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I wrestle him toward the SUV anyway, because what the hell else am I gonna do? And despite the bruises he’s trying to leave on my shins, I find myself smirking.

Because of course, today had to end with me dragging a stray firecracker out of the woods.

Chapter Ten

WAY TO YANK THE RUG FROM UNDER ME.

LOUISIANA

He didn’t show last night.

Not that I was looking…that hard for him.

But still, the man has shown up every night I’ve worked. Sometimes he wouldn’t say a damn word to me, sure he’d visit with the other customers, but I could feel his lingering gaze on me all fucking night. The way he’d undress me with his eyes slowly, that hazel gaze of his making me weak.

Looks-wise? He doesn’t just tick boxes—he demolishes them. Built like he is carved out of something solid, all thick muscle and broad shoulders. That kind of tall that makes you want to climb him just to see what the view’s like. Messy, sun-kissed hair, a jawline sharp enough to draw blood, and a mustache that has me begging to take for a few rides, but it isn’t just his body that sticks with me. It is the way he carries himself—steady, quiet, but with this coiled power just under the surface. Like he is holding back on purpose. Like if he ever lets loose, you’ll never walk straight again

And yet, he didn’t show last night. Not even a glance. It doesn’t sit right, and I hate that it bothers me, but I don’t have long to lay here and stew about it because my phone chimes with a text message from Maggie.

Family meeting. Wild Whisk in twenty minutes.

Family meeting?

Family meeting? That phrase hits like a fist. We aren’t the ‘sit down and talk’ type. Our family runs on fire and yelling, sudden calls that set your blood racing. So the knot in my stomach clenches hard, squeezing all the breath out of me.

I throw on clothes like a woman possessed, every motion sharp and frantic, driven by that twisting pit of dread curling in my gut. The unknown spreads like poison through my veins—the kind of weight that drags you under, makes your limbs heavy and your mind spin wild with questions.

Is everyone okay? Is it the baby?

I push myself harder, heart hammering, thoughts spinning too fast to catch. When I pull into The Wild Whisk, my breath is ragged, tires screaming as I slam the brakes. My hands shake so bad I have to grip the wheel tight to keep from losing it. Not wasting a second, I yank the door open and step inside, the air thick with a sharp, restless energy I can’t shake.

I need answers. Fast.

“Damn, mama. What’d you say to her?” Maddox’s deep voice cut through the chaos, grounding me like an anchor. His towering frame fills the doorway, blocking out everything else.

His brow is tight, eyes sharp, flicking over me like he is trying to read the storm raging beneath my skin.

“She texted me ‘family meeting,’” I say, voice low, clipped, rattled beneath the surface. Fighting to keep the panic from bleeding through. “We don’t fucking do family meetings, Maddy.”

His expression softens as he catches the subtle tremble I am fighting to hide.

“Everyone’s okay, Little Lou. I promise,” Maddox says, voice softer than usual, like he’s doing everything he can to steady me. His hand lands firm and warm on my shoulder, giving me a nod that somehow grounds the spinning inside me.

Maggie slips up beside me, fingers gentle as she tucks my hair behind my ears. “I’m sorry, baby. Everyone’s fine. Henry called and asked me to gather everyone as quickly as I could.”

She presses a soft kiss to my forehead, then guides me inside. The diner hits me like a wave—noise and laughter and the kind of chaos only family can make.

Mercy, Vic, and Lucien are draped across the booth by the window, sprawled like they own the place—smirks and sideways glances exchanged like inside jokes. Sophie and Aunt Joe stand behind the breakfast bar, clutching their coffee mugs like lifelines, eyes flicking between the door and their cups.

At the table near the bookshelf, Evie, Charlie, Bash, and Waylon lean in close, heads huddled like they’re sharing secrets meant for no one else. Allie and Mags perch on stools at the bar, mid-gossip, their whispered words sharp and quick.

“Mama, what’d you say to her? I need that for when she’s being a super bi⁠—”

I don’t wait for Mercy to finish. I storm over and thump him hard on the ear.

“Ouch! Mama!” he yelps, clutching his head like I just took a chunk of it.

Serves the little fucker right.