But Marit smiles, approving. “You’re sharp. I like you.” She pats Lucky’s arm. “She’s better for you than I was expecting.”
“Mom,” he warns.
“What? You pick chaos. I’m relieved it’s chaos with a spine.”
I try not to laugh. It feels weirdly good, the way she disarms me without trying. There’s no false sweetness here. Just honesty.
Anders clears his throat. “You’ll have to forgive our entrance. The others are still trying to find parking.”
“The others?”
As if summoned, the door bursts open again. This time, chaos incarnate walks in.
“My babies!”
Lucky drops his head into his hands. “Here we go.”
An older woman—small but fierce—barrels into the room, muttering something in rapid Norwegian as she crosses herself, then grabs Lucky’s face and smacks a kiss to his forehead.
“Mormor,” he groans.
She ignores him entirely, turning her full attention on me. “Willow,” she says as she hugs me awkwardly while I lie in bed. She can barely reach me. “Our beautiful witch. I’m so glad to see you awake.”
“I—”
“She’s not a witch, Mormor,” Lucky says quickly, his concerned expression giving away that he thinks I’ll take offense. “She reads tarot.”
“Tarot,” Mormor repeats, nodding solemnly. “Witch. This is good, Lucky. The family needs one.”
Behind her trails a man with silver hair wearing sunglasses, even though we’re indoors. He’s chewing gum like he’s auditioning for a crime drama. Another man follows in after him; this one looks around the room like he’s casing it for cameras or bugs. Finally, a woman in a glittery cardigan walks in holding an enormous balloon that says GET WELL, WITCHY BITCH in sparkly marker.
“Oh shit,” I say with a laugh.
“Yep,” Lucky mutters. “Thissss is my family.”
“I’m Vivi,” the sparkly one announces. “And this is Henrik. Don’t let the sunglasses fool you, he’s mostly harmless. Unless you owe him money.”
Henrik lifts a lazy salute. “Ma’am.”
“Einar,” the other man says as he shakes my hand. “Lovely home you have. Your cat is an asshole to unexpected guests, though.”
My brows furrow in confusion. I glance at Lucky, who just shakes his head in a way that saysI’ll explain the chaos later.
I blink up at all of them—the entire feral, loving, completely unhinged family. And for reasons I can’t explain, my eyes sting.
Because they didn’t have to come. They didn’t have to stay. But they did.
Marit and Anders flank the foot of the bed, Mormor takes Lucky’s chair, Vivi ties the balloon to my IV pole, and Henrik and Einar just stand by the door like they’re guarding us from invisible enemies.
It’s loud and awkward and ridiculous, but there’s something beautiful about it — the way they fill the sterile room with warmth, with life.
Marit catches me watching them and says quietly, “We’re a lot. I know.”
I nod. “Yeah. But… a good lot.”
Lucky just watches me, gauging my reaction to them. He’s nervous. Ten years of avoiding this many people doesn’t evaporate in a few moments. He’s still leery. They almost blew up his entire career. I’m still not sure of the long-term damage they caused to Saint Shade.
But something feels okay about this all. Lucky doesn’t look closed off. Cautious, yes. But the way he watches his mother, Aunt Vivi, there’s still love in his eyes. He still laughs with his dad. He’s still keeping an eye on Mormor to make sure she doesn’t trip over her own two feet.
