Page 69 of Logan
And we do.
Together.
Not as broken pieces.
But as king and queen.
Fire-forged. Battle-born.
And damn near unstoppable.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Mac
Everyday is a new day
I'm reminded of my past
Every time there's another storm
I know that it won't last
Every moment I'm filled with hope 'cause I get another chance
But I will try
Got nothing left to hide
I'm beautifully broken
And I don't mind if you know it
‘Beautifully Broken’ - Ashlee Simpson
The clubhouse smells like leather, whiskey, and motor oil, same as always, but tonight it hums with something different. Something sharper, heavier.
Respect.
The kind you don’t earn with words. The kind you bleed for. The kind you claw back from the edge of hell when the world tried to strip it from you.
The room is packed, but it’s not loud. Not like on a party night where laughter and music echo through the rafters. Tonight, the energy is lower, more solemn, charged with a gravity that sinks into my bones. The brothers are out back, giving us this space. Tonight is for the women. The ones with the patches on their backs, the steel in their veins, the scars hidden beneath leather and lace.
I stand near the long wooden bar, heart pounding like I am about to go twelve rounds in the ring. The air feels thick, heavy, pressing against my chest. But I do not shake. Not this time.
I am done shaking.
Shaina’s the one who called the meeting, her voice steady when she told me it was time. That I was ready. That the women deserved to hear it. And maybe, more importantly, that I deserved to speak it. She was right, though the thought of saying the words out loud still feels like holding fire in my bare hands.
They are all here. Old Ladies who have held the line for decades. Mothers who raised kids in the chaos of this life. Lifers who have lived through storms I can only imagine. Even a few who do not wear patches but have earned their place in this family ten times over.
They make a circle around me, and for a second, that old voice slithers back in.
What if they see you as broken?
What if they think you’re weak?
What if speaking it makes it real all over again?
