Bailee laughed harder, clutching the gifts to her chest, then looked at the three boys, all of them so different, so chaotic, so deeply loyal.
“You guys are kind of amazing,” she said.
Shamrock grinned. Fly looked embarrassed. Than just nodded like he’d filed the compliment away for later examination.
She glanced back at Bear, catching the look in his eyes. Pride. Quiet and deep. Affection, real, unguarded affection for all three of them. They’re mine, he’d said. Now, standing in this kitchen full of chips and laughter and new beginnings, she wasn’t sure where exactly she belonged. But she knew she wanted to find out.
Fly reached into one of the grocery bags, pulled out a familiar green and rainbow-colored box, and stared at it like it had personally betrayed him.
“How did these Lucky Charms get in here?” he asked, holding them up like evidence. Then he looked at Than.
Than blinked, wide-eyed. “I swear I have no idea. I never saw him put it on the belt.”
Bailee couldn’t help it. She giggled.
Shamrock leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, expression smug. “I have ninja skills you can only guess at.”
“Fucking Kavanagh,” Fly growled, dragging a hand down his face. “I’ll never surrender. But bro…you’re a crazy bastard.” He offered his fist to Shamrock.
Shamrock smirked like he wore the title proudly, and he tapped it. “Did I tell you that right before I saved your ass, I hallucinated a leprechaun?”
Fly paused. Released a long, slow breath. “Don’t tell me…”
“He was after me Lucky Charms,” Shamrock confirmed solemnly.
“Of course he was.”
“We rowed faster,” Shamrock added, deadpan. “If it wasn’t for him, we might’ve been… too late.”
There was a moment of silence.
Then Bailee cracked up, doubling over in laughter. Than shook his head, muttering something under his breath about “snack madness.”
Fly just looked at Bear and muttered, “I hope you kept the receipt on this one.”
Bear, stone-faced, replied, “No returns. He belongs to the Teams now.”
Dinner had been loud and full of smoke and laughter.
Fly had taken charge of the dinner like it was a live op, barking orders and checking every steak as if a life depended on it. Shamrock’s running commentary never stopped, half complaint, half stand-up routine. Than moved between them, calm, methodical, the quiet center of their chaos.
The food had been ridiculous for a spur-of-the-moment meal, crisp salad, corn on the cob charred and sweet, steaks dripping with a dark, spicy Texas sauce from Fly’s grandfather’s recipe.
They’d eaten outside, the late light soft on the porch, the air thick with that easy comfort she’d almost forgotten existed. The boys had teased each other nonstop, but it was all affection, leaning shoulders, quick shoves, the sound of men who trusted one another.
Everything was superb in the hands of teenagers.
Bear came in from the kitchen with a tray of bowls and the smell hit her before he set it on the table, molasses and corn, cinnamon, vanilla, and heat. She blinked. “I know that smell. What did you do?”
“Indian pudding,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel. “My mom used to make it. I did my best to remember how.” He set the bowls in front of everyone. The dish was a little rough around the edges, the way things made by memory always were.
Than looked especially eager. “You make it as delicious as Mom’s,” he said with pride.
Bailee stared at the dark, steaming surface crowned with melting vanilla ice cream. “You made this from memory? From your mother’s recipe?”
He nodded. “Closest I’ve got to home cooking.” His mouth twitched. “Thought you could use something sweet.”
She looked up at him, at those big, capable hands that could kill as easily as they’d stirred dessert, at the angled face that had been carved by both wind and kindness. Those lips she wanted to devour again. That deep, quiet presence that settled into her bones, her muscles, and, Ancestors help her, her heart.
