His Forever Ride

The house was quiet, almost too quiet. Taylor stood by the kitchen window, her fingers wrapped loosely around a half-drunk cup of coffee, watching the wind bend the tall grass along the edge of the porch. It was strange, how stillness could feel both safe and unfamiliar. For so long, she’d equated silence with distance. Absence. Guilt. But Jax hadn’t left. Not after she ran. Not when she came back with apologies and no wedding ring and grief still stitched into every word she spoke. He gave her a second chance—and every day since, he’d shown her that he meant it. That didn’t make the quiet any easier to sit in. Behind her, footsteps padded in from the hallway—bare feet on cool hardwood—and a moment later, Jax’s arms wrapped around her waist from behind. “You’re up early,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep. “Couldn’t settle.” He didn’t ask why. He never did. Not anymore. He just rested his chin on her shoulder and stayed there, grounding her in that quiet, steady way of his. She leaned back into him without thinking, grateful for his silence. It wasn’t cold or punishing. It was safe. That was the thing she was still getting used to: being loved without conditions. Not for what she used to be. Not in spite of what she’d done. But for who she was—now. Later that morning, Taylor sat on the back steps with a sketchbook in her lap, staring out over the half-finished garden Jax had started digging last weekend. They’d laughed about it—him with his calloused hands and zero clue what to do with seedlings—but it meant something. They were planting things. Roots. Routines. A life. She hadn’t picked up a pencil in months, but her hand moved on instinct now, sketching loosely—rough outlines of the porch railing, the empty flower beds, the corner of the house. Her lines were clumsy, but she didn’t care. It wasn’t about perfection. It was about showing up. Every day, she chose to stay. Every day, Jax met her there. And even if the past still lived in the corners of the house—Ghost’s voice in the silence, the memories heavy some nights—they were learning how to carry it together. Not to erase it. But to build on top of it. The house was quiet, sunlight pouring across the hardwood floor like it belonged there. Taylor had grown used to the sounds—the groan of new wood, the soft tick of the porch fan, the thrum of Jax moving through the space like it was part of him. They'd lived in it for a few weeks now. Long enough for the scent of sawdust to fade, for the fridge to be stocked with more than beer and takeout, for a rhythm to start taking shape between them. This morning, Jax had dragged two mismatched chairs into what they were now officially calling the extra room. Not the guest room. Not the office. The someday room. Taylor sat cross-legged in one of the chairs, hair damp from a shower, a notepad in her lap. Jax leaned against the windowsill across from her, arms folded, gaze easy—but alert. “Alright,” she said, tapping her pen. “Serious question time.” He smirked. “Do I get a warning?” “Nope,” she said, grinning. “We said we’d talk about this once we moved in. So… when do you want to start trying?” Jax was quiet for a beat. Not tense. Just thoughtful. Then he pushed off the windowsill and walked over to sit in the other chair. “I meant it when I told you, during the build—I want kids with you. This house, this life... it’s not finished until we fill it.” Taylor nodded, her heart catching in her chest in the best way. “I know. I want that, too.” He reached for her hand across the small table between them. “But we’ve gotta be smart. Club life doesn’t stop. And I don’t want to bring a kid into this without knowing exactly how we’re gonna protect them.” Taylor squeezed his fingers. “You’re already thinking like a dad.” He gave her a half-smile. “Terrifying, isn’t it?” She laughed. “A little. But also... not.” They sat for a while, just holding hands, letting the reality of the conversation settle between them like another brick laid in the foundation. “I think we could start trying soon,” Taylor said, voice softer now. “Not this second. But soon.” Jax nodded. “I want that. But if it happens, I’m scaling back. No more last-minute rides into bullshit territory. Kellan’s solid. I trust him to take more weight if I need to step back.” “You think they’ll respect that?” she asked, not out of doubt—but experience. Jax looked her dead in the eye. “They don’t have to. I’m not asking.” Taylor’s chest tightened a little. Not with fear—but with that fierce, quiet pride that only he ever stirred in her. She stood and walked over to him, sliding into his lap. His hands settled on her hips instinctively. “This house feels real now,” she whispered. “You. Me. Talking about a kid. It’s... finally ours.” Jax leaned his forehead against hers. “We survived the hardest parts. Now we build the good ones.” They stayed like that, the future no longer a distant idea—but a blueprint finally coming to life. Taylor rested against him, her fingers tracing lazy shapes along the line of his collarbone. Jax’s arms were still around her, holding her like she was the center of something bigger than the room they sat in. “You know,” she said quietly, “I’ve been thinking about that day you first brought me here. When it was still mostly empty. You told me your dad was a biker.” Jax made a low sound in his throat. “Yeah. That was a weird day to open up.” “It stuck with me,” she said. “I didn’t ask a lot, but... I always wondered. Was he in The Cage?” Jax nodded once. “Yeah. Original chapter. Back when it was a lot rougher, a lot less organized. He was hard, but loyal. Didn’t always get it right. But I think building something like this—” he motioned around the room— “was something he wanted but never made time for.” Taylor sat up slightly so she could see him better. “And now you’ve built it.” His eyes met hers. “I don’t want to screw it up.” “You won’t.” He exhaled. “I don’t want to be gone too much. I don’t want you raising a kid on your own while I’m running damage control at the club every week. I don’t want—” “—you to turn into him?” she finished, not unkindly. Jax went still, and then gave a small nod. Taylor’s voice softened, but her words were clear. “You’re not your father. And this place? This life? It’s not what he had. You built a fortress, Jax. For me. For what we’re going to grow here.” He swallowed hard, jaw tight. She placed a hand against his chest. “You don’t have to give up who you are to be a good man. Or a good father. The club is part of you. I’ve always known that.” He looked away for a second, and when he spoke, his voice was quieter. “I just want you to feel safe.” “I do,” she said. “Because you’re still you. The man who leads, protects, fights when he has to—but also built me a house with his bare hands and planned a nursery with a view.” Jax gave a low laugh, shaking his head. “You make it sound better than it is.” Taylor smiled. “It is better. And I want our kid to know where they come from. Who their dad is. All of it.” They sat in the unfinished room, surrounded by bare walls and new beginnings, and for the first time, there was no hesitation in the air between them. Just clarity. Just love.