Page 92 of Striker’s Rebel

My wife.

Almost two years and that word still does something to me.

“You’re supposed to be asleep.”

“So is she.”

I glance down at our daughter.

“She had complaints.”

“Wonder where she gets that.”

My eyes come back to June.

“Careful, Rebel.”

Her mouth curves as she crosses the kitchen and brushes one finger over our daughter’s cheek.

“You know I’m right.”

“Rare event. Enjoy it.”

She gives me a look, then leans into my side.

Bottle drying beside the sink. Baby blanket over the back of a chair. June’s coffee mug where she left it this morning. One tiny sock under the table.

There was a time when nothing in this cabin moved unless I put it there.

Now they’re everywhere.

My girls.

Wouldn’t have it any other way.

I spent a long time never thinking about this kind of life. Never saw much point in wanting things I had no reason to believe I’d get.

Then the club gave me brothers. Men I trusted at my back. Family I chose and who chose me right back.

I figured that was enough.

Then June walked into my life and proved I didn’t know shit.

Three weeks after Munn went down, I married her.

Small ceremony at the clubhouse. Sinners, McKenna, Eliana, Ruth and Thomas.

Exactly enough.

Ruth cried when she saw June, then spent the next ten minutes pretending she hadn’t.

Thomas stood beside me while everybody got settled.

“You keep staring at that door, you’re gonna burn a hole through it.”

“She’s coming through it.”

“That generally is how weddings work.”