Page 32 of Cowboy (Fury Vipers MC: Dublin Chapter #4)

CAOIMHE

SIX WEEKS LATER

T he mid-morning sunlight streams through the kitchen window.

Six in the morning used to be my only peaceful time, when the nightmares would finally release me and Saoirse wasn't yet awake.

Now, I sleep until seven most days, and the nightmares, while not gone completely, have lost much of their power.

Progress, Dr. Mitchell calls it. I call it a miracle.

"Thinking deep thoughts?" Ciarán asks, entering the kitchen fresh from his shower, hair still damp. He drops a kiss on my head as he passes, heading for the coffee pot.

"Just appreciating the moment," I tell him, unable to stop the smile that spreads across my face. This happens every time he enters a room now—this rush of warmth, of rightness.

"Saoirse still sleeping?" he asks, leaning against the counter, his own mug cradled in his hands.

I nod. "She was up late finishing that art project for school. I thought I'd let her sleep in."

Ciarán smiles, that soft, fond expression he gets whenever Saoirse is mentioned. "She's going to be disappointed she missed pancake morning."

"We can do pancakes tomorrow," I suggest. "Special Saturday edition."

He laughs, the sound still new enough to fill me with delight. For so long, there was nothing to laugh about. Now, joy seems to find us in the smallest moments—Saoirse's giggles during a pillow fight, the way Ciarán sings off-key in the shower, the simple pleasure of a lazy morning together.

"You're staring," Ciarán says, his eyes crinkling.

"Just appreciating the view," I reply with a boldness that still occasionally surprises me. This too is new—the ability to flirt, to feel desire without fear shadowing it.

Ciarán sets down his mug and crosses to me, pulling me to my feet and into his arms. "I'm the one with the view worth appreciating," he murmurs, his hands settling at my waist.

I rise on tiptoes to kiss him, savoring the coffee taste on his lips, the solid warmth of him. When we part, I stay in the circle of his arms, reluctant to break the connection.

"What time is your appointment today?" he asks, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Eleven," I reply. "Dr. Mitchell mentioned possibly scaling back to every other week soon. She says I'm doing really well."

"You are," Ciarán says, his eyes serious now. "I'm so proud of you, Caoimhe. The way you've fought through everything..."

I duck my head, still uncomfortable with praise, though I'm learning to accept it. "I couldn't have done it without you. Without Saoirse."

"You could have," he insists, lifting my chin gently. "You're the strongest person I know. But I'm glad you didn't have to."

The depth of emotion in his eyes makes my heart stutter. Sometimes it still feels unreal that we're here, together like this. That after everything—the trafficking, Dylan's betrayal, the months of recovery—I've found this safe harbor.

"I love you," I say simply, because there are no other words big enough to express what I feel.

"I love you too," he replies, as if it's the easiest, most natural thing in the world. And maybe it is. Maybe love is meant to be this uncomplicated, at least in its essentials.

We stay like that for a moment, foreheads touching, breathing in sync. Then the reality of the day ahead reasserts itself.

"I should get going," I say reluctantly. "I want to review my application materials before therapy."

The university application sits on the desk in our shared home office, nearly complete. After weeks of deliberation, I've decided to return to school and get my degree. Just part-time at first, while Saoirse is in school. A step into the world I once thought lost to me.

"I'll be here when you get back," Ciarán promises. "Got some club business this morning, but I should be done by one."

I nod, stepping out of his embrace to gather my things. As I move around the kitchen, I notice Ciarán watching me with an expression I can't quite interpret—anticipation mixed with something else. Nervousness, maybe? But that doesn't make sense. Ciarán is never nervous.

"Everything okay?" I ask, pausing with my hand on my bag.

He startles slightly, then smiles. "Perfect. Just thinking about something."

Before I can press further, a small voice calls from upstairs. "Caoimhe? Ciarán?"

"Coming, sweetheart," I call back, shooting Ciarán a questioning look.

He waves me on. "Go. I'll make her breakfast. You need to get to your appointment."

With one last curious glance, I head upstairs to help Saoirse get ready for the day. Whatever Ciarán is planning, I'll find out soon enough.

* * *

Dr. Mitchell's office is a haven of calm—soft colors, comfortable furniture, gentle lighting. When I first started coming here, the silence made me anxious. Now, it feels like a respite from the busy world outside.

"How have you been, Caoimhe?" she asks, settling into her chair across from me.

"Good," I say, and mean it. "Really good, actually."

She smiles, noting something in her pad. "Tell me about your week."

I walk her through the days since our last session—the nightmare I had on Tuesday night, how Ciarán helped me through it without panic setting in; Saoirse's art project for school and how proud she was to show it off; my almost-complete application to Trinity.

"And you're still feeling confident about going to university?" she asks.

I nod. "Nervous but excited. It feels right. Like I'm reclaiming another piece of myself."

"That's excellent," Dr. Mitchell says warmly. "And how are things with Ciarán?"

I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. "Amazing. He's... he understands me in a way I didn't think was possible. He never pushes, but he doesn't treat me like I'm made of glass either."

"And intimacy? That was something you were concerned about when we last spoke."

A flush heats my cheeks, but I answer honestly. "It's good. Really good. I still have moments where I freeze up, but they're getting less frequent. Ciarán always knows when to slow down, when to stop completely."

Dr. Mitchell nods approvingly. "It sounds like you're building a healthy relationship founded on mutual respect and clear communication. That's not easy under any circumstances, let alone after the trauma you've experienced."

"We've both worked hard at it," I acknowledge. "And we keep working at it every day."

"And what about your concerns regarding Saoirse's legal status? Have there been any developments there?"

My mood dampens slightly. Despite everything that's going right, this worry continues to gnaw at me. "No updates. The emergency guardianship is holding for now, but Travis says it's just a matter of time before there's a formal review."

"And how are you managing that anxiety?"

I take a deep breath, using the grounding technique she taught me. "One day at a time. I focus on giving Saoirse the stability and love she needs now, and try not to borrow trouble from the future."

"That's a very healthy approach," Dr. Mitchell says. "And remember, you have substantial support systems in place—Ciarán, Grá, the entire community that's rallied around you and Saoirse. That will count for a great deal in any custody evaluation."

I nod, taking comfort in her words even as the fear persists. The thought of losing Saoirse is like a physical pain, sharp and immediate. In the months since our rescue, she's become my child in every way that matters. The one good thing to come from that nightmare.

The rest of the session passes quickly. Dr. Mitchell suggests moving to bi-weekly appointments, with the option to schedule emergency sessions if needed. It's another milestone on this journey toward healing, toward a new normal.

As I drive home, I find myself reflecting on how far I've come.

Six months ago, I was a prisoner, my body and will not my own.

Three months ago, I was free but shattered, plagued by nightmares and panic attacks.

Now, I'm applying to university, raising a child, building a life with a man I love more than I thought possible.

Not healed—I may never be fully healed—but whole. Scarred but stronger at the broken places.

When I pull into the driveway, I notice Ciarán's bike is already back. He must have finished his club business earlier than expected. Inside, the house is quiet.

"Hello?" I call, setting down my bag.

"Out back," Ciarán's voice replies.

I make my way through the house to the back garden, a modest space we've been slowly transforming together. Saoirse helped plant flowers along the fence last weekend, and Ciarán built a small swing set that gets daily use.

I find them both there—Ciarán standing by the patio table, which is set for lunch, and Saoirse sitting on the swing, kicking her legs with barely contained excitement.

"What's all this?" I ask, taking in the scene. The table is set neatly, with a small vase of wildflowers in the center.

"Lunch," Ciarán says simply, but there's that look again—anticipation mixed with nervousness.

"Ciarán made sandwiches," Saoirse announces, jumping off the swing and running to me. "And lemonade!"

I laugh, lifting her for a quick hug. "Well, that sounds lovely."

We settle at the table, and I notice Saoirse can barely sit still, vibrating with some secret knowledge. She keeps looking at Ciarán, then at me, then biting her lip to contain whatever she's bursting to say.

"Alright, what's going on with you two?" I ask, eyeing them both suspiciously. "You're acting strange."

Ciarán clears his throat. "We have something for you." He reaches under the table and pulls out a large envelope, sliding it across to me. "Well, for all of us, really."

My curiosity piqued, I open the envelope and pull out a stack of official-looking documents. As I begin to read, my breath catches in my throat.

Adoption papers. Legal documents naming me as Saoirse's adoptive mother and Ciarán as her adoptive father.

"How...?" I whisper, looking up at Ciarán with tears already forming. "I thought... the review process, the waiting period..."

"Travis pulled some strings," Ciarán explains, reaching across the table to take my hand. "And it turns out, when you help bring down one of the largest trafficking operations in Europe, people in high places are willing to expedite certain processes."

"These are real?" I ask, still not quite believing what I'm seeing. "This is happening?"

"All they need are our signatures," Ciarán confirms. "Well, and a judge's approval, but Travis assures me that's a formality at this point."

"Does this mean you're really going to be my mammy and daddy forever?" Saoirse asks, her small face alight with hope.

I look at her—this precious child who came into my life through the darkest of circumstances, who has shown me the meaning of resilience and unconditional love.

"Yes, sweetheart," I manage through my tears. "If that's what you want."

Saoirse nods vigorously. "I've been wishing for it every night."

I reach for her, pulling her onto my lap and holding her close. Over her head, I meet Ciarán's gaze. "Thank you," I mouth silently.

He shakes his head, dismissing my thanks. "There's one more thing," he says, his voice suddenly husky. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small velvet box.

My heart stops, then restarts at twice its normal speed.

"I was going to wait," he says, turning the box over in his hands. "Maybe plan something fancy. But this moment seems right." He looks up, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that takes my breath away. "The three of us, together, becoming a family in every sense of the word."

He opens the box, revealing a ring—not a traditional diamond, but a deep blue sapphire set in white gold, with smaller diamonds flanking it. It's stunning in its understated elegance.

"Caoimhe Mallee," he says, his voice steady despite the emotion I can see in his eyes. "I've loved you for what feels like my entire life. Through everything—separation, loss, finding each other again—that love has only grown stronger. Will you marry me? Make this family official in every way?"

Saoirse looks up at me, her eyes wide with excitement. "Say yes, Caoimhe! Say yes!"

A laugh escapes me, joy bubbling up unstoppably. "Yes," I say, the easiest answer I've ever given. "Yes, of course yes."

Ciarán's face breaks into a smile so radiant it's almost painful to witness. He slides the ring onto my finger then leans across the table to kiss me, Saoirse squished happily between us.

When we break apart, I can't stop looking at the ring, at the adoption papers, at the two people who have become my whole world.

"We're having a celebration at the clubhouse tonight," Ciarán says, taking a sandwich and finally relaxing back in his chair. "Everyone's waiting to hear the news."

"You were that confident I'd say yes?" I tease, wiping away the last of my happy tears.

He shrugs, a hint of that familiar cockiness returning. "I had a feeling."

Saoirse wiggles off my lap, seemingly satisfied now that the surprises have been revealed and accepted. "Can I wear my new dress to the party?" she asks, already moving toward the swing set.

"Absolutely," I tell her, watching as she skips away, secure in the knowledge that she belongs to us now, officially and forever.

As Saoirse plays, Ciarán moves his chair around the table to sit beside me, his arm draping comfortably over my shoulders.

"Happy?" he asks softly.

I lean into him, feeling the solid warmth of his body against mine. "Beyond happy," I say truthfully. "I never thought I could have this again. A family. A future."

"You deserve it all, Caoimhe," he says fiercely. "Everything good in this world."

I turn my face up to his, overwhelmed by the love I see there. "So do you."

As we sit together in the garden, Saoirse's laughter floating back to us on the breeze, I think about the long road that brought us here. All the pain, the fear, the loss. But also the courage, the resilience, the unexpected moments of grace.

In a few hours, we'll go to the clubhouse, surrounded by the community that helped save us, that continues to support us. We'll celebrate this new beginning, this family we've created from the ashes of what was destroyed.

But for now, this quiet moment is enough—Ciarán's arm around me, Saoirse's joy, the knowledge that we are safe, we are together, we are home.

For the first time in longer than I can remember, I look toward the future without fear. Whatever comes next, we'll face it together. The three of us, a family by choice and now by law. Unbreakable.