“Yeah?”
“We’re telling the family. All of it. No secrets.”
He looked down, fingers picking at the seam of his jeans. “But—”
“No,” I said, cutting him off. “The McKenzies protect their own, and you’re one of us now. Officially.”
He smiled, weak but real. “Okay. Yeah. Officially.”
I put the truck in gear, revved the engine, and pulled out onto the street. In the rearview, Gloria was still watching, her face gone to stone. I didn’t care. Let her follow. Let her try to rip him away.
“Think she’ll try to stop the wedding?” Levi asked, half-joking.
I reached over and squeezed his thigh. “Let her try,” I said, and meant it.
The road out of town stretched wide and empty, the whole valley bright with the promise of the day. I drove slow, savoring the feel of his hand in mine, the sound of his breathing, the absolute certainty that, whatever came next, I’d be the one standing between him and the rest of the world.
He was mine.
And I was never letting go.
Chapter Ten
~ Quiad ~
The first rule of small-town warfare is to know your terrain, and Rosie's Bakery had always been more a minefield than a neutral ground. Every time the door opened, it set off a ripple of sound—bell chime, laughter, the soft scrape of boots on tile. But today, the air inside was different. It wasn't just the sugar in the air or the clatter of pie tins; it was the tension, wound so tight you could've bounced a quarter off it.
We walked in at exactly noon. Levi's hand was clamped in mine, his pulse tripping along so fast I thought he might snap the bones. I looked down and watched his fingers—inked, healing, the skin around the tattoo still pink and raw. He held on like it was the only thing anchoring him to the room.
Across from the register, Knox had already commandeered a table. He wore a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, forearms on display, a mug of black coffee steaming between his hands. His eyes clocked us as soon as we stepped inside, a barely perceptible nod passing for the all clear. He looked like he'd sooner strangle someone with a napkin than let shit get out of hand.
Gloria was at the far end, by the window, seated at a two-top table with both chairs facing the door. She looked smaller than I remembered—thinner, maybe, or just hollowed out in the way of people who'd been chasing a losing hand for too long. Her hair was the same straw-blonde, roots showing black and wild, and her face bore the kind of makeup job that was meant to cover up more than it ever could. But her eyes were alive and scanning, sharp as a hawk’s, and the smile she flashed when she saw Levi was so wide it made my skin itch.
"She already ordered," Levi murmured, and I realized he'd spotted the untouched coffee and pastry in front of her. Thecroissant was dissected, peeled into layers, but not a crumb actually eaten.
We crossed the room in a silence that felt radioactive. I led the way, forcing her to see me first, but when we reached the table, she acted like I wasn't there at all.
"My baby boy," she purred, reaching up with both hands as if expecting Levi to fall into her arms. "Look at you. Handsome as the devil. Just like your father."
Levi tensed. He didn't sit, not right away. He hovered, eyes locked on the edge of the table, the way a dog might stare down a snake. "What do you want, Gloria?"
The smile faltered, just a second, but she recovered quick. "Is that any way to talk to your mother?" She folded her hands, studying her nails. "We have so much to catch up on. I was hoping you’d give me five minutes of your time, just to talk. Just to… reconnect."
She glanced at me now, a flicker of challenge in her eyes. "You must be Quiad," she said, the name coming out with a strange blend of curiosity and distaste. "Levi always did go for the tough ones."
I slid into the seat beside Levi, not across. He sat down too, so close our knees touched under the table. My arm found the back of his chair, proprietary as hell.
"Nice to meet you, ma’am," I said, keeping my voice flat. "Let’s cut to it. You asked him here for a reason, and it’s not for the eggs Benedict."
She let out a high, brittle laugh. "Always business, these McKenzies."
"Don’t," I said. I doubted she truly knew anything about the McKenzies beyond what she learned through rumors and gossip.
Her gaze slid back to Levi, and I saw her recalibrate. She leaned forward, elbows on the Formica, and tried to reach for his hand, but he kept it under the table, tangled in mine.
"You’re looking good, sweetie," she said, softening her voice. "I thought you’d have gone all to pieces after what happened. But here you are, getting married and everything. I heard you’re building a house together. Is that true?"
The bakery was full, but the conversations had slowed to a crawl. I could feel a dozen pairs of ears tuned to our table, pretending not to listen.
