"Get him out of here." I tell one of our guys, and Ronaldo practically runs for the door. Then I'm left with just Stellan and the unconscious body between us.
"That was efficient." Stellan says, crouching down to check Tommy's pulse.
"I'm motivated." I flex my hand, wincing at the sting. My knuckles are going to be bruised tomorrow. Zola will notice. She always notices, even when I try to hide it.
"Motivated to get home to your girls." Stellan stands, pulling out his phone to make another call. "You're getting domestic in your old age."
"I'm thirty-one."
"Ancient." But he's almost smiling, that rare crack in his usual cold demeanor. "Go wash your hands. You've got blood under your nails."
I head to the industrial sink in the corner, scrubbing my hands under water that runs rusty before clearing. The blood swirls down the drain and I focus on getting every trace of it gone. Can't go home to Maeve smelling like violence.
"I've been thinking we should throw a dinner party." The words come out before I've fully thought them through.
Stellan looks up from his phone. "We?"
"Zola and me." I dry my hands on my jeans, turning to face him. "Invite people over. Make it a thing."
"A thing." He repeats slowly, like I'm speaking another language.
"Yeah." I'm working through it as I talk, the idea crystallizing. "Last time—when we were together before—we stayed in this bubble. Just us. Didn't integrate our lives, didn'tlet people in. Made it easy for her to think she could walk away without destroying anything."
Stellan's quiet for a moment, considering. "You think that's why she left? Because you kept things separate?"
"I think it's part of it." I lean against the wall, exhaustion settling into my bones now that the adrenaline's fading. "She thought she was saving me from having to choose. But if our lives had been more tangled, if everyone we knew was connected... maybe she would've seen how impossible that was."
"So you want to tangle things now." Stellan pockets his phone. "Make it harder for her to run."
"I want her to see what I'm trying to build." I correct. "A life. Not just stolen moments but something real. Where her friends know me, where my people know her, where Maeve has a family that extends beyond just the three of us."
"Four." Stellan says it quietly.
"What?"
"Four of us." He meets my eyes. "I'm not going anywhere either."
Something warm settles in my chest. "Yeah. Four of us."
"It's not a bad idea." He finally says. "Dinner party. You cook, I'll tolerate people, Zola can see that you're serious about this."
"You'll bring someone?"
"Jamie, probably." He shrugs. "I don't do dates, but I can't be the odd man out. Besides, someone needs to make sure you don't poison anyone with your ambitious menu planning, and he always helps me keep you in line."
"Fuck off." But I'm grinning now, energy returning. "I'm a good cook."
"You're an adequate cook who thinks he's good because one woman used to compliment your pasta."
"She loved my pasta."
"She loved you." Stellan corrects, and there's something almost gentle in his expression. "Still does, even if she hasn't said it yet."
I know. I can see it in how she looks at me, how she lets me stay, how she's stopped flinching away from the wordfamilywhen I use it. But hearing her say it—that's going to be different. That's going to mean she's stopped protecting herself from me.
"Come on." Stellan heads toward the door. "I'll drop you at your car. You need to get home before Zola wakes up and wonders where you are."
We're almost to the exit when I remember Tommy, still unconscious on the concrete. "What about?—"
