Page 93 of Claimed By My Biker Daddies
Don’t doubt that.
You’ve been through fire, Marisa.
Still, here you are, steady as stone, holding all this in your arms.”
The words wash over me and I find myself whispering before I think. “Do you think I have a chance, Cruz? Really? With…with all of this?”
For a long moment he’s quiet, studying me.
Then he leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I think you’ve already made your chance. You chose to stay. You chose to fight. You’re the one who decides what this becomes, not the ghosts outside our walls.”
The babies drink steadily, their small breaths warm against my skin.
I meet Cruz’s gaze, and for once I don’t feel like I need to argue, or run, or guard myself.
His words sit inside me like an anchor, grounding.
“You make it sound simple,” I murmur.
His grin softens, almost sad. “It is. Doesn’t mean it’ll be easy. But simple? Yeah. You belong right here.”
I look down at the little faces pressed against me, then back at him.
For the first time in a long while, I let myself believe him.
18
MARISA
The twins finally give in to sleep, their little mouths slack against my skin before I tuck them back into their crib.
Their breathing evens out, soft as feathers, and their tiny fists curl like they’re still holding onto me.
I pull the blanket over them, smoothing it gently, then stand a moment just watching.
The door clicks softly behind me, and I glance back to see Roman filling the frame.
He doesn’t speak, just inclines his head, eyes sharp in the dim light.
“I’ve got the night watch,” he murmurs. “Take Cruz and go rest.”
It isn’t an offer; it’s Roman in that steady, immovable way of his.
My heart swells and aches at the same time.
I nod, too tired to argue, and brush past him into the hall.
He squeezes my shoulder once on the way, firm, like a promise.
Cruz is waiting.
He leans against the wall with his arms crossed, that quiet steadiness about him.
He falls into step beside me, no words, just presence, until we reach the kitchen.
The light is low, the old overhead bulb casting a warm, golden pool across the counters.
Cruz moves with easy surety, pulling mugs from a cabinet, a jar of cocoa from the shelf, and a small tin of cinnamon I didn’t even know was there.
