“You’re lonely,” Regan said.
“I own cattle.”
“That is not companionship.”
“One bull has more personality than half the men in this room.”
River, passing with a beer, said, “Rude but fair.”
Cal pointed at him. “Don’t encourage them.”
I laughed into my cider.
Dylan’s hand found the small of my back.
Not possessive in the old way. Not claiming territory in a room full of men who could kill him for breathing wrong near me. Just there. Warm. Steady. A reminder.
I leaned into it without thinking.
That was new too.
Not wanting him.
I had wanted him for years.
Trusting the want.
Letting my body answer without fear immediately dragging shame behind it.
Dylan had moved slowly with me after the house. Not because the heat between us had cooled. If anything, finally having permission made it worse. Better. Both. But the first time we made love in the bungalow had changed something. It had taken the longing out of the shadows and put it somewhere real. After that, there was no more almost. No more stealing. No more pretending desire was proof we were doomed.
We were not doomed.
We were just late.
And late, I had learned, was not the same as lost.
His construction business had grown faster than even Callum expected. The legitimate arm of the San Diego chapter now had crews, contracts, inspections, actual accountants, and Nate wearing a hard hat once because he claimed it made him look “approachably rugged.” Dylan spent his days rebuilding houses and came home with sawdust on his boots, pencil marks on his hands, and a tired smile that still found me first. I worked surgical shifts in San Diego, learned new doctors, new rhythms, new hallways. I had my apartment still, because I was stubborn and Dylan loved me enough not to rush. But more and more of my life had migrated to the bungalow. A sweater in the bedroom chair. My favorite mug in the cabinet. Spare scrubs in the laundry. A stack of books on the nightstand. The mother-of-pearl cuff on my wrist more days than not.
The house no longer felt like a question.
It felt like an answer waiting for me to stop being afraid of saying yes.
“Destiny.”
I turned.
Edge stood beside me.
My father had softened over the last year in ways most people would never notice. His voice was still rough. His eyes still missed nothing. He still looked at Dylan like he was one mistake away from being buried behind Cal’s barn. But when he touched my shoulder now, it was gentler than it used to be, like he had finally accepted I was no longer something he could shield from every hard thing.
“Walk with me,” he said.
My stomach tightened automatically.
Dylan straightened.
Edge looked at him. “Not you.”
