“Witnesses to what?” Cal asks innocently, looking around the bar. “I didn’t see anything. Did anyone see anything?”
A chorus of denial ripples through the crowd. Heads shake. Shoulders shrug. Not a single phone in sight.
“Must’ve fallen down drunk,” someone calls out.
“Happens all the time,” another voice adds.
The bar erupts into cheers as the door slams behind Micah, people raising their glasses and shouting Sutton’s name. She looks momentarily stunned by the support, her eyeswide as she takes in the crowd of strangers rallying around her.
I move to her side, careful not to crowd her, giving her the space to feel this moment fully. “You okay?” I ask, keeping my voice low enough that only she can hear me.
She looks up at me, her dark eyes shining with unshed tears, but they’re not tears of fear or pain. There’s something else there. Something that looks a lot like…freedom.
“I’ve never been better,” she says, and the smile that breaks across her face is genuine as it lights up the room. “I’ve waited nine years to say those words to him,” she says, her voice steady and strong.
I flex my hand, knuckles already starting to swell, but the pain is nothing compared to the pride blooming in my chest watching her. This is what it looks like when someone reclaims their power, when they face down their demons and walk away whole.
“I’m so fucking proud of you.”
Sutton wraps her arms around me, and I pull her close, feeling her body trembling against mine. Not from fear, I realize, but from adrenaline. The kind that comes with finally feeling the win you deserve more than anything.
“Thank you,” she whispers against my chest.
I shake my head. “You did that all on your own. I just provided the finale.”
“The finale was my favorite part,” she says, leaning back to look at my hand. “Does it hurt?”
“Not even a little.”
Cal appears with a tray of shots, sliding them onto the nearest table. “On the house,” he announces, nodding at Sutton with unmistakable pride.
The team crowds around us, a protective circle of brotherhood that now includes Sutton. Jake raises his glass, beersloshing over the rim. “To Sutton Price, the baddest bitch in Portland!”
“To Sutton!” the toast rings out through the bar.
Her cheeks flush with color as she looks around at all these people—my teammates, my brothers, strangers—celebrating her victory. I can see the moment it hits her, the realization that she’s not alone anymore. That she has an entire army behind her now.
A whole family of people who love her.
She leans into me, her body warm against mine despite the chill that swept in when Micah entered. I press my lips to her temple, breathing in the scent of her—vanilla and something uniquely her—as the celebration swirls around us.
“I feel like I can breathe,” she whispers against my chest. “Really breathe for the first time in years.”
I run my hand up her back, feeling the tension that’s always been there slowly dissolving beneath my touch. “You were incredible.”
“Wewere incredible,” she corrects, pulling back to look at my bruising knuckles. “Though I’m pretty sure that’s going to hurt tomorrow.”
“Worth it,” I tell her, flexing my fingers. The pain is already setting in, a dull throb that I welcome. Small price to pay for what we just accomplished together.
The team is still celebrating around us, recounting each blow with increasing embellishment. They each take a minute to give Sutton a hug and a high-five and then they’re spreading out and talking with strangers in the bar schmoozing, taking pictures, and signing autographs. If there’s one thing this team knows how to do, it’s have each other’s backs at all times and tonight they have mine and Sutton’s one thousand percent.
“Your girl’s got more balls than most of the defensive line,” Sebastian says, appearing at my side with an ice pack. Hepresses it against my knuckles without asking, his medical instincts kicking in.
“She’s amazing, isn’t she?” I say, watching Sutton across the room as she accepts another round of congratulations from a group of regular customers. The pride swelling in my chest feels almost painful, like my heart’s grown three sizes in the last hour.
“Amazing doesn’t cover it,” Sebastian replies, adjusting the ice pack on my knuckles. “I’ve been in emergency rooms with trauma patients who showed less courage than she just did.”
I wince as the cold seeps into my bruised skin. “Worth every bit of pain.”
