“Leave him alone,” Maggie chided, but her smile said she was enjoying this.
“Never.” River winked at her. “It’s my sacred duty as his brother to make his life hell.”
“We’re not brothers.”
“Ouch.” River pressed a hand over his heart. “Hear that? Anson’s disowned me.”
“We’ve all disowned you,” Someone—who sounded suspiciously like Boone—muttered.
“Repeatedly,” Ghost added.
“Ah, c’mon, you guys adore me. Every family needs a loveable pain-in-the-ass.”
At that, everyone started talking at once.
“Jury’s still out on loveable,” Jonah said.
“We tolerate you,” Bear grumbled.
“Emphasis on the pain-in-the-ass part,” Boone said.
Laughter rolled around the table, and River basked in it like he’d just won the lottery. Anson watched him, watched all of them—the easy insults, the underlying affection.
Family.
Not his by blood, but his all the same.
He still couldn’t quite believe he belonged here.
“You okay?” Maggie whispered, leaning close enough that her breath tickled his ear. “You’re awfully quiet.”
“I’m always quiet.” He turned his head slightly, his lips inches from her temple, and inhaled that intoxicating citrusy scent.
“Even for you, I mean.”
Her lips curved into the half-smile that drove him crazy, the one that made him want to trace it with his fingertips, his mouth. He tore his gaze away and stared at his plate.
“This is just...” He glanced around the crowded room, the explosion of color and sound and life. “A lot.”
Understanding flickered in her eyes. “Need some air?”
He shook his head. “I’m good.” Not entirely true, but he wasn’t about to leave, not when her leg was pressed against his, not when she kept stealing glances at him like she was waiting for something.
Jo tapped her glass with her fork, and the room gradually quieted. “Before we eat, I’d like us to share one thing we’re grateful for this year.” Her gaze traveled around the table, landing briefly on each face. “If that’s okay with everyone.”
Nods circled the table. Even River, who normally balked at anything resembling therapy, gave a small shrug.
Anson’s gut tightened. He hated this kind of thing—being put on the spot, expected to find words for feelings he barely understood.
“I’ll go first,” Naomi offered, straightening in her chair. Her voice stayed level as she talked about the Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women task force, about two women—Tariah and Angel from Haven House—finding safety. “We made a difference. And I’m grateful to have found people who understand why that matters.”
Ghost reached out and squeezed her hand. He didn’t offer what he was grateful for, but he didn’t need to. It was obvious to anyone with eyes. Naomi.
“I’ll go next,” Maggie said.
Anson’s pulse kicked up.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m grateful for finding this place when I needed somewhere safe. For acommunity that welcomed me without question. For a new start.”
