I rise, not to steal the spotlight, but to save the song. I stroll over, snatch the imaginary microphone from him, and start singing along, my voice clear and melodic, effortlessly finding the right notes amidst the chaos.
It morphs into a playful, chaotic duet. He keeps belting out the wrong notes, but now he’s my backup dancer, hamming it up for the crowd, his movements exaggerated and wild. The energy is electric, pulsing through the air like a live wire.
As our song ends to a round of laughing applause, Ruby, never one to be outdone, grabs the speaker. “Okay, my turn! Candace, you’re up with me! Let’s do ‘Take Me or Leave Me’ from Rent!”
Candace, who had been laughing from her seat against Malachi’s chest, immediately shakes her head with a look of pure, amused horror on her face. “Absolutely not, Rubes. Musicals aren’t really my thing. I’m more 80s and 90s rock.”
Ruby doesn’t even blink. “Fine! Even better!” She fumbles with the phone attached to the speaker. “Get up here and sing ‘Footloose.’ I’ll be your Kevin Bacon. I’ll dance!”
Before Candace can protest again, Ruby has the music cued. The iconic guitar riff kicks in, and the whole scene devolves into a big, messy, joyous singalong. The guys shout the male parts with boisterous bravado, while the girls belt out thebackup, our voices blending into a raucous celebration. It’s not a performance; it’s a chaotic family party that completely dissipates the pressure swirling around me, turning it into a shared moment of pure, unadulterated fun.
Laughter ripples through the backyard as Ruby forces Candace into another song. Even Sloane, who’d sworn she wasn’t singing, cracks a reluctant smile before shaking her head and stepping away from the group. “Break’s over,” she says, brushing invisible dust from her jeans. “If you all sprain a vocal cord, I’m the one who has to fix it.”
She turns toward the clubhouse, and something in the air shifts. It’s subtle—just a tiny flicker of guilt passing over the men’s faces. Knox and Nash both suddenly find the firepit fascinating. Malachi’s attention snaps to his boots. East tries to smother a smirk but fails, heat flickering in his eyes like a lit fuse. I narrow my gaze.Yeah… something is definitely up.
Sloane disappears into the hallway. One heartbeat. Two—
“What. In. The. Actual. hell?”
Ruby shoots upright like she’s been launched from a catapult. “Oh, this I have to see,” she gasps, bolting inside.
Frankie grabs my hand, dragging me after her as amused murmurs swell behind us. Candace exchanges a look with Malachi before following, curiosity winning over caution. Maggie wipes her hands on a dish towel, eyebrows raised as she trails in behind James, who abandons the grill with a low, knowing laugh.
We skid to a stop in the doorway of the med closet just as Sloane wheels around, arms rigid at her sides, eyes wide with barely controlled murder. Inside, the shelves are a carnival of chaos. Bandages are now labeled Ouchy-Stoppers in bold black Sharpie. The saline reads Tears of Our Enemies. The latex gloves: Hand Sweaters (No Touchy). Even a roll of gauze sitsproudly under a sign that reads Wrap n’ Roll with glitter accents Ruby would absolutely appreciate.
Ruby chokes on her laughter and nearly falls into Frankie, who isn’t even trying to hide how delighted she is. Candace slaps a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking. Maggie just blinks once and mutters, “Well… that’s one way to keep things interesting,” while James snorts behind her, his deep chuckle rolling through the hall.
I bite back a grin, but it’s useless—the ridiculousness of it all is contagious.
Knox steps forward, trying to look innocent and failing harder with every second. “It’s, uh… morale-boosting humor?” he suggests quietly.
Sloane turns her head slowly, dangerously, like a wolf calculating the cleanest way to take down her prey. “You know what boosts morale, Knox?” she asks, her voice sweet as frosting on a poisoned cupcake.
His throat bobs with a nervous swallow. “Teamwork?”
“No,” she says, lifting a bandage and reading its new name with a stare hot enough to melt concrete. “It’s knowing I can read a label at a glance while my other hand is stopping the bleeding.”
Knox winces. Malachi takes a strategic step backward. Nash looks like he wishes he were literally anywhere else. And East? Yeah. He’s trying not to laugh—which means he’s absolutely guilty.
As Ruby wipes tears of laughter off her cheeks and Frankie fans herself dramatically, I can’t stop the warmth that spreads through me. This insanity… this loyalty… this ridiculous, chaotic family. It’s wild and loud and a little unhinged.
But God, it feels like home.
The boys exchange worried glances when Sloane’s too-calm smile settles into place. The kind of smile that promisesretaliation written in blood. Or at the very least, permanent marker.
Round one goes to the guys.
But the girls? We don’t lose wars.
We just choose the timing of our victory.
In the midst of the happy chaos, as another song starts, East pulls me away from the main group, guiding me just to the edge of the firelight. He leans in, and his warm rumble against my ear sends a shiver down my spine. “See? Knew you still had it in you.”
I look out at the beautiful, chaotic scene unfolding before me. I watch my new family, all of them laughing and singing terribly, then I turn my gaze up to East. The look on his face is a potent mix of pure love, pride, and a deep, aching understanding that resonates within me. In that moment, a quiet certainty settles in my bones. Even after the storm of my confession, I am not alone. I am home.
Chapter 32
East
