Page 5

We all lose it. Laughter spills across the yard, warm and real.

Evie tosses him a wink, and Maddox mutters something under his breath, that broody storm cloud expression stamped across his face like he’s still trying to figure out what the hell just happened—and absolutely not loving being the center of attention.

He gently sets Charlie down off his shoulders, then lifts Bash and plants him on the ground like he’s made of glass, even though the kid immediately takes off like a loose cannon.

Evie gives the boys a small nod, and in a blink, they’re gone—racing full speed toward the treehouse we built them for their birthday. Their shouts and laughter echo behind them, but Maddox doesn’t move, just watches them go with that unreadable look on his face, jaw tight, hands flexing at his sides like he’s trying to hold something in—or maybe hold on to something.

I watch as Evie slips her hand into Maddox’s, her fingers gently curling around his like she’s pulling him into the warmth of the moment. “I know you’re not one for a lot of flair,” she says softly, her voice soothing. “And I know you despise being the center of attention, but your mama and Aunt Joe worked so hard. They turned our ragtag little backyard into something beautiful.”

And beautiful it is. Fairy lights twinkle across the yard, wrapping trees and draping from the porch like fallen stars. Baby’s breath decorates tables and garlands, giving the space a dreamy, secret garden feel where new beginnings bloom.

Mama has kept Aunt Joe busy since the wedding, unofficially appointing her as co-planner for every Thunder Ridge event—dinners, parties, and now this baby shower. Not that Aunt Joe minds. Between helping Mama and hanging around The Wild Whisk, she is always on the move—and that’s just how she likes it.

“I also know you’ve been dead set on not knowing the sex of this baby,” Evie says, her voice softer now, like she’s peeling back something delicate and doesn’t want to break it.

She reaches for Maddox’s hand, places it gently on her belly, and just like that, something shifts.

His hand doesn’t move at first. Just rests there, wide and still, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to touch something so full of hope.

That one quiet gesture does something to me. My chest pulls tight. Like the breath I’ve been holding since last year is suddenly pressing against my ribs, asking to be felt.

Then Mama’s hand finds mine. Strong. Familiar. Her fingers curl around mine and squeeze—not just to comfort me, but to hold me here, in this moment I want to disappear from and hold on to in equal measure.

Evie keeps going. “Not because you’re waiting to find out, but because a small part of you is afraid to finally know…”

God. That lands too close. Because I get it—every damn word.

When you’ve lost things you can’t name, when you’ve had the floor ripped out from under you, knowing something for sure—letting yourself hope—feels like standing on thin ice, listening for cracks.

And my ice?

She’s five foot nine, all attitude and bite, a walking contradiction who kisses like she means it and glares like she doesn’t. A smokeshow with a temper and a mouth that makes me want to start fights and end them the same damn way.

She acts like she hates me. Yet, she never looks away.

And that’s the part that scares me—because if she ever did…I think I’d go right through the ice.

I look at Maddox, and I see the weight of it on his face. The way he’s bracing without moving. Like knowing this baby, really knowing, might be the final undoing or the first real piece of peace.

Standing here, Mama's hand in mine, watching the way Evie leans into him like she’s never once doubted he’d carry this—I realize how damn much I want something like that too.

“But we promised each other, no more living in fear, big guy,” Evie says, her voice a quiet whisper, almost as if the words are meant just for him. She softly traces the scar along Maddox’s lip, her touch gentle and tender, like she’s memorizing the map of him.

I can’t help but feel like an intruder in this moment—watching them, standing on the outside of something so raw, so intimate. But Evie knows, better than anyone, that as much as Maddox denies it, he craves these moments. He wants to be surrounded by his family, especially when it matters most. Even if he doesn’t admit it, even if he’s always the one pulling away, he’s never more himself than when he’s here, in the middle of the chaos, with all of us close.

“W-wait. Do you…” Maddox’s voice cracks, hoarse and barely a whisper. I fucking swear I just saw Mercy swipe a stray tear from his eye, and for a split second, I can feel the weight of the moment press down on all of us.

A gentle weight settles against my side, and I turn to see Sophie, her eyes glistening, giving me a watery smile before she leans her head against my shoulder.

“Vic!” Evie calls, her voice steady, but there’s a hint of something in it—anticipation, maybe.

A sound that could wake the dead comes from the treehouse, followed by a brilliant explosion of pink that rains down on us.

Pink fucking confetti.

The sight of it makes my heart stutter, that sharp mix of joy and raw emotion hitting me all at once. I look over at Mama, and I see her bite down hard on her fist, trying to hold back the sob that’s threatening to break free, but it does no good.

I watch my brother, his eyes never leaving Evie, and the fear in them is almost palpable. There’s tenderness, yes, but it’s shadowed by something deeper—a quiet terror.