"Come on," I said. "I've got a shift atyourbar."
He unlocked the truck, then stopped, turning me to face him. "You’re doing amazing, Krystal," he said. "I’ve never seen anyone fight this hard for their family."
The words burned in the best way, melting every scrap of doubt. "I’m just trying to keep up with my dragon."
He kissed me then, right there in the street, not caring who saw.
When we finally pulled apart, I glanced back at the porch. The light was still on, and in the window, Bryce waved, face pressed to the glass. Safe. Happy.
I waved back, then let Zaden drive us into the night, both of us holding tight to the feeling that maybe we could make this last.
By seven, Z's place had reached cruising altitude, every table occupied, every corner humming. Even the neon was working for once, buzzing against the windows, advertising the same four beer brands to people who already knew their poison.
I wore the same uniform as always, black jeans, white shirt, branded apron with a dragon patch sewn on. My section ran the length of the east wall, five tables and a banquette that always seemed to seat at least one birthday or divorce party.
The night moved fast, orders scribbled on pads, drinks slung from the service station with practiced speed. But every so often, I’d catch Zaden’s gaze, gold and bright through the crowd, and the world would slow a notch. He worked the front tonight, moving between the bar and the floor, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. The regulars loved him, especially the older women, who called him sugar and left lipstick on his knuckles during last call. But his attention never strayed from me for more than a minute or two.
At the register, Kenneth kept things moving, tapping out orders with two fingers and a minimum of patience. His hair was more gray than brown now, but he wore it long, held back by the same battered scrunchie he’d used since before I started here. He bantered with every guest, rolling his eyes at the craft cocktail requests and occasionally shooting Zaden a look that said, "You deal with this."
The whole night, I stayed locked in that rhythm, mind barely on the work. My thoughts spun around the way Bryce had hugged me at the door, how normal he’d looked in a mass of wolf children, how his magic hadn’t so much as flickered when he joined the kickball game in Ethan's backyard.
At eight-thirty, there was a lull. Half the tables had cleared out to smoke or to gossip on the patio, the other half were eating slowly, content to let their drinks carry them to closing. I was restocking straws at the service station when Zaden appeared at my elbow.
"You want to split a shot?" he asked daringly.
I grinned, still holding the box of straws. "You know I’m working."
He shrugged, the easy confidence making him seem both older and younger at the same time. "We make our own rules here."
He poured two, quick and clean, then clinked his glass to mine. "To surviving another Friday."
I downed it, the whiskey burning off the edge of a day spent in my own head. "You got a minute?" he asked.
"Let me check the floor." I did a quick scan. Kenneth had the main bar under control, and Angel was refilling the ranch dressing at the salad station, which meant she’d be out of commission for at least five minutes. I nodded to Zaden, and we ducked into the supply room, which doubled as the employee lounge.
He perched on a crate of lime seltzer and patted the spot next to him. "I’ve been thinking."
"Always dangerous," I said, but the nerves in my belly had already started up.
He turned serious, just a shade. "You know, you don’t have to do this anymore."
It took a second to process. "Do what? Work here?"
He nodded. "I mean, if you want to, that’s great. But you don’t have to. You could do whatever you want. Stay home, go back to school, take up art, run for mayor?—"
I snorted. "What are you talking about?"
He leaned in, dropped his voice. "You’re family now. What's mine is yours. And the bar? The apartment? The house, the land, all the stuff you don’t even know about? It’s yours. Not as in ‘I’m being generous,’ but as in, you’re a Beck now. And the Becks take care of their own."
The weight of it almost made me drop the box. "Is this about money?"
He shrugged again, but there was a gentleness to it. "Kind of. I know you’ve been living on a razor’s edge since Bryce was born. I know you’ve been taking the bar shifts because the tips are better, and you can still get him from school at three. You don’t have to do it anymore. Not unless you just want to." He ducked his head. "Money's not a problem. I don't reallyhaveto own the bar. I just enjoy it. Ashton doesn'thaveto be a vet. It brings him satisfaction."
The words bounced around my brain. I opened my mouth, then closed it, then tried again. "What would I even do? I don’t know how to not work."
He smiled, small and proud. "Then work here but do it for you. Or work somewhere else. Or don’t. It’s not a debt. There’s enough to float the whole clan for a thousand years, even if you never lifted a finger."
I felt the truth of it, but I didn’t want to believe it. "You’re serious."
