Turning to him, I gave him a reassuring smile and covered his hand with mine. “One won’t kill me.”
He pulled back and stared at me, those ocean blue eyes darting around my face, searching for something. Whatever it was, he didn’t seem to find it, because he visibly relaxed after a moment.
Tonight, I was surrounded by people who would take care of me, people I could trust not to take advantage of me. Hell, every single one of the Lawless brothers would bash the face in of anyone who tried, and Lane would be at the front of that line. The drink was only meant to take the edge off, to dull the thrumming in my veins when Lane was near by replacing it with a different kind of buzz.
When Finn returned and began passing drinks out, Crew leveled me with a playfully disapproving look.
“I thought you were my sober buddy?”
I raised a brow. “Do you really need one?”
Crew grinned. “You’re really going to drink in the face of a recovering addict?”
In response, I lifted it to my mouth and took a healthy pull from the bottle, swallowed, then grinned somewhat maniacally at Crew. He laughed harder, shaking his head.
“Stop giving me shit and worry about your brothers. Or yourwife.”
He turned to Aspen, apparently about to take my suggestion to heart, but Aspen pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t start, hotshot.”
Crew raised his hands in surrender. “Fine.”
With everyone settled, drinks in hand, Finn raised his over the center of the table, and the rest of us followed suit.
“I love you all,” he said plainly. “Can’t wait to see what crazy shit next year brings us.”
“Hopefully not too crazy,” Reagan muttered from his side.
“I’ll cheers tothat,” Lane said, clinking his beer against the others.
West clapped Lane on the shoulder once we’d all cheersed.
“You’re a pain in our ass, but I’m really fucking glad you’re sitting here and not in a grave next to Dad.”
I choked on the sip I’d just taken, and Lane chuckled. “How much have you had to drink?”
West frowned. “A few shots at home because—” He shook his head, as if tossing away whatever he’d been about to say. “Never mind why. The point is, drunk or sober, I’m man enough to admit a piece of me would’ve died if you had died that day.”
Then his gaze focused on me, his blue eyes—the same shade as the four other men at this table—swimming with emotion. “Thank you.”
I shrugged, downcasting my eyes as my cheeks heated. “Just doing my job,” I mumbled.
“Hey!” Crew protested, breaking the awkward tension. “I helped.”
“And I flew the fucking chopper,” Finn reminded us unhelpfully.
“It’s not a contest,” Lane said with a sigh. I risked glancing up at him, realizing the skin stretched over the sharp blades of his cheekbones had grown as rosy as mine felt.
“But if it was,” Crew started, and Lane growled low in warning. He merely grinned. “Sutton would win. She was a fucking badass that day.”
“She really was,” Finn agreed. “I don’t know how you did it.”
“Please,” I said, rolling my eyes, desperate to get the attention off myself. I wagged my finger between him and West. “You’ve been to war. If anyone is a badass, it’s you two.”
“No,” West said, vehemently shaking his head, and Finn nodded along, as though already clued into what his twin would say next. He probably was, actually. Their twin-tuition had always been next level. “We killed people, Sutton. You save them.”
Well, when put like that, I supposed he had a point.
I dared another look at Lane and found him watching me. I could feel all eyes at the table on us too.
