Page 40 of Brick’s Anchor

It's the closest he's come to admitting he's glad I'm in her life. David's not a demonstrative man. Doesn't do emotions openly. But over three years, he's shown his acceptance in small ways. Asking about the club. Helping me install Maya's car seat. Teaching me his "secret" burger seasoning recipe.

"How's Rosie doing?" he asks. "Really doing?"

"Good days and bad days," I tell him honestly. "Therapy helps. She's been seeing the same psychologist for two years now. Processes things when they come up instead of letting them build. But there are still triggers. Still moments where she needs space."

"And you give it to her."

"Always."

He nods. "You're good for her. Took me a while to see it. Took me a while to get past the age difference and the tattoos and the… Everything. But you're good for her. You make her happy. You make her feel safe. That's all a father can ask for."

Something in my chest tightens. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. Just keep doing it." He plates the burgers. "And keep bringing my granddaughter around. Susan's already planning her second birthday party even though we have eleven months to go."

Inside, Rosie's in the kitchen with Jenna. I can hear them laughing about something. Jenna's twenty-five now, working as a teacher. She was the most suspicious initially. Interrogated me for two hours on that first visit. Asked about my intentions, my past, my criminal record.

I answered every question honestly. Told her about my brothers in prison. About my military service. About the violence I'm capable of and how I control it. About how much I love her sister.

She didn't believe me at first. But she watched. Watched how I treated Rosie. Watched how Rosie relaxed around me in ways she never had with her ex. Watched us build something real together.

Now she's Maya's favorite aunt and sends me memes about fatherhood at least twice a week.

Susan brings Maya back outside. "Someone wants her daddy," she says, handing her to me. Maya immediately grabs my beard again. I let her.

"You're going to pull it all out," I tell her. "Then what will you grab?"

She babbles something that might be words or might be nonsense. We're still figuring out which is which.

Rosie joins us on the patio, sliding her arm around my waist. I wrap my free arm around her shoulders, Maya balanced on my other hip. The three of us standing together while her parents and sister move around us, setting up for dinner.

Family.

This is what family looks like. Not the one I was born into, that family is broken beyond repair, scattered in prisons and small towns I'll never return to. But the one I chose. The one I built with a woman who threw a cup at my head and told me she didn't need my help.

The one that includes a club full of brothers who would die for each other. Women who survived hell and came out stronger. Children who grow up knowing they're protected and loved.

And now, this. Rosie's family. Her parents who learned to accept me. Her sister who sends me memes. Sunday dinners, grilled burgers and a grandmother who spoils her granddaughter shamelessly.

"What are you thinking about?" Rosie asks.

"How lucky I am," I tell her. "How three years ago I was convinced feelings made you weak, and now I can't imagine life without them."

"Sappy."

"You make me sappy."

"Good." She stands on her toes and kisses me. Maya makes a disgusted sound between us, which makes us both laugh. "I love you."

"I love you too."

"Both of you," she adds, tickling Maya's stomach. "Even when you scream in the car for ninety minutes straight."

"She's perfect," I say. "You're perfect. This is perfect."

"It's really not. It's messy and complicated and we're both still healing from our own shit."

"Perfect doesn't mean easy. It just means right."