Blade finished handing out the gifts, but then got distracted by Logan catching his wrists and tugging him in for a playful kiss as he pulled the hem of Blade’s hat down around his eyes.
Before we could start opening presents, though, Joker burst in through the front door with a huge grin on his face. “Oh, good timing,” he said, glancing around the room. “Where’s Priest? And Mal?”
“Back porch,” Gunnar said.
“Yo!” Joker hollered through the kitchen. “Priest!”
Priest and Mal both came in through the back door, Mal peering at his phone with a concerned look on his face. Joker paused. “Everything good?”
“Oh, yeah,” Mal said with a shrug. “Just some odd texts, nothing to worry about.”
Priest did look a little worried, though, from the furrow in his brow and the gentle way he placed his hand at the center of Mal’s back. Mal caught his eye, then ducked his chin in what looked like a quick thanks.
“Someone need their ass kicked?” Gunnar asked, standing up.
“Gunnar,” Priest said with a fond eyeroll. “No ass-kicking on Christmas.”
“Yet,” Rebel said with a grin.
Mal waved his hand. “It’s nothing, seriously. What do you need, Joker?”
“Come on,” he said. “Something to show you, Priest.”
I caught Brennan’s eye, and Brennan nodded. I couldn’t suppress my grin—it was really happening. The big reveal. Brennan and his crew had wanted to finish the first cabin on the property last week, but plumbing issues had derailed that goal—a shame for our surprise, but at least that gave Jonah and Maverick more time to knock out the interior design. It was well on its way, though, nearly completed and looking small, cozy, and welcoming. And somehow, everyone in the club had managed to keep its true purpose under wraps.
Brennan and I stood up, and the rest of the members in the clubhouse as well, and then followed Joker out of the front door and down the narrow path to the cabin.
“What’s all this about?” Priest asked as we walked out of the clearing.
The cabin was decked out for Christmas, with a big wreath on the door and lights strung up along the edge of the roof. It was a small building, with an open floor plan: full kitchen, big hearth, and then a lofted bedroom above. It was cozy, and comfortable, and Brennan had even built out a front porch, with Adirondack chairs and tinsel winding around the railing. The inside wasn’t quite finished, and there were still some odds and ends throughout, but it wouldn’t be too much longer.
Hanging in the center of the wreath on the door was a small card reading “Welcome home!”
Blade adjusted his Santa hat again, then swung an arm around Logan’s shoulder, tugging him close as he stood in front of the cabin.
“Guys,” Priest said, glancing around the group. “I feel like I’m missing something.”
“Priest,” Blade said warmly. “You know I’ve felt bad ever since we kicked you out of my house.”
“For the millionth time, Blade, you didn’t kick me out—”
Titters of laughter around the room. Blade waved his hand dismissively, and Priest rolled his eyes with a smile.
“And as much as we like having you lingering around the clubhouse keeping an eye on things, we thought it was time that you had a little more privacy. Just for the times that you want it.” Blade grinned.
Priest’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean…”
“Yep,” Mal said, putting his hand on Priest’s shoulder and squeezing. “It’s yours.”
“Guys,” Priest said, glancing around the group like he was waiting for someone to contradict what Blade was saying. But of course, everyone was just smiling and nodding in agreement. “Guys, you can’t be serious about this.”
“Of course, we are,” Mal said with a grin. “We just knew you’d never agree to the budget if you knew this was the plan.”
“I don’t need it,” Priest said, a little desperately. “I’m fine living in the clubhouse, that was the plan all along—”
“I know you’re fine with it,” Blade said. “But we wanted to give this to you. You’re the backbone of this club, and you deserve to have a place to really make your own. Away from all these nuisances.” Blade grinned at the club members.
“Wow, everyone.” Priest took a deep breath, then looked up at the sky like he was fighting back tears—or maybe he was thinking about Ankh.
I knocked my shoulder against Brennan’s. “Good work,” I murmured. Brennan smiled, ducking his chin gratefully.
“This is incredible,” Priest said. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Nothing to thank us for,” Mal said. “It’s the least we can do, for everything you’ve given for this club.”
Priest’s carefully poised expression cracked a little, and then Blade was on him like an overenthusiastic dog, wrapping him in a huge, hard hug—hard enough to lift him off his feet a little. The rest of the club members whooped and cheered, breaking into scattered applause.
My heart clenched with happiness at seeing Priest’s reaction—he deserved this. A new home of his own. A new start.
It gave me a good feeling. This was going to be a new start for a lot of people in this club—and I realized then, that even though Dawson wasn’t a member, I wanted him to be. Wanted him to experience this same warmth, this same brotherhood. The overwhelming support.
When Blade let go, everyone congratulated Priest, talking over each other excitably about the features of the cabin and the lengths they’d gone through to keep the secret from him. As he was grinning, blushing under the attention, I stepped aside and pulled my phone from my pocket. I typed out a quick message to Dawson—nothing fancy, just wishing him a merry Christmas.
We’d been texting nearly every day, just short messages about the books we were reading together. He didn’t get a ton of phone time at the end of the day, so I usually cleared my schedule and blocked out the time for him. Because I cherished those conversations. Even though they were just over text, we were growing closer and closer. It’d felt like a natural extension to the relationship we’d already been building—even though we were separated, we were still prioritizing each other.
It made me feel wanted. And included. And it gave me hope for what might happen once he was back in the world.
I stood near the path to the clubhouse, a few paces away from the group, staring at my phone. I’d give him a minute or two to text back—I didn’t know what his schedule was like on a holiday, but maybe he didn’t have access to his phone. I tried not to get my hopes too high.
And then, to my surprise, my phone started ringing.
When Dawson had told me he didn’t want any calls or visitors, I’d respected his wishes. I knew how hard it was to go through the early stages of recovery, and he’d made it clear he liked the control of texting. It gave him time to breathe, time to think about his responses. But I couldn’t deny that I’d missed the warm, comforting sound of his voice. My heart pounded hard in my chest at the sight of his name on the caller ID.
“Hey,” I said a little breathlessly as I answered the phone.