Page 121 of Claimed By the Bikers

Our booth in the back has been modified to accommodate two high chairs and the controlled chaos that comes with toddler dining. Connor eats methodically while Caleb treats every meal as an opportunity to discover new uses for food beyond nutrition.

“Tomorrow we start work on the new playground equipment,” Garrett announces, cutting Connor’s chicken into appropriately sized pieces.

“Swings?” Caleb asks hopefully.

“Swings, slides, climbing structures, and a sandbox.”

“Can we help?”

“You can help by staying out of the way while Daddy Garrett uses dangerous tools,” Atlas says diplomatically.

“Then can we play on it?”

“Then you can terrorize it to your heart’s content.”

“What’s terrorize?” Connor asks.

“Playing so enthusiastically that you worry all the adults watching you,” I explain.

“Like when Caleb rides his bike up trees?”

“Exactly like when Caleb rides his bike up trees.”

Caleb grins proudly, apparently considering “terrorizing adults” a worthy accomplishment.

After dinner, we migrate to the house for bath time and bedtime stories. Two years of practice have turned us into an efficient team—one father handling baths while another prepares pajamas and the third selects age-appropriate books that won’t cause nightmares.

Tonight, Connor chooses a story about brave knights while Caleb insists on dragons. We compromise with a book about knights who become friends with dragons through diplomacy rather than violence.

“Like Mama and the bad people?” Connor asks as I read about negotiated peace treaties.

“Exactly like Mama and the bad people. Sometimes talking works better than fighting.”

“But sometimes you have to fight?”

“Sometimes. When people won’t listen to words and keep trying to hurt innocent families.”

“Will you always protect us?” Caleb asks, suddenly serious.

“Always,” Atlas promises from the doorway.

“All of us will always protect you,” Garrett adds.

“Toujours,” Silas agrees. “Forever and always.”

Both boys nod solemnly, satisfied with these assurances. Within minutes, they’re asleep in their toddler beds, Connor clutching his stuffed wolf while Caleb sprawls across his mattress like he’s planning to conquer it.

Baby monitor in hand, we cross the yard to Wolf’s Den, where the restaurant has settled into its evening rhythm. A few regulars nurse beers at the bar while soft music plays from speakers that Atlas installed last year. The kind of peaceful domestic scene I never imagined wanting when I first arrived in Wolf Pike as a federal agent with a mission.

“Good day?” Silas asks, settling beside me at our usual booth.

“Perfect day. Archery lessons, playground planning, dragon negotiations, and bedtime stories. Everything a girl could want.”

“Everything?” Atlas raises an eyebrow with the kind of expression that suggests he has additional activities in mind.

“Well, almost everything.”

“What’s missing?” Garrett asks, sliding into the booth across from us.

I look around our restaurant, at the community we’ve built, at the men who’ve become my whole world. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing is missing.”

And for the first time in my life, that’s completely true.

The End