Maggie’s jaw drops. “James!” He winks at her, and the other men receive the signal that phase one has begun.
Knox tries his turn. “Definitely not as good as my mom’s,” he says around a mouthful, looking smug. “Yours is missing something. Hard to say what.”
“It’s flavor,” Ruby shouts. “You’re missing taste buds!”
Malachi takes a bite next, stares at her, then drops the verdict in his usual death-calm tone. “My mother’s was better.”
Candace slaps her drink down. “I swear to God.”
I take my spoonful. Meet Darla’s eyes. Smile slowly. “It’s good,” I say casually. “Great, even. But my mom’s? Perfection.”
Darla narrows her eyes at me, instantly clocking the setup. “You’re all dead when this war ends,” she says sweetly.
Maggie whirls on James, hands on hips. “You’ve been married to me for twenty-three years. Twenty-three! Whose potato salad have you eaten more?”
James nods like that’s a fair question. “Yours. And that’s why I miss hers so bad.”
The girls groan in collective outrage. The guys grin in collective victory.
Laughter explodes across the yard, the girls heckling and Maggie still sputtering while the guys toast our perfect execution. And like chaos has a schedule to keep, Ruby is already turning her sights on Nash, who is doing his best to ignore her and failing miserably. She’s got her phone out, scrolling through what looks like a livestock website.
“Okay, I’m serious, Nash,” she says, her voice loud enough for us all to hear. “I’ve found a breeder. I think we should get a pygmy goat. They’re cuter. But I need a name. What do you think? ‘General Mayhem’? Or maybe ‘Nasty Nash Jr.’?”
Nash just keeps staring at the fire pit, his jaw so tight I can see the muscle bunching from here. He doesn’t say a word, which only seems to encourage her.
I catch Malachi’s eye from across the fire. He gives me a look that’s one part pure, unadulterated dread and one part ‘this-is-100%-Nash’s-problem.’ Oh shit, the look says. She’s really going to get a goat.
“Fine, ignore me,” Ruby huffs, finally turning away from him. “I’ll just put you down as ‘undecided.’ Goat it is.”
Knox, oblivious, is deep in a debate with James about the structural integrity of his haunted clown doll. Amidst the chaos, I find Darla. I pull her onto my lap in one of the armchairs, my arm possessively around her waist.
She leans into me, her voice a low murmur against my ear. “So, when does my revenge start?”
I grin, my lips brushing her temple. “Patience, princess. I’m just getting started.”
The promise hangs in the air between us, a delicious, private war in the middle of our family’s celebration. And as I lookaround at my brothers, at the women who have become our anchors, and at the woman in my arms, I know this is it. This is what we’re fighting for. Not just survival. But for the right to have these stupid, beautiful, chaotic moments. The right to laugh in the face of the darkness.
Chapter 40
Darla
Thedayaftertheheist, my world feels strangely quiet. The adrenaline has faded, leaving a low, humming anxiety in its place. We have the video. We have the weapon. But the war isn’t over, and the waiting is a special torture.
East finds me in his living room, staring out the window at nothing. He comes up behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. We stand there in silence for a long moment, just breathing.
“My mom called,” he rumbles against my ear. “She wants us to come for dinner tonight.”
Ice floods my veins. “Oh. East, I don’t know…”
He turns me in his arms, his expression soft, understanding. “Hey. It’s just dinner. No expectations. She just… she worries. My mom just... wants to see for herself that you’re okay.”
The thought is terrifying. Facing his parents, the picture of a happy, functional family, feels like holding my broken pieces up to a bright light for inspection. But the look in his eyes, the quiet plea, makes me nod. “Okay.”
The moment we walk through his parents’ front door, I’m enveloped in a wave of warmth and the rich, mouth-watering scent of roasted chicken. It’s nothing like the cold, silent mausoleum I grew up in. Laughter spills from the kitchen.
Carol, East’s mom, appears, wiping her hands on an apron. Her smile is genuine, her eyes full of a kind, maternal warmth that makes my throat tighten. She doesn’t hug me right away, as if sensing I might shatter. Instead, she just places a warm hand on my arm. “Darla, honey. It is so good to see you.” She looks me over, her gaze soft with a concern that has no pity in it. “You look too thin. Grant, open that wine. This girl needs to eat.”
The dinner is everything my family’s wasn’t. It’s loud and chaotic. It’s full of laughter and stories and good-natured arguments. Grant, East’s dad, is just as charming as his son, his eyes sparkling with a quick, intelligent wit. They don’t treat me like a victim. They treat me like the girl they used to know, the one who was always at their house with Declan and East.
