanent situation.”

“They’re your sisters,” Brick says, as if that settles everything. “They’re family.”

“I love you,” I blurt out, the words I’ve never said before spilling from my lips. “All of you. So much.”

EPILOGUE

ROWAN

Two Years Later

Sunday brunchat Black Dog is the hottest ticket in Wolf Pike, and I still can’t believe it’s ours. Every reservation was filled weeks in advance, tourists driving from all over and locals guarding their standing bookings like family heirlooms.

I watch from behind the counter as our son demonstrates his newest skill to his fathers. Seventeen-month-old James, with his serious little face and concentrated effort, stacks sugar packets with surprising dexterity at our corner booth.

“One more,” Brick encourages him, sliding another packet into his tiny grasp.

James’s dark hair—Brick’s through and through, confirmed by the DNA test we did mostly for medical records—falls across his forehead as he focuses on his task.

But those long fingers manipulating the sugar packets? Pure Ryder. And the mischievous glint in his green eyes when the tower inevitably topples? That’s all Maddox.

I brush flour from my apron and slide the last tray of scones into the oven before joining my family. The Sunday rush is winding down, my two sous-chefs handling the remaining orders with the precision I’ve drilled into them over the past year.

“Again!” James demands as his sugar packet tower collapses, giggles erupting from him instead of tears.

“Definitely your son,” I tell Maddox, sliding into the booth beside him.

“I resent the implication,” he protests, but his proud grin betrays him. “Though the kid does have excellent taste in entertainment. Destruction is vastly underrated.”

I look around at what we’ve built from the ashes of that shoot-out two years ago. The renovated diner bears no visible scars—sleek modern fixtures blend with rustic touches, an open kitchen gleams with top-of-the-line equipment, and the bar showcases Maddox’s growing collection of craft spirits. What was once a simple diner has transformed into Wolf Pike’s premier destination, booked solid seven days a week. Sometimes I still can’t believe it’s real—that any of this is real.

“Emma and Penny called this morning,” I tell the brothers, accepting the coffee Ryder silently passes me. “They’re coming home next weekend for Penny’s birthday.”

“Penny excited about turning eighteen?” Brick asks, subtly moving the saltshaker out of James’s reach.

“Beyond excited. She’s already talking about changing her major to business like Emma.” I smile, thinking of my sisters thriving at Riverside University, three counties away from Wolf Pike and far from any reminder of MC life. “She says the scholarship fund is the best thing that ever happened to her.”

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