"We are," Jax said. "Emotionally."
Mateo had returned to the group, looking more relaxed than he had all game. "Bumpers are a kindness."
Dante lifted his coffee in a small salute. "Accept the assistance, Blackwood."
Killian stared at the bumpers. At the group. At April, who was definitely failing to hide her smile now.
"Fine.”
Killian bowled again. The ball bounced off one bumper, careened across the lane, bounced off the other bumper, and somehow knocked down six pins.
The room burst into cheers.
"THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!" Caleb said.
"Bumper king," Jax added.
Killian looked at the pins. At the bumpers. At the ridiculous display of celebration happening behind him. Then he smiled for a second before his expression returned to that controlled corporate calm.
But April saw it. And from the way Jiro's hand squeezed her shoulder gently, he'd seen it too.
"Last round," Arthur announced eventually.
April stepped up to lane two, the non-bumper lane, for what everyone seemed to agree was the ceremonial final roll.
She bowled.
Strike.
The reaction was immediate. Caleb practically bounced over and kissed the side of her head. "Knew you had it in you," he said proudly. Jax slow-clapped, Mateo looked quietly proud,and Dante said, "That's my girl," soft enough that April almost missed it.
Almost.
They migrated toward the seating area, energy shifting from active to comfortable. Caleb was still narrating highlight reels. Jax had given up on the controls. Mateo's shoulders were loose.
April sank onto one of the benches, still warm from laughing, and Liam settled beside her without a word.
"You good?" he asked quietly.
"So good," she said, bumping his shoulder with hers.
"Movie?" Mateo asked, already gently herding people toward the door.
TWENTY SEVEN
Game Night
April
The next room made April suspect Killian had reviewed the concept of “living room” and rejected it as inadequate.
The center of the room was dominated by what could only be described as a pit: modular sections arranged in a crater formation, all plush fabric and excessive cushioning that looked less like furniture and more like a commitment to never sitting upright again.
A massive coffee table sat in front of it, scaled to match. Along the walls were foosball and a pool table, vintage arcade cabinets tucked between shelves of board games that could have stocked a small library.
Jax stopped just inside the doorway. Mateo appeared beside him.
They both stared at the couch situation.
