Page 84 of Rebel

The party moved around us like a living thing.Bodies shifted from room to room, carrying boxes, furniture, bags of trash.The rhythm of it was hypnotic -- the thumping music, the constant movement, voices rising and falling in waves of conversation and laughter.

Rio appeared at my side, her shoulder brushing mine.“Stop standing around like a useless lump and help me with these curtains.”

I put down my beer.“Yes, ma’am.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled.We worked together hanging curtains that actually matched, her directing me where to place the rod while she held them up to check the length.

“Where’d all this stuff come from?”I asked, drilling into the wall above the window.

“Club family, garage sales, and newspaper ads,” she said simply.“I mentioned we were fixing up your place, and everyone just… offered things or tracked stuff down.”

I paused, drill hovering.“They did that for you?”

Her eyes flashed.“For us, dumbass.”

The way she said “us” made something flip in my stomach.I bent to the task, hiding my expression.I’d never been an “us” before and I liked it more than I’d realized.

The door opened again, and the room went briefly quiet.I turned to see Cinder enter, his white beard and hair standing out like a beacon.His wife followed along with another new Prospect, Jaden, carrying something wrapped carefully in a thick blanket.Even at eighty-something, Cinder commanded respect without saying a word.His wife might’ve been the only person in the club who could boss him around, and she did it with a smile that still lit up his weathered face.

“Place is looking good,” Cinder said, his blue eyes taking in the transformation.

“Thanks to Rio,” I replied, setting down the drill.“My decorating skills start and end with thrift stores or one of those discount places.”

Rio snorted beside me, but I could feel her tense slightly.Cinder intimidated most people, even his own men.I’d seen hardened bikers turn into stammering teenagers under his gaze.Rio, though, just tilted her chin up and met his eyes directly.

Cinder’s wife, Meg, stepped forward, smiling.“We brought you something.”She nodded to Cinder, who unwrapped the blanket to reveal a rocking chair made of dark, polished wood.It gleamed under the overhead lighting, the craftsmanship obvious even to my untrained eye.

“Holy shit,” I breathed.

“Language,” Cinder’s wife chided, but she was smiling.

Rio stepped forward, her hand reaching out to touch the smooth arm of the chair.“It’s beautiful.”

“Cinder made it,” his wife said proudly.“Been working on it for weeks.”

I looked at Cinder in surprise.His calloused hands hadn’t seemed capable of creating something so delicate, so perfect.He shrugged, uncomfortable with the attention.When the fuck had he taken up woodworking?

“Where do you want it?”he asked gruffly.

Rio looked at me, a question in her eyes.It was my house, but we both knew it was becoming ours in every way that mattered.

“By the window,” I suggested.“Gets good light in the morning.”

Cinder nodded and carried the chair to the spot I’d indicated.He set it down carefully, then stepped back to examine it.The rocking chair looked right in the space, like it had been made specifically for that spot.

“Perfect,” Rio said softly.

I caught Cinder’s gaze over Rio’s head.Something passed between us -- understanding, approval.The chair wasn’t just furniture; it was a symbol.A rocking chair meant permanence, a future.It was the kind of thing you kept for generations, the kind of thing that became a family heirloom.

Cinder gave me a slight nod, and I returned it, feeling a quiet surge of something I couldn’t quite name.Hope, maybe.Or peace.The chaotic energy of the room continued around us, but in that moment, everything felt still and certain.

Rio’s hand found mine, her fingers intertwining with mine in a gesture so natural it felt like we’d been doing it for years instead of weeks.I squeezed gently, and she squeezed back.

By the time the last club member staggered out, my house was unrecognizable.Clean, organized, with nice furniture and decorations that matched.It looked like a place where real adults lived, not the crash pad of a biker.

“What do you think?”Rio asked, surveying our work with her hands on her hips.

I wrapped my arms around her from behind, resting my chin on her shoulder.“I think it looks like a home.”

---