“I feel like I should apologize,” she says, eyes bright. “I didn’t know I was walking into a medieval situation.”
Jax beams. “Oh, don’t worry. We’re thrilled. Truly. The group chat has been feral.”
Devon leans in, dramatic hand to his chest. “Cam told us he got married. And to keep it on the down low. But I never imagined that you would be who he brought as his wife.”
“If you saywifeone more time, I’m leaving,” I mutter.
Lila glances at me, amused. “The paperwork is very clear about terminology.”
The table loses it.
Devon pounds the wood. “SHE’S FUNNY.”
Jax points at me like he’s cracked a code. “You see? This is why. This is how she got past the walls.”
I guide Lila toward the open seats, subtly angling myself between her and the loudest voices without making it obvious. She notices anyway. I can tell by the way her shoulders ease once she’s seated, once the noise has a shape and a perimeter.
I take the chair beside her. Close, but not touching.
The skyline stretches behind us, lights blinking like the city is winking at its own reflection. Plates are passed. Drinks appear.
Lila looks around the table, curiosity softening her expression. “So,” she says lightly, “how long have you all been planning to interrogate me?”
Hunter smiles. It’s small, but genuine. “We were aiming for casual curiosity.”
“That’s a lie,” Devon says. “We’re nosy.”
“Professionally nosy,” Jax adds.
Lila nods solemnly. “I see.”
The banter rolls on, easy and loud and familiar. Jax tells a story about my rookie year that I categorically deny. Devon embellishes it anyway. Hunter listens more than he talks, asking Lila thoughtful questions about touring, writing music, and balancing creativity with pressure.
She leans in when someone speaks. Teases Devon when he gets dramatic. Laughs again—covers her mouth again—and every time she does, something tight inside me loosens.
This feels… right.
At one point, Jax leans back, studying us with a grin that’s softened around the edges. “You know,” he says, “I’ve never seen Cam bring anyone around. Not since his last girlfriend.”
The table quiets. Just a little.
Lila glances at me. Not asking. Just checking.
I shrug. “It could be because they scare people.”
“True,” Devon agrees. “We’re a lot.”
Lila smiles. “I’ve done stadium tours. I think I can handle dinner.”
Jax lifts his glass. “To Lila. For surviving the first fifteen minutes.”
Everyone cheers.
I don’t lift my glass right away. I’m watching her instead. The way she fits here. The way she isn’t shrinking. The way she isn’t armor-plated, either.
She belongs at this table.
Not in a trying-too-hard way. Not in a performance. She just… engages. Asks questions. Listens. Laughs at the right moments and the wrong ones. Calls Devon out when he exaggerates, which is often. Teases Jax about his inability to tell a story without becoming the hero.
