That made something fierce and protective rise in him again, but there was pride there, too.
“All right, then,” he said. “Let’s go eat with people who are happy we’re here instead of plotting revenge.”
The Breakwater Bar was packed, which was exactly what he’d expected on Cup night.
String lights crisscrossed the ceiling, casting the whole place in a warm, golden glow. The staff rolled up the big garage doors at the front to let in ocean air. Surfboards and old race photos lined the walls; trophies perched on high shelves beside jars of seashells.
Gabe Ortiz manned the bar, big shoulders filling out a faded band T-shirt, dark hair pulled back. He’d swapped a mechanic’s creeper for a bar mat a few years back and never quite lost the grease-under-the-nails vibe.
He looked up when Hank, Bree, Brian, and Colby stepped in and grinned.
“Copper Moon’s new favorite son,” he called. “Get your ass over here, James.”
Lena Ortiz appeared at his elbow, curls piled on top of her head, a bar towel thrown over one shoulder. “And bring that pretty painter with you,” she added, eyes dancing.
Bree laughed, the tension of the day easing off her shoulders as they wove through the crowd.
“Congratulations,” Gabe said when they reached the bar, sticking his hand across to Hank. “Hell of a race.”
“Thanks,” Hank said, shaking it. “Place looks good.”
“Winning does that,” Lena said, leaning over to kiss Bree’s cheek. “How are you, honey?”
“Tired,” Bree said truthfully. “Happy. Mildly terrified about the idea of wiring a warehouse.”
Gabe’s eyebrows rose. “So the mayor got to you.”
“The mayor and this one,” Bree said, hooking her thumb at Hank.
Gabe wiped his hands. “We should talk. When we took over this place, the permits nearly killed me. I’ve got advice and a list of people you should absolutely not hire unless you enjoy watching a man fall off a ladder.”
“Noted,” Hank said.
They grabbed a corner table that looked out toward the water, drinks in hand. The band slid into a softer set; couples drifted onto the small dance floor. The whole town felt like it was exhaling together after holding its breath for days.
Carmen arrived a little later, sliding into a spare chair with a sigh. She’d changed out of team gear into jeans and a simple top. Without the Dragons’ colors, she looked ten pounds lighter.
“You guys good if I crash this?” she asked.
“Only if you don’t bring any dragons,” Brian said.
“Left my fire-breathing accessories at home,” Carmen said dryly. She glanced at Bree; they shared a small, private smile. “Thank you again. For earlier.”
“You're welcome,” Bree said.
They ordered food: fish tacos, burgers, a mountain of fries that disappeared faster than any of them admitted. Conversation flowed easily: racing stories, town gossip, Gabe’s anecdote about the time some guys at a bachelor party tried to body-surf down the boardwalk stairs.
Every so often, someone would clap Hank on the back in passing or raise a glass from another table. He took it in with a mix of pride and discomfort. He was used to being noticed on a track, not in a room.
Bree seemed to sense it. Under the table, her hand found his thigh, thumb rubbing small circles that pulled him back into his body.
“You doing all right?” she asked quietly between bites.
“This is a lot,” he admitted. “But a good lot.”
She smiled. “Good. Because I like seeing people happy you exist.”
Later, when the plates had been cleared and the band shifted into something slow, Gabe nodded toward the floor.
