"Then stop thinking you have to earn it. You're allowed to stay."
I pull her closer and she leans into me. "When did you get so wise?" I ask.
"I've always been wise. You're just now paying attention."
I almost smile. She's right though. I've spent so much time convinced I had to prove I deserved to be here that I never stopped to realize I already do.
The afternoon passes in the usual clubhouse rhythm. People come and go, conversations overlap, someone starts cooking dinner early. I help Tank finish his bike then move on to my own maintenance.
Bozo tells a story about a run that went sideways last month. Someone turns up the music and a few people start dancing near the bar.
It's ordinary and chaotic and exactly what I need, and I realize something as I'm working. I'm not thinking about leaving anymore. I’m not planning my exit strategy or bracing for the moment someone tells me I don't belong.
New York feels like another lifetime. Juvie is a scar that will always be there, but it doesn't define me anymore. Dublin was supposed to be an escape, a place to hide from my reputation, but it turned into something else.
It turned into home.
I'm not here because I have nowhere else to go. I'm here because I want to be here. I'm choosing Dublin. I'm choosing to build a life instead of just surviving one.
This is where I belong.
Everly and I sit on the back steps watching the sun go down. She's leaning against me, my arm around her shoulders.
"What are you thinking?" she asks.
"That this feels right."
"What does?"
"All of it. Being here, being with you, the baby, the club."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I spent my whole life feeling like an outsider pretending to fit in. Waiting for someone to figure out I didn't actually belong."
"And now?"
"Now I don't feel like I'm pretending anymore."
She kisses my jaw. "Good, because you're stuck here now."
"With you?"
"With all of us."
The noise from inside filters out, laughter and conversation mixing with music. It doesn't spike my anxiety the way crowd noise usually does.
"I never thought I'd have this," I say quietly.
"Have what?"
"People who don't leave. A place that doesn't feel temporary. Someone who sees all the broken shit and stays anyway."
"You're not broken, Rush."
"Parts of me are."
"Then those parts make you who you are. And I love who you are."