Page 33 of Protected By the Bikers Next Door (Never Just One #4)
Bear
Three Months Later
T he new house still smells faintly of fresh paint and sawdust, but it’s already starting to feel like ours.
It’s across the street from our old house, the older couple who lived here decided to retire to Florida and it seemed perfect.
It’s bigger than the old place, with enough bedrooms to fit this unconventional family we’ve built, it’s exactly what we need.
And today, we’re making the room that matters most—the nursery.
Wolf’s crouched low, rolling buttercup-yellow paint across the wall with steady, deliberate strokes. He’s shirtless, his scarred chest catching the afternoon light, and he works like he’s on a mission. We’ve gone with yellow because we’re keeping the sex of the baby as a surprise.
“Slow down, soldier,” I say, looking over from my current spot perched on a step stool as I tape the edges of the window frame. “You’re laying it on too thick.”
Wolf grunts, not looking up. “Rather thick than patchy. Babies don’t need stripes on their walls.”
“You planning on running inspections after every feeding, Prez?” Hawk cuts in dryly from the corner, where he’s sketching out the first of the jungle murals.
He’s not a painter, not really, but the lines of the palm tree already look sharp and confident.
That’s Hawk for you—doesn’t talk much, but when he does something, he commits.
“Damn right I will,” Wolf replies, standing to reload his roller with paint. “Our kid’s gonna have the best room in the whole damn neighborhood.”
I snort at that. “I’m sure the baby will appreciate the flawless coat of eggshell yellow while it’s busy puking on itself.”
That gets Hawk to crack a grin, rare as it is. “Don’t forget the screaming,” he mutters, shading in the broad leaves with quiet concentration.
The banter fills the space easily, bouncing off bare floorboards. It feels good. Normal.
The door creaks open and Harper steps in, balancing a tray with iced tea and sandwiches.
Her belly is rounder now, the curve obvious beneath her loose dress, and her hair is tied up in a messy knot.
She looks radiant, flushed with summer warmth and that kind of contentment that comes from finally being safe.
“I thought my men might be getting hungry,” she says, setting the tray down on a covered dresser. Her eyes sweep the room, and her smile softens. “It’s looking wonderful. You’ve done so much already.”
“Wolf’s trying to drown the wall in paint,” I say, reaching down to snag a sandwich. “Hawk’s trying to pretend he’s Picasso. And I’m the only one doing the actual hard work.”
Wolf shoots him a look. “Hard work? You’ve spent half the time standing around pulling off strips of painter’s tape.”
“Proper preparation prevents poor performance,” I fire back with a grin.
Harper laughs, the sound like sunlight through the window. She crosses to Hawk’s corner and studies his palm tree sketch. “That’s beautiful,” she says softly, touching his arm. He gives a small shrug but doesn’t pull away.
“Not done yet,” he mutters, but there’s a glimmer of pride in his eyes.
“Will you put animals in too?” Harper asks.
Hawk nods. “Thinking a lion here. Maybe an elephant across that wall. Something strong.”
Wolf leans back, rolling his shoulders. “Strong’s good. Our kid’s gonna grow up knowing exactly where they belong. A full-fledged member of the Shadow Pack.”
That pulls at Harper’s heart—I can see it in her face. She blinks fast and turns to fuss with the tray, pouring iced tea into cups as if she needs the distraction.
I climb down from the stool and wrap my arms around her from behind, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You okay, sweetheart?”
She nods, smiling. “Better than okay. Just… I never thought I’d have this. A house. A nursery. People I trust painting lions on the walls.”
Wolf sets down his roller and comes over, resting a large, paint-streaked hand on her belly. Hawk joins quietly at her other side. It’s a small huddle, protective and grounding, like the battlefield turned inside-out. Instead of fighting, we’re building.
Much as I want us to stay like this, there’s work to be done, “Alright, let’s get back to work. Baby’s not gonna paint their own giraffe.”
Harper laughs and nudges me. “Fine, fine. I’ll let you get back to it. But don’t think I’m not coming back in to check your progress.” She grabs her own glass of tea and slips back out.
We get back to it. Wolf finishes the second wall, and after taping the windowsill I try my hand at assembling the crib, muttering curses under my breath because the damn instructions don’t match the screws. Hawk paints in silence, the brush steady as he outlines the curve of a lion’s mane.
“Looks good,” Wolf says eventually, squinting at Hawk’s work.
Hawk doesn’t say anything but his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile.
An hour later, the walls glow golden, the jungle shapes taking form. I finally slam the last bolt into the crib with a grunt of victory. “There. Built like a tank. Strong enough to hold three kids, easy.”
“Let’s hope we don’t need it to,” Wolf mutters, wiping his hands on a rag.
I get to my feet, taking in the room. The bright walls, the crib standing proud in the corner, the mural stretching across one side. It’s not perfect, not polished like some magazine spread, but it’s ours. Built with sweat and laughter and a few curses.
The door opens again, and Harper peers in. Her eyes widen as she takes in the transformation. “Oh,” she whispers, hand going to her mouth. Then she smiles, a soft, glowing thing that lights up the whole room. “It’s beautiful. You’ve made it perfect.”
I grin at that. “Told you we didn’t need no professional decorators.”
“Damn right,” Wolf agrees, pulling Harper gently into the room. “This is ours. Built with our hands. For our kid.”
Hawk sets down his brush and finally allows himself a smile, small but genuine. “Yeah. For family.”
Harper reaches out for us, pulling us into a messy four-way hug right there in the half-finished nursery.
And for the first time, it really feels real.