“A problem.”
“Same thing,” Axel muttered.
Dakota elbowed him. Bryson almost smiled.
“Good to meet everyone.” He headed for the door, but not before I caught the tension in his shoulders. The way his thumb hovered over his phone, like he was fighting whether to respond to something.
Whatever was waiting for Bryson Lockwood, it wasn’t just work.
We watched him retreat toward the exit, shoulders tight, phone already pressed to his ear.
“Well”—Tessa raised her glass—“I’d say that man needs a romantic intervention.”
“Good luck,” Jace said dryly.
The women exchanged a look that made me deeply suspicious they were already plotting his downfall.
Rainbow chose that moment to waddle over, depositing a mangled, headless rubber chicken directly onto Axel’s expensive shoes.
She sat back, one ear flopped inside out, clearly expecting praise.
“Jesus Christ,” Axel muttered. But he bent down and scratched behind her ears anyway.
Ryker’s eyebrows shot up. “I thought you hated that dog.”
“I don’t hate her. I just have … aesthetic concerns.”
“You bought her three beds last month,” Dakota said.
Axel went red. “There was a sale.”
“And the squeaky toys?”
“She needed enrichment.”
“And the hand-knitted sweater?”
“An Etsy ad attacked me.” Axel muttered something under his breath, and I let out what might’ve been a laugh.
Rainbow released a fart that cleared a three-foot radius.
“Andthat,” Axel said, standing abruptly, “is why I have concerns.”
But his hand lingered on her head for just a moment longer than necessary.
Harper shifted closer, her warmth bleeding through my shirt. Her green eyes found mine, and I saw it all there. The fear she’d conquered. The walls she’d let me behind. The future she’d chosen to build with a man the world said she should run from.
She didn’t run.
She stayed.
“This calls for a toast,” Blake said.
I lifted my glass.
“To freedom,” I said. And I meant it in ways that had nothing to do with prison.
“To happiness,” Faith added.
