Page 8 of The Biker’s Single Mom (Fox Ridge MC #5)

Two Years Later

Summer evenings in Fox Ridge have a specific rhythm. The sun lingers stubbornly on the horizon, casting long shadows across the clubhouse yard while cicadas hum their electric drone in the surrounding pines. Heat radiates from the concrete, slowly releasing the day's warmth as night approaches.

I sit on the porch steps, nursing a glass of iced tea, watching Violet race across the yard with Hawk's daughter in tow.

At seven, Violet has shed every trace of the fearful child who once clung to my leg.

Now she runs wild and free, her laughter rising above the rumble of engines from the garage, her ponytail bouncing with each step.

"Higher, Uncle Hawk!" she shouts as he lifts both girls onto the low branch of the oak tree that dominates the yard. His massive hands steady them with a gentleness that still surprises me, his fierce face softening as he guides them safely onto their perch.

Two years ago, the sight of men like Hawk would have sent me grabbing Violet and running in the opposite direction. Now, I can't imagine life without the Riders' steady presence. These dangerous men who have become our fiercest protectors. Our family.

The garage door rolls up with a metallic clatter, and Daniel emerges, wiping his hands on a rag.

Even at a distance, my body responds to the sight of him, broad shoulders stretching his black t-shirt, dark hair pulled back, beard neatly trimmed.

He looks up, his eyes finding mine across the yard with unerring accuracy.

That small half-smile that's mine alone curves his lips.

Some things never change.

He makes his way toward me, stopping to ruffle Violet's hair as she scrambles down from the tree to intercept him.

"Mr. Fix-It!" she calls, the childhood nickname she refuses to abandon. "Did you finish the go-kart?"

"Almost," he tells her solemnly. "Need your expert opinion on the paint job tomorrow."

She beams up at him, adoration plain on her face. "Red. With flames. And a skull."

Daniel's laugh is no longer the rusty, unused sound I first heard. It comes easier now, deeper and more frequent. "We'll see what your mom says about the skull."

"Mom says yes to the skull," I call, unable to resist the conspiratorial grin Violet shoots me. "But only a small one."

Daniel shakes his head in mock defeat, but the warmth in his eyes as he approaches tells a different story. He lowers himself beside me on the steps, his solid weight a comfort against my side.

"Productive day?" I ask, handing him my glass.

He takes a long swallow before answering. "Three bikes ready for pickup, one new restoration project." His arm slides around my waist, pulling me closer. "You?"

"The shop was busy. Two new orders for wedding bouquets."

Daniel makes a noise of acknowledgment, his attention split between me and the yard, where Violet has returned to her game. His eyes track her movements with the same protective vigilance that has never wavered, even as the immediate threat of Carlo faded.

We haven't heard from my ex-husband in eighteen months, not since he was sentenced to fifteen years for racketeering and tax evasion. The charges had nothing to do with us, but the timing was a gift I don't question. The Riders have connections in places I'll never fully understand.

"You're thinking too hard," Daniel murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple.

I lean into him, smiling. "Just grateful."

"For what?"

"This. All of it." I gesture to encompass the yard, the clubhouse, the garage—our life. "I never thought I'd have this."

His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining. The calluses on his palm are familiar now, the strength in his grip a constant I've come to rely on. "Never thought I would either."

From inside the clubhouse comes the sound of voices, Blade's commanding baritone, Devil's sharper replies, the low rumble I've come to recognize as Samuel, Daniel's brother.

The clubhouse door swings open, and Florence steps out onto the porch. "Dinner in ten," she announces. "Steph made her lasagna, so if you want any, better hurry before the wolves descend."

Daniel helps me to my feet, his hand lingering at the small of my back. "Go ahead," he says. "I need to wash up."

I watch him walk toward our cabin, the small house we built at the edge of the compound last year, close enough to the club for safety but separate enough for privacy. The sight of it still fills me with quiet wonder. A home. Our home.

"Come on, monster," I call to Violet. "Dinner time!"

She runs to me, cheeks flushed with exertion and happiness. "Can I sit next to Uncle Viper? He promised to show me how to throw knives!"

I raise an eyebrow. "Absolutely not. No knife-throwing until you're at least thirty."

"Mom," she groans, all seven-year-old exasperation. "That's practically a hundred years old!"

I laugh, guiding her toward the clubhouse where voices and warmth spill out into the gathering dusk.

Inside, the long table is already crowded, Riders and their women, creating the controlled chaos that is club dinner.

Samuel sits at the far end, quieter than the others, his eyes lifting briefly as we enter before returning to the knife he's cleaning.

Two years ago, I wouldn't have recognized happiness in this form, in leather jackets and rumbling bikes, in men with scarred knuckles who teach my daughter to change oil and throw punches. In the fierce protectiveness of a man who once seemed as unyielding as his road name.

But this is home now. This patchwork family of outlaws and survivors, bound together by something stronger than blood.

When Daniel joins us minutes later, sliding onto the bench beside me, his hand finds mine beneath the table. A silent affirmation. A promise kept.

"All good?" he asks quietly.

I watch Violet laughing as Hawk's daughter whispers something in her ear. I feel the solid warmth of Daniel beside me, steady as stone. I hear the voices of the Riders, these dangerous, loyal men who would die to protect what's theirs.

What's ours .

"Perfect," I tell him.

Thank you for reading!