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Slowly, everyone who was not staying started to disperse. Since we all carpooled, we drove to Grant’s house to have a messed-up adult sleepover thanks to Brody’s multiple threats.
The Devils made themselves at home—it damn near was, after all these years together. My brothers all limped around, half pretending they were fine, half milking their injuries for all they were worth. Their women alternated between doting and berating. One minute, they brought ice packs; the next, they were withholding orgasms like it was a reward system for good behavior.
Caroline, however, stuck to my side like glue. She kept telling me I was fine and didn’t need babying. She didn’t need babying either—she made that quite clear. It was almost funny seeing her shy and hesitant to even ask for a glass of water.
None of the women paid her much heed except for Sam, who only gave Caroline the bare minimum of things. But she ensured the two of us were well hydrated and had plenty in our stomachs to help us recover.
When the Devil’s Luck all finally passed out, it was in various places all over the house. Caroline and I ended up on a blowup mattress in the living room. I didn’t give a single damn if I slept on dirt so long as I could hold my woman while we slept our stress away.
Caroline was safe in my arms. We had won more battles than one today.
Now we could live instead of just surviving.
The next day was a blur of the first phase of the healing process: mentally, physically, and emotionally—and for Caroline, psychologically. She had to learn how to function without her father and his fucked-up reign. No more orders or commands or missions to follow. Just her life to live as she wanted, no strings, bullets, or blood attached.
And I would be right there with her.
That first phase, luckily, included booze.
By the late afternoon, we were all at the Well, where Sam had shut down early. Mason and Brody had been released from the hospital to join us at the Frankenstein table, which we made with a bunch of tables pushed together to accommodate thirteen people.
Jackson insisted that Sam sit; Sam insisted that Sam get everyone’s drinks. There was no stopping her until each one of us was nursing a hearty glass of booze—or a non-alcoholic drink for the pregnant ladies.
From there, we all chatted away like we were on our own trashy reality show about bikers who fought off rival MC gangs, got laid, and never went a day without spilling blood.
Even Jackson and Grant were pretty chatty. A part of me was really glad to see Grant upbeat. I didn’t know if it was just an act to hide how upset he still was over Gabriel, but as long as he wasn’t in some deep funk, that was all that mattered.
I chugged half my beer and looked at Caroline, still laughing at Tex’s shut-down of Abel’s exaggerated explanation of one of the fights at the warehouse.
My grin faded. She looked like a puppy left out in the rain, and had barely touched her drink—made personally by Sam.
“Care,” I said quietly, the rest of the Devils fading into the background.
“Hm?”
“You look miserable.”
“Am not.”
“Are so. Come here.”
With one arm, I pulled her out of her chair and into my lap. She halfheartedly resisted, embarrassed, but once I had both arms around her torso, resting on her thighs, she settled, relaxing for the first time since… Well, I wasn’t sure when.
I caught Sam’s eye. She was smiling softly, winking encouragingly. I gave her a wink back.
Jackson saw the exchange and thumped his glass on the table to get everyone’s attention. Everyone shut their traps and looked at our fearless leader.
“We’ve been through every level of hell these past few years,” he said, his voice heavy with the weight of loss, anger, fear, joy, and everything else in between. “Together and personally. I want each of you bastards to know how grateful I am. The Devil’s Luck was built on brotherhood, loyalty, survival, and chosen family.” He looked at Sam tucked under his arm, hands on her belly. “And for the women who went through hell with us.”
Sam blushed. “Even when they get their bar burned down.”
That got a few chuckles.
Mason picked up where Jackson left off, looking at Suzie like she owned his heart. “We lost and loved.” He lifted his beer and met the eyes of each member—even Caroline—and said, “To Will. We’re less without him, but his memory lives on, making us better, too. Bates took him, so we took Bates. The war’s finally fucking over.”
The VP’s voice cracked on those last words. The rest of us lifted our drinks in a somber toast.
Grant cleared his throat, tipping his bottle higher. “To Gabriel. My best friend. He gave his life for his brothers. He would’ve been alongside us in that damn warehouse laughing his head off like a hyena. He’ll be remembered for his shitty humor and reckless bravery.”