Then I notice her.
Brooke sits on the hood.
Her legs are crossed at the ankles. One hand rests beside her on the metal while the fingers of her other hand drum lightly against the hood. The small rhythm echoes softly through the quiet night.
Her eyes stay on me the entire time.
She wears all black, but something about her tonight looks different. Her hair is pulled back away from her face, leaving her features bare. There is no makeup, no armor, no attempt to look like anything other than herself.
Just Brooke.
My gorgeous fucking wife.
I keep walking until I reach the front of the car. My hand slides up to her jaw and I lean in, pulling her toward me before she can say anything. My mouth presses against hers with a hunger that has nothing to do with violence and everything to do with the simple need to feel her there.
When I pull back, she cocks her head, half amused. “You know your sister’s gonna be pissed, right?”
“She’ll live,” I say as I unlock the car.
I move around to the passenger side first and pull the door open for Brooke. The interior light catches the ring on her finger as she slides in and shuts the door.
I circle around the front of the car and slide behind the wheel.
The leather seat creaks under my weight, familiar in a way that settles in my chest. My hands wrap around the steering wheel automatically, the worn grip fitting against my palms exactly the way it always has.
Beau climbs into the back a second later, dropping into the seat behind us while letting out a low whistle under his breath, as if we didn’t just reduce a man to ash.
I turn the key.
The Impala rumbles to life, the engine vibrating through the frame with a deep, steady growl that echoes through the quiet road.
I shift the car into drive and pull away from the curb, the tires crunching over gravel as we head toward the road that cuts through the trees. Theheadlights slice through the darkness ahead while the engine settles into a smooth rhythm beneath us.
A minute later Brooke reaches across the console. Her fingers slide into mine. I lace our hands together and rest them between us while steering with the other.
The road curves through the trees before the house finally comes into view. Soft light glows through the windows, warm and steady against the dark woods around it.
Before I even bring the Impala to a full stop in the driveway, the front door swings open.
Elise stands in the doorway, her mouth pulled tight in the same expression she always wears when she knows we were out doing something she probably doesn’t want to know about.
But tonight, she isn’t alone.
On her hip is a ten month old baby girl with wild dark curls and storm-gray eyes that cut straight through me every single time I look at her.
She squeals the second she sees us. Her whole body twists with excitement as she points at Brooke and me, little fingers grabbing at the air.
Our daughter.
Mila.
And just like that… everything I’d ever burned, buried, and bled for… is right there waiting.
Elise stands in the middle of the marble foyer barefoot. Her eyeliner wings stretch sharp and her entire presence carries the unmistakable energy of someone who has decided the night is already ruined.
“I told you I needed to be out of here twenty minutes ago,” she snaps while shifting Mila higher on her hip as my daughter squirms and whines for freedom.
Brooke raises both hands immediately. “I know. I know. I’m sorry. They were taking their time cleaning up.”
