True to Clay's prediction, they spent the next afternoon moving Juice's meager belongings into the Morrow household.

"I can't believe you're letting the Prospect move in here." Tig said. Clay shrugged.

"It'll make Clarissa happy." He said. "Besides, he's not that bad of a kid."

Tig had to agree. "He's a hell of a lot better than some of the assholes my girls run around with." He said.

"Gemma doesn't want her living at the clubhouse." Clay explained in undertones. "And they can't afford their own place. This is temporary."

Tig grinned. "Sure it is."

Juice hung the last of his t-shirts in Clarissa's closet. "I never thought I'd live in a pink room." He said. She looked up from her spot on the bed.

"We'll start saving to get our own place." She said. Chibs came in then, holding a box.

"You forgot one, Prospect." He said. He looked around. "Jesus, it's pink in here. I feel like I'm standing inside a vagina."

Clarissa looked at him. "You're so weird."

"Yeah." He said. He looked at Juice. "Gonna miss you around the clubhouse, boyo."

"I'll still be there everyday." He said. Chibs grinned.

"Ah, not as much as you used to." He shook his head. "I knew this was coming on, though." He eyed the two of them, sitting on the bed together. "It's a good match." He said. "I'm happy for the both of you."

Much later that evening, after they had eaten supper and Clay and Gemma had gone to bed, Juice fired up his laptop. Clarissa had gone to take a bath and she had taken her book with her, so he knew he had some time. He wanted to look up the name his mother had given him. He was trying not to base his hopes on this, but he sort of couldn't help it.

He stretched out across Clarissa's bed- their bed, he corrected himself. He lived here now, as odd as it seemed. He looked around as he waited for his computer to boot up. He was remembering the very first time he'd ever been in here, right after he first met Clarissa. If someone had told him then that he'd be living in this room with her, he would have shit himself laughing. But it was true; she loved him and he loved her. He looked at the picture on her nightstand. Wendy had taken it a few weeks before, when the four of them had gone to the beach. In the picture, he and Clarissa were standing in the surf, laughing in their bathing suits, unaware that their picture was being taken.

Once his laptop was running, he hacked into the database he usually used and typed in the name his mother had given him. After a few minutes of searching, several matches had popped up, but only one in Queens in 1979, the year he'd been conceived. He clicked on it eagerly. He was about to find his father. As the page loaded, all kinds of wild ideas ran through his head. Maybe he could look this man up, get to know him. No one would ever replace his Poppy, but it would be nice to have someone he could call Dad.

All those dreams crashed when the page was done loading. Michael Howard Cole was black. Juice stared at the picture. This couldn't be right. It couldn't be. But even as he thought it, he saw small similarities that told him it most likely was. Their ears were the same, he thought. And the shape of their eyes. He read through the man's details quickly. Born March 24th, 1960 in Queens. Married a LaTisha Stanton in 1985, had two daughters; Ashley and Danielle, born in 1987 and 1989.

His little sisters, Juice thought. He quickly calculated their ages to be fifteen and thirteen.

He clicked off the page and cleared the browser history. That's what he was gonna do, he thought. Clear his browser history. No one had to know what he had just found out. He could say the name was fake; no one else had the resources or the inclination to look. No one else had to know.

When Clarissa finished her bath, she found him on the bed in his pajama pants, reading a car magazine.

"Did you run the name?" She asked. She let her towels drop and stood there naked and dripping as she dug through her drawers.

"Yeah," He said, taking in the length of her nude body. "I didn't find anything that could be a match. She was lying, just like I thought." He told her one of the few lies that he would ever tell her, in all the years they would be together. Of course, he had no idea that this lie would come back to bite him in the ass eight years later.

But that's a story for a different day.

"I'm sorry, baby." She said as she slipped on a pair of panties and an old t-shirt. She slid into bed next to him and cuddled into his arms.

"It's all right." He said, holding her close. She reached up and turned the light off and they lay there in the darkness together.

Juice felt her hair, still damp and smelling of apples, pressed against his face and he breathed in. He would forget about the man who could be his father, about his mother who would now be considered "missing".

This, Clarissa and the club, was all he needed.

Authors Note: And there you have it, boys and girls. That brings this story to an end. Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed and added this story! I'm preparing to put up a one-shot featuring Juice/Clarissa called 'The Proposal' (you can guess what that's about) and then the next story, which takes place throughout season one. It will be called With Arms Wide Open. So look for those! I'll have the one-shot up today and possibly the first chapter of With Arms Wide Open.