I rolled my eyes but I was smiling. This was them now. Still competitive, still pushing each other's buttons. But it was healthy. Playful. The sharp edges of their old rivalry worn smooth by six months of living as a pack.
"Are you two going to bicker all night?" I asked. "Because I'd like to actually enjoy this party."
"We're not bickering," they said in unison, then glared at each other.
I laughed, took a sip of my champagne.
Jaxon looked good tonight. He'd traded hockey gear for a custom leather jacket over his tuxedo shirt, dark jeans instead of formal pants. His shop, Roarke Customs, had opened three months ago and was already making waves in the motorcycle community. He'd brought one of his builds to a show last month and won best in class.
He was happy. Truly happy. I could feel it through our bond.
And Luca, despite his occasional grumbling about Jaxon's refusal to follow any formal dress code ever, was happy too. This season had been his best yet. Without the rivalry consuming him, he'd played like he was born for it.
They'd both found their places. And I'd found mine between them.
"Reina!"
I turned to see Shayla pushing through the crowd, camera in hand. She'd become one of my closest friends over the past six months. Had been there through everything, supportive and fierce and unapologetically herself.
She'd also become my unofficial business partner. When I'd started my freelance photography business, she'd been my first client. Then my first investor. Now we were collaborating on projects together.
"You three need to let me take a photo," she said, slightly breathless. "I've been trying to get a good shot all night but you keep moving."
"We were dancing," I protested.
"Well, stop dancing and stand still for thirty seconds." She lifted her camera. "Come on. This is history. First major public event as a trinity. Luca just won Player of the Year. I need to document this."
Luca and Jaxon exchanged a look over my head.
"She's not going to stop until we do it," Jaxon said.
"I know," Luca replied.
They moved to flank me, one on each side. I was wearing a deep blue dress that showed both claiming bites on my shoulders. Luca's mark on the left, Jaxon's on the right. We'd stopped hiding them months ago.
Luca's hand settled at my waist. Jaxon's arm draped across my shoulders.
"Closer," Shayla directed. "You're a pack, not distant relatives at a funeral."
Jaxon pulled me tighter against his side. Luca's hand slid lower on my waist, possessive.
"Better," Shayla said. "Now look at me. And for the love of god, smile. You're supposed to be happy."
I smiled. It wasn't hard. Looking at Shayla holding her camera, I was suddenly struck by the parallel.
Fifteen years ago, there'd been another photo. Three kids in a locker room, arms around each other, grinning at the camera. Before everything fell apart.
Now here we were. Older. Scarred. But together again.
"Perfect," Shayla said, lowering her camera. "I'll send these to you tomorrow."
"Thanks, Shay."
She winked at me, then her expression shifted as she looked past us. "Oh no."
I turned to see what she was looking at.
A tall, handsome man in a suit was weaving through the crowd toward us. Dark hair, easy smile, completely focused on Shayla.
