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“She’s right, you know,” Evie’s voice cuts through, calm and sure, like a steady heartbeat in the silence.

I turn slowly, surprised to find Evie standing in the kitchen doorway, the soft morning light casting a gentle glow around her. One hand rests lightly on her swollen belly, the unmistakable sign of new life growing within her.

“Take it from a bitch who knows,” she says quietly, “sometimes chosen family is the only family that matters.”

Her words press down on me, heavy and urgent. I want to apologize—for the jealousy I buried deep inside, for letting her glimpse the raw, aching part of me I hide from the world. I want to shrink away, afraid of how exposed I feel in this moment.

Evie won’t let me pull away. She comes over and gently strokes my hair with that unique tenderness only she knows how to give.

“It’s okay to feel whatever you’re feeling, whenever you are feeling it, especially about this,” she says, nodding toward her swollen belly. “Anger, jealousy—it’s all damn normal, Lou. But what’s not okay is carrying that pain alone. We’re here to share the heavy stuff, remember?”

Her words wrap around me like a shield, softening the weight I’ve been trying to bear by myself. It’s the same thing I said to her not so long ago.

“It’s not okay! You’ve been through so much…” I admit, my voice low and laced with shame.

Evie looks at me with that steady, unyielding gaze, her eyes sharp and glassy with unshed emotion, and shakes her head slowly. “And guess what? I’m not made of fucking glass, Lou. I’ve been sick worrying about you—because you’re my family.” Her voice tightens at the edges, raw with truth. “When I moved here, I had no one until you. Pregnant with the twins, scared out of my damn mind, and you were there every step of the way.”

She swallows hard, and I can almost feel the warmth of those moments—her hand gripping mine in the sterile chill of exam rooms, the sticky vinyl seats, the sharp scent of antiseptic clinging to our clothes. “You never missed a single doctor’s appointment. You held my hand through every ultrasound, through every sleepless night when I thought I couldn’t do it. Hell,” she lets out a breathless laugh, “you even scrubbed in the day they were born. I remember the way your fingers shook when you held them for the first time—like you couldn’t believe they were real. You put Charlie and Bash first despite your silent suffering.”

Her hand tightens around mine—a fierce, grounding grip that steadies me. “You showed up for me when I needed you most. That’s family. Not blood, not DNA—just showing up.” She pauses, eyes shining with something fierce and tender all at once.

“You know how lucky I am that I got to choose my family? Because I’d fucking choose you, Joe, and Vic every single time, and bitch your just as lucky because you chose us.”

I pull her close, wrapping my arms around her, and press my head gently against her swollen belly. “I love you.”

She smiles, a playful glint in her eyes. “I love you too. Now, tell me—why was my husband whistling happy as a clam over owing you a twenty dollar bill and a box of Whoppers?”

Chapter Twenty-Five

SHE BETTER NOT HAVE MY BABY ON THE FLOOR

HENRY

“Where’s Louis?”

“Aunt Joe’s,” I say without turning, the bacon crackling as I press it flat with the spatula.

I feel his eyes on my back, heavy and knowing. “I’ve seen that sketch before,” he mutters, voice low.

He means the one of Mama on the steps—sunlight in her hair, a daisy behind her ear laughing at the way Merc had tried and failed miserably to braid Soph's hair.

“Yeah,” I say. “Lou drew it.”

When I turn, the question’s already waiting on his face. “How many did she draw?”

I meet his gaze, steady. “Just the ones that matter.”

The ones of our family. The way she saw us when we couldn’t see ourselves. Quiet moments, broken smiles, the truth of who we were—etched in pencil and love, like she was trying to hold us all together on paper when everything else was falling apart.

I didn’t want to press her last night—not after everything. Lou’s built like iron but cracks like glass if you hit her just right. Her mama showing up out of the blue? That was a fucking hammer.

I did my best to put that worthless woman far from my mind and hers. My nerves were shot, but I kept it on lock because Lou didn’t need more fire. She needed quiet. She needed care.

Maybe I’d pushed her too far, told her fuck a safeword, crossed a line I swore I never would. But I watched her—watched the way her body yielded, not in fear, but in relief. Her breath stuttered, her thighs trembling, the way her fingers curled onto the hood of the car holding on for dear life and letting go at the same damn time. If she hadn’t wanted it, hadn’t needed it—I wouldn’t have touched her.

Hell, I’d rather take a rusty fork to my left nut than hurt her.

I ran her bath, let the citrus soak she loved rise in the air while I went to say goodnight to Mama. When I came back, Lou was standing there—still, small in the hallway light. Her eyes were red-rimmed, lashes clumped with tears she hadn’t wiped away. Her face looked hollowed out and somehow softer than I’d seen it in weeks, hell maybe years. Like heartbreak and relief were sitting side by side.