Page 34 of Reaper's Justice
The club members' girlfriends cluster around, cooing over Jamie, offering congratulations and birthday wishes. These women who once intimidated me have become friends, confidantes, sisters in a world most outsiders would never understand.
"Need help with anything?" one asks, her hand resting over her own growing belly.
"Everything's perfect," I assure her. "Just enjoy."
And it is perfect. Two years ago, I couldn't have imagined this life. Couldn't have dreamed of safety, of belonging, of family. I had been too broken, too damaged, too convinced that happiness wasn't meant for people like me.
"Evelyn!"
I turn to see Emma pushing through the crowd, her smile bright, her arms already reaching for her half-brother. At twenty-one, she's finished her criminology degree and is preparing for the FBI academy—a path Jackson supports with fierce pride, despite the irony.
"Let me see the birthday boy," she demands, taking Jamie from my arms. He goes willingly, recognizing the sister who FaceTimes with him almost daily.
"He's getting so big," she marvels, bouncing him gently. "Dad's genes for sure."
"Poor kid," Jackson mutters, earning a playful glare from both of us.
The relationship between father and daughter has healed slowly over these two years. Emma still keeps one foot firmly outside club life even though she’s been dating a member for two years, and she even visits more often now. Calls regularly. Has begun to forgive Jackson for being exactly who he needed to be.
She claims I'm partly responsible for the reconciliation.
"He's different with you," she told me once. "Still Reaper when he needs to be, but more Jackson than I've seen since I was little."
A crash from the kitchen interrupts my thoughts, followed by cursing and laughter. Probably one of the prospects attempting to help and making more mess than progress.
"I'll check on that," Jackson says, kissing my temple before heading toward the commotion, his president's authority evident in the straightening of shoulders as he passes.
Emma sidles closer, Jamie babbling happily in her arms. "So," she says with a smile, "have you told him yet?"
My hand drifts unconsciously to my still-flat stomach. "Tonight. After the party."
She squeals quietly, slowly not to alarm Jamie. "He's going to be thrilled. He loves being a dad."
"I know." I watch Jackson across the room, directing the cleanup with the same precision he uses to run the club. "I never thought I'd have this, you know? After everything... I didn't think I deserved it."
Emma's expression softens. "If anyone deserves happiness, it's you, Evelyn. You saved him as much as he saved you."
Before I can respond, the clubhouse door bangs open. We all tense—old habits die hard in this life—but it's just one of the prospects who earned his full patch last month.
"Sorry I'm late," he announces, holding up a colorfully wrapped package. "Little man's present took longer than expected."
The tension dissolves into laughter and ribbing. I watch as Jackson claps him on the shoulder, accepting the gift with a nod of approval.
Two years ago, such a casual entrance might have triggered my flight response, sent me hiding in a corner or reaching for a weapon. Now, I simply smile and continue my conversation.
"How's apartment hunting going?" I ask Emma, bouncing Jamie when he starts to fuss.
"Good. Found a place in Quantico for after academy training. Small, but mine." She hesitates. "Dad wants to pay for it, but..."
"But you want to do it yourself," I finish for her. "He understands that better than you think. Independence matters to him too."
She nods. "Sometimes I forget he was my age once. That he had dreams beyond the club."
"He still does," I tell her. "Just different ones now."
Jackson returns, taking Jamie from his sister. "What are you two conspiring about?" he asks, narrowing his eyes playfully.
"Nothing," we answer in unison, then laugh at our synchronized response.
