Page 30 of Cowboy (Fury Vipers MC: Dublin Chapter #4)

COWBOY

"A re you sure you'll be okay with her?" Caoimhe asks Grá for the third time, hovering by the front door.

She's wearing a simple black dress I've never seen before, her hair loose around her shoulders.

She looks beautiful, but nervous—her eyes constantly darting back to Saoirse, who's already settled on the couch with Bozo, picking out a movie.

"We'll be fine," Grá assures her with a patient smile. "We've got movies, popcorn, and Bozo's famous hot chocolate planned. Right, Saoirse?"

Saoirse nods enthusiastically. "And we're going to build a fort!"

"See?" Grá says. "A full evening of entertainment. Now go, enjoy yourselves. First date night is special."

I place my hand gently on Caoimhe's lower back, feeling her tension. "We'll only be gone a few hours," I remind her softly. "And we're just a phone call away."

She takes a deep breath, then nods. "You're right. I'm being silly."

"Not silly," I correct her. "Protective. There's a difference."

This earns me a smile, small but genuine. Progress.

"Saoirse, be good for Grá and Bozo," Caoimhe calls, finally stepping toward the door.

"I will!" Saoirse chirps, already distracted by the movie selection. "Bye, Caoimhe! Bye, Ciarán!"

As we step outside, I can feel Caoimhe's hesitation. It's the first time she's been away from Saoirse since we rescued them three weeks ago. The first time she's done anything just for herself.

"We can stay if you want," I offer, though I'm hoping she'll say no. We both need this—time away from the memories; a chance to be together without the weight of everything pressing down on us.

She shakes her head, squaring her shoulders. "No. I want to do this. I need to do this."

I smile, taking her hand and leading her to my car. "That's my girl."

The restaurant I've chosen is small, tucked away on a quiet street in Dublin. It's not fancy or pretentious, but it's warm and intimate, with soft lighting and private booths. The kind of place where we can talk without worrying about being overheard.

As we're seated, I watch Caoimhe take in her surroundings, noting how her eyes still automatically scan for exits, how she positions herself with her back to the wall. Old habits, survival instincts. They might never fully disappear.

"You look beautiful," I tell her once we've ordered drinks. "I don't think I've told you that yet."

A flush of color rises in her cheeks. "Thank you. I wasn't sure... It's been a long time since I dressed up for anything."

"Well, you nailed it," I say with a grin, relieved when she smiles back.

Our drinks arrive—whiskey for me, white wine for her—and we fall into easy conversation. About the club, about Saoirse's progress with her therapist, about the mundane details of everyday life that feel like precious gifts after everything we've been through.

"I've been thinking about what comes next," Caoimhe says after our food arrives. She pushes a piece of salmon around her plate, not quite meeting my eyes.

"Next?" I prompt gently.

"For me. For Saoirse." She hesitates, then adds quietly, "For us."

My heart thumps a little harder at that last word. Us. There's been an unspoken understanding between us these past weeks, especially since that night in the kitchen. The kiss that changed everything. But we haven't really talked about what we are to each other, what we could be.

"What are you thinking?" I ask, setting down my fork to give her my full attention.

She takes a sip of her wine, gathering her thoughts. "I want to go back to school. I want to go to college and get a degree."

This surprises me. "Computer science, right?"

She nods, looking pleased that I remembered. "I wanted to do that, but then everything happened. I'd like to finally get a chance to do it." Her expression grows more animated as she speaks. "I was good at it, you know. Really good. My professors thought I had a future in security systems."

"I believe it," I say, smiling at her enthusiasm. "You've always been scary smart."

"I want to build something," she continues, her eyes bright with purpose. "Create systems to help find missing people, track trafficking operations. Use what happened to me to make a difference."

I reach across the table, taking her hand. "You'd be amazing at that."

She squeezes my hand, but then her expression falters. "But then there's Saoirse."

"What about her?"

Caoimhe's voice drops lower, vulnerability and fear creeping in. "I'm not her mother, Ciarán. The emergency guardianship is temporary. The Agency pulled strings to make it happen, but eventually, there'll be hearings, evaluations."

Now I understand her anxiety. "You're worried they'll take her away."

She nods, blinking back sudden tears. "They could decide I'm not fit. That I'm too traumatized, too damaged to raise a child. Or that she'd be better off with a 'real' family. Two parents, a normal life."

"Hey," I say firmly, tightening my grip on her hand. "Look at me."

When she meets my eyes, I continue, "First of all, you're the best thing that's ever happened to that little girl. Anyone with eyes can see that. Second, you're not alone in this. You've got me, Grá, Travis, the whole club behind you. We won't let anyone take her from you."

She lets out a shaky breath. "I've lost so much, Ciarán. I don't think I could bear losing her too."

"You won't," I promise. Then, choosing my words carefully, I add, "And as for the 'two parents' thing... well, I'm not going anywhere, Caoimhe. Not unless you want me to."

Her eyes widen slightly, searching my face. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I love you," I tell her, the words finally out in the open. "I think I've loved you since we were kids. And I love Saoirse too. If you'll have me, I want to be part of whatever comes next for both of you."

For a moment, she's perfectly still, and I wonder if I've pushed too far, too fast. Then tears spill over, running down her cheeks.

"Hey, hey," I say, alarmed. "I didn't mean to upset you?—"

"You didn't," she interrupts, wiping at her tears with a small laugh. "I'm just... God, Ciarán, you have no idea how much I needed to hear that."

Relief floods through me. "So, that's a yes? To us figuring this out together?"

She nods, her smile breaking through the tears. "Yes. Absolutely yes."

As we finish our meal, we talk about possibilities—Caoimhe returning to university, me continuing with the club but maybe taking fewer high-risk jobs.

Building a life, a family, a future. By the time we leave the restaurant, hand in hand, there's a lightness between us that wasn't there before. Hope taking root.

Back at home—and it is home now, for all three of us—we find a text from Grá letting us know that Saoirse fell asleep during the second movie and they've put her to bed. The house is quiet, peaceful. Just us.

Caoimhe turns to me in the dim light of the hallway, her eyes reflecting the moonlight streaming through the windows.

"Thank you," she says softly. "For tonight. For everything."

I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Thank you for trusting me."

She steps closer, tilting her face up to mine. "I do trust you. More than anyone."

When our lips meet, it's different from our previous kisses. There's a new certainty in the way she presses against me, a quiet confidence in her hands as they slide up my chest.

I pull back slightly, searching her face. "Caoimhe..."

"I want this," she whispers, her eyes clear and sure. "I want you."

Still, I hesitate. "We don't have to rush anything."

"I know," she says, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw. "This isn't rushing. This is... reclaiming something. Something they tried to take from me."

I understand then what this means to her. Not just desire or affection, but an act of defiance against everything she endured. A declaration that her body is her own again, to give freely where once it was taken.

I take her hand and lead her upstairs to our bedroom. We've been sharing a bed for weeks now, but always chastely, my presence a comfort against the nightmares. Tonight feels different, charged with possibility.

As we cross the threshold into our bedroom, I pull her into my arms, kissing her deeply but unhurriedly. There's no rush, no pressure. Just us, finding our way together.

"If anything feels wrong, or you want to stop," I murmur against her lips, "just say the word. We go at your pace. Always."

She nods, then surprises me by reaching for the hem of her dress, pulling it over her head in one fluid motion.

She stands before me in simple black underwear, vulnerable but unashamed.

The moonlight streaming through the window casts her skin in silver, highlighting the gentle curves of her body, the scars that tell her story of survival.

"Your turn," she says, a hint of challenge in her voice.

I oblige, stripping off my shirt, then my jeans. When I'm down to my boxers, I step toward her again, careful not to crowd her.

"Can I touch you?" I ask, my voice rough with wanting.

She takes my hand and places it on her waist, her skin warm under my palm. "Yes."

I trace my fingers along her side, savoring the softness of her skin. Slowly, I let my hands explore higher, watching her face for any sign of discomfort as my thumbs brush the undersides of her breasts. Her breath catches, but she nods encouragingly.

"Still good?" I whisper, needing her certainty.

"Yes," she breathes, her eyes darkening. "Don't stop."

I unhook her bra with careful fingers, drawing it away from her body. The sight of her bare before me sends heat coursing through my veins, but I control it, refusing to rush this moment.

"You are so beautiful," I tell her, meaning every word.

My hands cup her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until they harden under my touch. She gasps, her head falling back slightly, exposing the elegant line of her throat. I lean down, pressing my lips to her pulse point, feeling it race against my tongue.