I clink mine gently against his. “To the part that starts now.”
Thesmellofgrilledmeat and smoke clings to the warm air, a promise. Someone rigged string lights between theclubhouse and the garage, giving the gravel lot a soft golden glow as dusk settled in. The lights sway gently in the breeze, casting flickers of gold and shadow across denim, leather, and laughter. A playlist shuffles through old-school rock, outlaw country, and, thanks to Ruby, several chaotic bursts of early 2000s pop.
I stand on the outskirts for a second, watching it all. The clubhouse yard is overflowing. Outsiders in their cuts, Willowridge newcomers in casual-chic, a few dogs chasing each other through the grass, and Ruby and Bec trying to convince Nash to join their impromptu salsa line beside the grill. East tried to help. Now he’s spinning Darla in lazy circles, both of them laughing with abandon. She looks freer than I’ve ever seen her. His grin is soft.
Amelia stands with Frankie near the cooler, sipping a soda and swatting Kyle with a dish towel. He smirks at her, clearly enjoying it. There’s a quiet, familiar ease between them, something playful that feels like the first few notes of something new.
Frankie, meanwhile, keeps glancing at her phone. She steps away for a second, muttering something too quiet to hear, then comes back without comment. But the tension in her shoulders said otherwise. Every so often, her gaze finds Arden across the yard. Their conversations are brief. Private. Purposeful. She carries herself with the stillness of someone waiting for a storm.
Phoenix is here. That still feels strange to say. My brother is here.
He’s standing a little apart, dressed in a crisp black button-down, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, slacks cut sharp to his frame, and polished shoes that clearly weren’t made for gravel. Felix lingers near him. Quiet, observant, standing just close enough to be protective. He hasn’t left Phoenix’s side since they arrived. McKenzie is tucked into Phoenix’s other side, a glass ofwine in her hand, the two of them watching the chaos unfold with identical expressions of amused detachment.
Phoenix is talking to Malachi, well, more nodding while Malachi talks, with that unreadable calm he always wears. Phoenix doesn’t blend in, he looms. He gives the impression of a mafia prince dropped into a biker bonfire. Yet... he was here. And that means something.
I step off the porch, letting the screen door slam behind me. Malachi glances over from where he is, his eyes doing that thing where they drag over every inch of me, cataloging. My stomach flips, sharp and fast, but I force myself to focus. I’m not just Malachi’s girl tonight. I am someone’s sister. He’s here because of that.
The wind lifts the hem of my flannel shirt where it’s tied at my waist, brushing against bare skin. I feel exposed. Seen. Not just by Phoenix or Malachi, but by all of them.
“I give him ten minutes before Ruby ropes him into something illegal,” East mutters as he walks by with a plate stacked like a tower of Jenga.
“I heard that,” Phoenix calls smoothly without turning around.
McKenzie arches a brow, taking a sip of her wine. “Knowing you, you’d probably be willing.”
Phoenix tilts his head, eyes still forward. “Depends on who’s asking.”
She rolls her eyes but smiles, the kind that says she’s used to his charm and secretly enjoys it.
“Yeah, yeah. Eyes sharp as a hawk, ears tuned to hell,” East replies, grinning.
Olivia and Victor are holding court near the picnic tables, Olivia in a flowy black dress and sunglasses that make her look like a movie star. Victor has one hand on her lower back, the other gesturing animatedly as he talks to Knox and James. Sloane stands close beside Knox, laughing softly at somethinghe says, her hand occasionally brushing his in that quiet way couples do when they’re still trying to close old distance. Arden stands beside Olivia, sipping a drink and quietly scanning the yard in full detail, which, honestly, he probably is.
Arden nods toward Phoenix. “He makes me nervous.”
Victor smirks. “That’s because he’s smarter than all of us.”
“I’m right here,” Phoenix says without looking up from his conversation with Malachi.
Ruby breaks into an off-key rendition of “Livin’ La Vida Loca,” twirling a bottle of beer like it’s a microphone.
“Connor,” Julian groans from one of the long wooden picnic tables. “Tell them to stop before they summon Ricky Martin.”
Connor, who is flipping burgers with one hand and swaying his hips to the beat with the other, just grins. “Welcome to one of my world-famous BDSM parties, brother! Burgers, Drinks, Salsa Music.”
Julian drops his head into his hands. “I hate you.”
Bailey pats his back, hiding her smile behind her cup. “You love us.”
Bass walks past them with a tray of hotdogs and leans in toward Caroline. “Ten bucks says Ruby starts a conga line before dessert.”
“You’re on,” she replies, without missing a beat.
Bec appears next to Ruby, already laughing at some inside joke I haven’t heard. “Okay, but did you see Connor try to set up the grill? I swear he started choreographing the chicken.”
Ruby chokes on her drink. “Oh my god, I thought he was doing a summoning circle with the condiments.”
“Connor!” Bailey yells across the yard. “Stop dancing with the ketchup bottle!”
