I glance back at Elias too. He’s glowing. Glowing. Laughing like the world is finally soft enough to fall into. And mine. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Yeah,” I murmur. “I really fucking did.”
I glance at Coach over the rim of my glass, smirking. “You staying tonight?”
He snorts into his whiskey. “Boy,” he says, leaning forward with that familiar gravel in his voice, “I’ve had enough of your damn parties to last me three lifetimes. This—” he jerks his thumb toward the chaos that is Elias singing with a straw as a microphone “—this is your problem now.”
Viktor hums beside me. “He means congratulations.”
Coach waves a dismissive hand. “I mean I’m too old to babysit gremlins. You’re the one who married the loudest one of them. I’m retiring, you’re coaching, and I’m getting on a plane tomorrow before someone tries to film a Reapers striptease.”
At that exact moment, Cole rips his shirt open on top of the bar and yells, “WHO WANTS TO SEE A WINNING CHEST?!”
Coach sighs. “See? I’m going to burn my eyes out.”
I laugh—actually laugh—and shake my head. “You’ll miss us.”
Coach grunts and downs the rest of his drink. “Only the quiet ones. Which means not a single damn one of you.” But he claps my shoulder before standing. “Proud of you, Kade,” he says. “Don’t fuck it up.” Then he walks out.
And the last piece of the old Reapers leaves the room.
My team now.
Our future.
And at the center of it—hoarse from screaming—is my pup.
“Mr. Kade. You should really rest now,”the nurse warns from behind me, arms crossed, expression pinched like she already knows she’s going to lose this battle.
I don’t even turn around. “Five more minutes,Mommy,” I purr, grabbing my crutch and rising to my feet. I ignore her muttering my vitals and walk slow but steady toward the bar.
Toward him.
Elias sees me coming and his eyes light up. “Cap!” he shouts, practically throwing his drink at Shane before leaping off the bar. He lands like a damn cat, all limbs and curls and neon sugar-high, and barrels straight into me with a sound that’s somewhere between a gasp and a sob.
I catch him with one arm, let the crutch steady us both, and press my mouth to his neck the second he’s in range. “Had enough partying, baby?” I murmur against his skin.
He moans like I said I’m gonna take him over the bar instead of back to bed. “No,” he purrs, clinging harder. “But I want you more.”
I chuckle, low and dirty. “Then say goodbye to the glitter brigade.”
He turns to shout something to Cole and Shane—probably nothing appropriate—but I don't hear it, because I’m too busy watching the flush creep down his neck.
Elias leans in flush cheek to my throat, curls brushing my jaw, and whispers loud enough for me to feel it more than hear it. “Take me upstairs.”
I still for a second, maybe two, then I pull back enough to look at him. He’s panting, eyes glassy, lip wet from where he just bit it. “Now?” I murmur.
He nods hard and desperate. “Right now, coach.”
Fucking hell. I grab the crutch tighter, sling my arm around his waist, and mutter, “Grab the Cup.”
Elias blinks. “What?”
“We’re taking it with us.”
He lets out a choked sound halfway between a gasp and a laugh—“Are you serious?!”—but he’s already grabbing the thing like it’s our getaway loot. Because of course he is. Because he’s mine. And we don’t do subtle. Not when we’ve survived fire and blood and a crash that could’ve ended everything.
Now we take what’s ours because we are the Reapers.
We walk past the stunned bartender, past Shane who’s crooning something off-key to Cole, past the nurse who yells “Absolutely not!” behind me.
