Page 155 of Boulder's Weight

I stand at the window of our house—not my apartment, not Boulder's clubhouse room, butourhouse—watching the early morning light spill across the backyard.

Luna, the tabby I ended up adopting from the café, stretches lazily on the windowsill beside me, soaking in the same sunbeams that warm my skin.

So much has changed since that night, when Benji was captured, when everything I'd been running from finally caught up to me.

And yet, standing here in the kitchen of the house the club helped us buy on the same street the club is on, I feel something I never thought I'd feel again—peace.

Rosa and Ruby live a few doors down, but if you ask me Boulder and I are the luckier ones.

We’re not stuck right up against another person in a duplex, but I mean they probably love it since Axel and Zorro are so close. Axel’s little sister is married to Zorro.

Behind me, I hear the familiar sound of Boulder's footsteps on the tile floor.

His arms slide around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder as he presses a kiss to the side of my neck.

"Morning, Montana," he murmurs, his voice still rough with sleep. "What's got you up so early?"

I lean back against his chest, enjoying the solid warmth of him. "Just thinking about everything. Six months today."

He doesn't need to ask what I mean. Six months since Benji. Six months since Sally. Six months of building this life together, piece by piece.

"Any regrets?" he asks, his hands tracing lazy patterns across my stomach.

I turn in his arms, looking up into his face—the face that has become home to me in ways I never imagined possible. "Not a single one."

His smile, still rare but becoming more frequent, makes my heart skip.

He looks younger when he smiles, less like the dangerous biker the world sees and more like the man only I get to know.

"Good," he says simply, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Because today's gonna be a good day."

He's right.

Today is Sam's first day as a prospect.

They even helped him pick a road name—Compass.

He decided on it because he says it reflects his moral direction. It’s deep, but why wouldn’t it be? Sam always has been.

After everything that happened, Sam decided to stay in Chihuahua.

At first it was to be close to me, then later because he found something unexpected with the club—a purpose, a family that chose him rather than demanded loyalty through blood.

Sam ended up staying at our place last night, nervous jitters I think. But starting tonight, he’ll be living in the clubhouse with the rest of the prospects full time.

I head into the kitchen where he sits at the eat-in table. "Is my baby brother nervous?" I ask, grabbing the coffee pot.

I fish three mugs out of the cabinet and pour us all a mug.

Boulder snorts, accepting the cup I hand him. "He’s trying not to show it, but yeah. Fucker spent half the night at the garage working on Axel's bike until he mosied his way down here, said he couldn't sleep."

I smile, picturing Sam—still quiet, still watchful, but steadier now, more confident—trying to burn off nervous energy by tinkering with engines.

He's found his place at the club garage, showing a talent for mechanics that surprised everyone, most of all himself.

I hand Sam a mug and he shoots me a smile in return.

"And Brick?" I ask, "Any word?"

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