The rumble of Harley engines echoed through the quiet of Charming, that familiar thunder rolling down the street like a storm that had finally found its way home. Fourteen months. Fourteen long, agonizing months of counting days on the calendar, of restless nights and unanswered prayers. And now—they were back.

You stood in front of Teller-Morrow, hands shoved deep in the pockets of your worn SAMCRO hoodie, trying to steady your breathing as the convoy turned the corner. The gate clanged open, the roar of bikes spilling through like a heartbeat you’d been missing for over a year. The boys. Your boys. Your family.

And there he was.

Chibs Telford, your old man, leather kutte dusty from the ride, eyes scanning the crowd until they found you. That grin—half wolf, half warmth—cut through the noise and chaos like it was meant only for you.

“Jesus, lass,” he muttered under his breath as he swung his leg off the bike, closing the distance in long strides. Before you could even speak, his hands were on your face, rough thumbs brushing your cheeks, pulling you in until your foreheads touched.

“You got no idea how much I missed ye.”

You let out a shaky laugh that turned into a small sob, arms looping around his neck as you pressed against him, the scent of leather, oil, and faint smoke grounding you in the moment.

“I counted every damn day, Filip,” you whispered into his shoulder. “Every one.”

He kissed the side of your head, holding you tighter. Around you, chaos reigned—Tara and Jax, Gemma’s proud tears, hugs, laughter, the clang of metal and the chatter of brothers reunited. But for a moment, it was just you and him—your heartbeat against his chest, the world righting itself after more than a year off balance.

Chibs pulled back slightly, his grin softening into something that looked almost like disbelief. “Ye held the fort, didn’t ye?”

“I did what I had to,” you said, brushing your thumb along his jaw. “Kept the lights on, the reaper fed, and your side of the bed warm. Barely.”

A chuckle rumbled through him as he pressed another kiss to your forehead. “Aye, my strong lass. My home.”

You leaned back enough to look at him—really look. The lines were a little deeper, the beard a little thicker, but his eyes? Same steel-gray warmth. Same loyalty that never wavered.

“Let’s go inside,” you said, slipping your hand into his. “You got a lot to catch up on.”

A glint of mischief flickered in his eyes as he squeezed your hand. “Aye, that I do. Business… and otherwise.”

And as the sun dipped behind the Charming sign and the boys of SAMCRO filed through the gates, laughter and engines filling the air again, you realized something simple and perfect—home wasn’t just the clubhouse, or the bikes, or even the patch. Home was Chibs. And now, he was finally back.