I narrowed my eyes further.
He'd slip up eventually.
They always did.
Mom's pie—pumpkinandapple, because she'd been makin' Calvin's favorite since July and showed no signs of stoppin'—bought the table another forty minutes of easy conversation. Chase had seconds. John had thirds, and when Hank gave him a look, John told him to mind his own goddamn business, which made Calvin snort into her wine.
After dessert, the table broke apart the way tables do. Mom started on dishes despite everyone's protests. Chase and Rhett drifted toward the back porch to look out the sliding glass doors at Montana in all her glory. Luke helped Mom because he was the good son, a fact he communicated to me with a single raised eyebrow as I sat on my ass doin' nothin'.
I was about to haul myself up and at least pretend to be useful when I noticed Calvin and Elena had drifted to the far end of the living room. They were standin' by the window, wine in hand, talkin' low. Elena's back was to me, but I could see Calvin's face.
She was listenin'. Really listenin'—not with the polite impatience she gave most people, but with the particular stillness she reserved for things that mattered. Her expression was open in a way I rarely saw directed at anyone who wasn't me or John or Cat. Whatever Elena was sayin', it had found its way past the armor.
I didn't know the details of what they were talkin' about. Didn't need to. I knew enough about what Elena had survived—Rhett had told me, voice tight and careful, the kind of careful that meant he was holdin' back the urge to put his fist through somethin'. And I knew what Calvin had carried.
At some point, Calvin said somethin' that made Elena laugh—short and surprised, like she hadn't expected to. Calvin's mouth curved into that rare, unguarded smile, and Elena wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand before laughin' again.
When Calvin found me later, she didn't say a word about the conversation. Just squeezed my hand on her way past and kept movin'. Her eyes were a little red. I loved her so much it was hard to stand still.
The baby woke up around the time the coffee came out, and Elena brought her to the table. I'd already held her twice before dinner, and I was not above beggin' for a third. I reached out my arms before Elena had even fully sat down.
"May I?"
Elena laughed and handed her over. The baby was warm and impossibly small and smelled like baby shampoo, and when she wrapped her tiny fist around my finger I damn near short-circuited. I tucked her into the crook of my arm—the one that hadn't been dislocated by a psychopath—and rocked her gently.
Calvin was watchin' me from across the table with her nose scrunched up.
"Oh, come on." I bounced the baby gently, doin' my level best to pretend I knew a damn thing about carin' for a tiny human. "Don't you want a buncha little vipers slitherin' around?"
She took a slow sip of her wine. "Better start poppin' 'em out if we're gonna fill up all those barstools." She tipped her glass vaguely in the direction of town—ofourhouse, with its finished island in its finished kitchen in its finished whole ass house—finally. "I ain't gettin' any younger."
I went very still.
The baby squirmed in my arms and let out a little squeak that I barely registered because my brain was busy bufferin' like a video loadin' with a bad internet connection.
"You serious?"
She tilted her head. Gave me a look over the rim of her glass that was part flirt, part dare, and one hundred percent designed to make me lose my goddamn mind.
I looked at Rhett. He was already shakin' his head.
I looked at my mom. She was clutchin' her napkin to her chest with both hands, eyes wide and shiny.
I looked at Luke, who had stopped mid-sip and was watchin' the whole thing with quiet amusement.
I looked at John. The old man raised his water glass in my direction like a salute.
I looked back at Calvin.
She shrugged. That little half-shrug she did when she was pretendin' somethin' didn't matter when it mattered more than anything.
"Sorry, y'all." I stood, carefully transferrin' the baby to Elena. "We gotta go. Calvin wants me to put a baby in 'er."
"Brody!" Mom's shriek was loud enough to rattle the good plates loaded in the dishwasher.
Calvin was already on her feet, laughin' and backin' toward the door. "I did not say that?—"
I scooped her up and tossed her over my shoulder before she could finish the sentence. She let out a sound that was half scream, half cackle, her fists poundin' against my lower back without a shred of real effort behind 'em.
