Page 41 of Saint’s Revenge

"The best." My voice comes out rougher than I intend. "Sometimes I still can't believe this is our life."

"Believe it." She bumps my shoulder with hers. "You both earned this. The house, the kid, the happiness. All of it."

I think about five years ago. About lying on a warehouse floor convinced I was going to die. About Lucas carrying me out of there and promising he'd never leave again.

About the small funeral we held a few days later, just the two of us, where we said goodbye to Daniel Brennan and left Demon behind. We drove to the cemetery where our families were buried. Found a quiet spot under an oak tree. Lucas brought a photo from when we were kids, the three of us at the old playground, smiling like we didn't have a care in the world.

We buried it there. Spoke our goodbyes and cried until we couldn't anymore. Then we left and we didn't look back.

It took time to heal, both of us. My ribs took eight weeks to stop hurting. The nightmares took longer. Lucas went to therapy, worked through the guilt and grief with a professional who understood trauma. I joined him after a few months.

We got married a year later. Small ceremony at the clubhouse with all our family, the Iron Phoenix and the women who became my sisters. Phoenix officiated. I wore a simple white dress. Lucas cried through his vows.

Emma came two years after that. Unplanned but not unwanted. The pregnancy terrified us both, all the ways it could go wrong, all the ways we could fail her. But she arrived healthy, screaming and absolutely perfect.

Lucas was in the delivery room the whole time. Held my hand, coached me through contractions, cut the cord with shaking hands. The first time he held her, he looked at me with tears streaming down his face and said, "We made something good."

We did. We made something so good it still surprises me sometimes.

"Mom! MOM!"

Emma's voice cuts through my thoughts. She's running toward the porch, tutu bouncing, tiara now completely sideways. Lucas is following at a more leisurely pace, hands in his pockets, smiling.

"What's up, baby?" I set my cake down and crouch to her level as she barrels into me.

"Uncle Phoenix says there's presents!" Her eyes are wide with excitement. "Big ones! Can we open them now? Please please please?"

I look past her to Lucas, who's trying not to laugh. "Uncle Phoenix said that, huh?"

"He might have mentioned it," Lucas admits. "But only because Emma asked him seventeen times if it was present time yet."

"I only asked sixteen times," Emma corrects seriously.

"My mistake." Lucas scoops her up, settling her on his hip. "Should we tell everyone it's present time?"

"YES!" Emma throws her arms up, nearly knocking the tiara completely off her head.

Lucas carries her down into the yard, and I follow. He sets her down near the present table, which is absolutely buried under wrapped packages and bags. The Iron Phoenix doesn't do anything halfway, including birthday presents for a three-year-old.

The kids immediately swarm. The adults gather around, forming a loose circle. Phoenix appears with a beer in hand, looking amused.

"Happy birthday, Emma," he says, raising his bottle in salute.

"Thank you, Uncle Phoenix!" Emma bounces on her toes. "Can I open yours first?"

"That's up to your mom."

All eyes turn to me. I laugh and nod. "Go for it, baby."

Emma tears into the biggest box, the one from Phoenix and Ivy. Inside is a purple bicycle with training wheels and streamers on the handlebars. Emma screams so loud several people wince.

"A BIKE! MOM, DAD, LOOK, A BIKE!"

"We see it," Lucas says, grinning. "What do you say?"

"Thank you thank you thank you!" Emma launches herself at Phoenix, who catches her easily and lifts her up.

"You're welcome, kiddo. Your dad's going to teach you how to ride it."