Page 159 of Boulder's Weight

Inside, the party continues, Sam now surrounded by prospects getting a taste of what lies ahead.

He catches my eye across the room, raising his beer in a silent toast. I smile, lifting my own drink in return.

We've both found our place in this unconventional family. Both shed the weight of our past to build something new.

Later, as Boulder and I dance slowly in a corner of the main room, his arms around my waist, my head on his chest, I think about the journey that brought us here.

From that first night in Montana to now, every step, every choice, every moment of fear and courage.

"What are you thinking about?" Boulder asks, his voice rumbling beneath my ear.

"Just that I never imagined ending up here," I admit. "In Mexico, with a biker, surrounded by a family that isn't blood but feels more real than the one I was born into."

His arms tighten around me. "Any regrets?"

I shake my head, looking up at him. "Not one. You?"

"Only that I wasted years thinking old ladies were dead weight," he says, a rare vulnerability in his eyes. "I would’ve scooped you up that first time if I wasn’t so damn hard headed."

The simple truth of his words warms me from the inside out. "I love you, Boulder."

"Love you too, Montana," he replies, smiling with that shit-eating grin of his. "More than I ever thought possible."

As the night winds down, as we say goodbye to friends and brothers, we walk down to our house across the street with Luna waiting for us, I feel a certainty I never expected to find again.

I'm not running anymore.

I'm not hiding.

I'm home.

And while shadows still linger—Lashes still missing, Benji still existing in that facility in Arizona without hands or feet, a living reminder of what cruelty costs—they no longer define me.

What defines me now is this: Boulder's hand in mine, the club at our backs, and a future stretching before us.

I have my happily-ever-after, and I’m proof that the best people can change.

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