Page 217 of Joker

Just his.

My hands settle against his chest like they’ve always belonged there. Maybe they have.

Somewhere behind us, Lexi yells, “Joker! Look at me!”

He doesn’t move his eyes from mine. “What’s she doing?” he asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Always.”

That earns me a quiet snort. Then he finally turns his head enough to call back, “I’m looking, bug.”

Apparently that’s enough for her, because she goes right back to whatever game is currently running the yard.

I stay where I am, pressed into him, feeling the slow, steady beat of his heart under my palm. And it hits me all at once. Not in some dramatic revelation. Not in a way that knocks me sideways.

In a quieter way. A deeper one. Like truth settling exactly where it was always supposed to live.

This is home. This is family. This is the life we fought for.

Not the polished version. Not the easy version. Not the kind without scars or rough edges or ghosts.

Ours.

Messy and loud and defended with teeth if it has to be. Built out of survival and devotion and a kind of love I used to think only belonged to other people.

I tip my face up and find him already watching me again.

Always watching. Always checking. Always there.

And this time, instead of fear or disbelief or grief with gratitude tangled through it, what fills me is something simpler.

Peace. Real peace.

The kind that doesn’t ask me to stay braced. The kind that lets my body rest. The kind that feels like I can finally put down the parts of myself that only existed to survive and trust that the rest of me will still be enough.

Joker’s hand slides lower along my back. “You alright, angel?”

I smile. And this time, the answer comes easy. “Yeah,” I say softly. “I’m more than alright.”

His gaze stays on mine for one long second. Then he leans down and kisses my forehead in the middle of the yard with smoke in the air and children shouting nearby and half the club absolutely noticing and not one part of either of us caring.

When he pulls back, Lexi comes running toward us again, grass-stained and glowing and entirely too proud of whatever she just accomplished.

Joker scoops her up one-handed before she even reaches full speed, settling her against his side while she launches into an explanation that makes no sense and apparently requires urgent input from both of us.

And standing there in his arms while our daughter chatters between us and the fire starts crackling louder in the pit and the whole clubhouse glows gold in the falling dark, I understand something with a certainty so complete it almost feels holy.

I am not surviving anymore.

I am finally, fully living.

I step away from the noise with my phone in my hand. I’ve been holding onto this all day.

Maybe longer.