Page 14 of Jax & Knox

Lucy picks up Owen and holds him close, whispering something to him that makes him giggle.

And I just... stand there. Watching. Overwhelmed.

Within twenty minutes, everything I own is packed into two bags.

"Ready?" Lucy asks.

I nod.

We walk out of the backroom, through the clubhouse, and out into the bright afternoon sun. The women lead me across the property, past the main building, past the rows of motorcycles, to a small cottage tucked into the trees at the edge of the compound.

It's old.

The paint, once a cheerful yellow, is peeling in long strips, exposing weathered wood underneath. The porch steps creak under our weight. The shutters hang slightly crooked, like they've been that way for years and nobody's bothered to fix them. Wildflowers grow wild along the fence line, bright splashes of purple and white against the overgrown grass.

But there's a porch swing.

It's old and squeaky, the chains rusted, but it's there. Waiting.

"Here we are," Hadley says, opening the front door.

I step inside.

The cottage smells faintly of dust and old wood, but it's clean. Hardwood floors stretch through the small space, scuffed and worn but solid. The living room is tiny, just enough room for a worn couch, a coffee table, and a crooked fireplace that looks like it hasn't been used in years. The kitchen is straight out of the 70s: avocado green cabinets, a chipped Formica countertop, outdated appliances that hum quietly.

A hallway leads to two bedrooms and a bathroom.

It's not much.

But it's more than I've had in a long time.

"The backyard is fenced," Scarlett says, pointing out the window. "Perfect for Owen when he starts walking."

"We'll get you set up," Tessa says, already moving toward the bedrooms. "Come on."

And I just stand there, holding Owen, watching these women create a home for me.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask quietly.

Lucy looks up from where she's folding blankets. "Because you need it. And because we can."

"But you don't even know me."

"We know enough," Tessa says. "And the rest? We'll figure out as we go."

By the time they leave, the cottage feels... livable. Not perfect. Not fancy. But livable.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, I'm alone with Owen in a space that's ours.

I sink down onto the couch, holding Owen close. The silence is overwhelming. For so long, silence meant danger. It meant Justin was thinking. Planning. Getting ready to explode.

But this silence is different. It's... peaceful. I look around the small cottage. The peeling yellow paint. The squeaky porch swing I can see through the window. The wildflowers swaying in the breeze. The crooked fireplace. The pale blue bedroom where Owen will sleep.

It's not much, but it's ours. And that thought breaks something open inside me. I hold Owen tighter and let myself cry. Not the silent, terrified crying I did in Justin's house, biting my lip so he wouldn't hear. Not the desperate, gasping sobs I choked back on the highway when the car broke down.

This is different. This is relief. And grief. And fear. And hope. All of it crashing over me at once. Owen squirms in my arms, and I loosen my grip, pressing kisses to his forehead.

"We're okay," I whisper. "We're going to be okay."