30. Rowan
CHAPTER THIRTY
Rowan
The tie around my neck feels like a damn noose, but the steak in front of me is perfectly cooked, so I can’t complain too much. I cut through the tender meat with a satisfying slice and chew slowly, half-listening to the chaos happening around me.
It’s our first real date. Like, an actual date, not an injury checkup, not a “come over because we’re idiots and set something on fire again” kind of night.
This is a table-for-four situation. Candlelight. Fancy clothes. Real silverware. A white tablecloth that Bruno’s already spilled something on. But it’s ours.
And Jinx? She’s actually here. With us. Looking like sin in black eyeliner and a spiked choker, laughing like she’s not sure if this is a terrible idea or the best one she’s had in a long time.
“I can’t believe I let y’all talk me into this,” she says, poking suspiciously at her salad like it might bite back. “You know I haven’t eaten anything green voluntarily since 2023.”
“You’re doing amazing, sweetie,” Thomas says, raising his glass in her direction and nearly elbowing a passing waiter. “Look at you! Fancy and leafy.”
She glares, but it’s the kind that curls at the corners with amusement. “I wore heels for you lunatics. My feet are actively staging a rebellion.”
“You wore heels,” I say, a little dazed, “and that dress. Jinx. That dress .”
She raises a brow. “I bought it off a goth Instagram boutique during a two a.m. scroll. Zero regrets.”
Bruno sets down his glass with a clink and leans in, all warm eyes and low voice. “You look beautiful.”
Jinx actually blushes, which sends Thomas into a fit of celebratory finger guns.
“Oh my god,” she mutters, fanning herself with the menu. “You’re lucky I like you. All of you. Even when you act like golden retrievers in suits.”
“I’m not a retriever,” Thomas protests, full of whiskey and dramatics. “I’m a majestic, semi-responsible wolf. Or like, a very jacked meerkat.”
“You’re a disaster,” Jinx says fondly, and I watch her face soften in that way it does when she’s fighting not to fall harder.
I keep thinking about that sign she held up at the game. WILL YOU GO ON A DATE WITH ME? Everyone else saw it as a joke. A cute moment for social media. But I knew what it really was.
Jinx, lowering her walls just enough to let us in. Letting me see her. All of her.
Thomas is across from me, demolishing a pile of cheesy potato something while throwing back whiskey like it’s juice. His hair’s a mess, his shirt’s wrinkled, and somehow he still looks like the guy you’d want to be stuck on a desert island with, if only because he’d make you laugh until you forgot you were starving.
Bruno’s on a mission to get us all drunk on what he’s calling “cultural enlightenment.” He’s already forced a round of shots on the table, something with fire in it, I think, and now he’s passionately arguing with Thomas about whiskey versus vodka, waving his hands around like a lunatic professor.
“Whiskey has depth,” Thomas insists, stabbing the air with a fork. “Vodka is just sad water for people afraid of taste.”
“Vodka is refined!” Bruno argues, grinning like a man who’s way too proud of being Eastern European. “It’s clean. Elegant. Like me.”
“You just chug it because you’re immune to shame,” Thomas fires back.
Jinx is trying not to laugh, but she’s losing. Her lip quirks, and then she’s full-on giggling, head tilted, eyes sparkling.
I lean over toward her, nudging her shoulder. “You actually having fun, or just putting up with us because you have to…you know, since you made the dramatic sign and everything?”
She looks at me, amusement dancing in her eyes. “I am,” she says. “But I really can’t take them out in public again. They’re like two drunk philosophers arguing about fermented potatoes.”
I chuckle, watching her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You sure you’re not the one who can’t handle them?”
She laughs again, a bright, clean sound that cuts through the noise of the restaurant. “Oh, I can handle them. I just don’t want to be the one explaining to the waiter why Thomas is trying to climb the wine rack.”
“I only did that one time,” Thomas interjects loudly from across the table. “And that was because I thought the bottle of Bordeaux was a trophy. Honest mistake.”
Jinx gives him a deadpan look. “It was nailed to the wall.”
“Didn’t stop me.” He grins, then turns back to Bruno. “Vodka still sucks.”
Jinx turns back to me, shaking her head fondly. “I’ve learned to pick my battles. Let them burn each other down. I’ll step in before there’s actual blood.”
I watch her as she speaks, how her voice softens just a bit when she looks at the guys, like maybe she’s not just putting up with us. Like maybe we’re her chaos.
Her mess. Her people.
“You’re the voice of reason in this group, huh?” I ask.
She shrugs, eyes flicking up to mine. “Someone’s gotta keep you all from getting arrested.”
I smirk. “And that someone’s you?”
“Clearly.”
There’s a beat, and I can feel it hanging between us. That almost-something. That maybe-something.
I want to reach across and take her hand, but I don’t. Not yet.
Instead, I say, “I’m glad you came tonight.”
Her gaze lingers on mine longer than usual. “Me too.”
And just like that, the weight in my chest lifts a little.
Across the table, Bruno slams his hand down dramatically. “Final verdict: vodka is the superior pre-fight drink. You can’t throw a good punch on bourbon.”
“Who’s fighting?” Jinx asks, sipping from her weird green drink with a curled straw.
“Me and Thomas,” Bruno says, dead serious. “In the parking lot after dessert. Loser pays the bill.”
“You’re both paying the bill,” I say flatly.
Jinx leans in toward me again, voice low. “See what I mean? I can’t take them anywhere.”
I nod solemnly. “I see that now.”
“But…” she adds, almost like an afterthought, “I kinda like it. Us. This.”
My heart stutters a little. Not in a panicked way. More like something’s locking into place.
“Well,” I say, leaning just a bit closer, “here’s hoping we survive the rest of our first date.”
She grins, and for the first time in what feels like forever, it’s not a mask or a shield. It’s just… Jinx.
And it’s everything.
I watch her watching us. Not in that guarded, distant way she used to, like she was calculating escape routes. This is different. She’s present, grounded. With us .
So I ask, softly, leaning in like it’s just the two of us at this table even though it’s definitely not, “What changed your mind about staying?”
She tilts her head, and before she answers, she leans in and kisses me—soft and quick, but enough to leave my brain spinning like I just took a punch straight to the soul.
Her hand brushes my jaw as she pulls back, and damn if I don’t want to chase her mouth right back to mine.
“I missed you guys,” she says, simple as that. “It just took me a while to realize that’s what I was feeling.”
That lands somewhere deep in my chest. Because same .
But then…
“Hey!” Bruno cuts in, feigning offense. “No kissing without us! I thought this was a group date.”
Jinx rolls her eyes, but she’s laughing as she turns toward him. “Oh my god, you’re such a drama queen.”
“ International drama queen, thank you,” Bruno corrects, chin lifted like he’s about to demand a crown.
She reaches over, grabs his shirt collar, and kisses him right on the mouth, fast and unapologetic. He freezes for half a second, then immediately fist pumps the air like a five-year-old who just won a carnival game.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” He grins.
Thomas leans back in his chair with a lazy smirk. “So what, I gotta stage a protest to get mine?”
Jinx just shakes her head and leans over the table, planting one right on him too, her fingers curling lightly around the back of his neck. He leans into it, eyes fluttering closed for just a second, before pulling back with a crooked grin.
“Worth the wait,” he says, licking his bottom lip like he’s trying to make the moment last longer.
She settles back in her seat, the corners of her mouth tugged up in that mischievous, slightly smug smile I’ve missed the hell out of. “There. Everybody happy?”
I can’t help the grin spreading across my face. “Not yet. But we’re getting there.”
Thomas raises his glass. “To overdue first dates.”
Bruno clinks his against it. “And spontaneous make outs.”
I raise mine too, locking eyes with Jinx. “And to figuring it out. One disaster at a time.”
She lifts her weird green drink with a smirk, her pinky out like she’s pretending to be classy. “Cheers, boys.”
Thomas is already half-melted into his chair, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy with that soft, silly warmth he gets when he’s more whiskey than blood. He leans forward, planting his elbows on the table like this is the most serious discussion of his life.
“Hey, Jinx,” he says, blinking hard to keep her in focus. “Can I… can I please, please help name the baby? I’ve got some really good ones. Like… like Jupiter. Or Banjo.”
I tense, fork pausing halfway to my mouth.
This was the thing. The fight. The wall she built. The one that told us we were the side story, not the main plot.
I brace for her to shut it down again, for her to pull away and remind us, remind me , that she gets final say. Her body, her life, her baby.
But instead, she laughs.
Not that brittle, dodging laugh she used to give when things got too real. No, this is a real one. Loud. Bright. Unapologetic.
She rolls her eyes at Thomas like he’s a particularly chaotic golden retriever and shrugs.
“Didn’t we already talk about this?” she says with a grin. “We could all pick a name and vote on it… or throw them in a hat and let fate decide. That sound fair?”
Thomas fist pumps again. “ Yes . Hat names. Best idea ever.”
Bruno, who’s been sipping something neon and definitely dangerous, immediately adds, “Okay, but I’m vetoing anything that sounds like a pasta.”
Jinx points her fork at him. “No promises.”
I just sit there, the laughter bouncing around me like white noise, and try to swallow past the knot in my throat. It’s not sadness. Not exactly. It’s just…relief.
Overwhelming, tidal-wave relief that makes my ribs feel like they’re expanding too far for my skin.
I lean over, keeping my voice low so it’s just for her.
“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it. “For letting us be a part of it. Of you .”
She looks at me, and for a moment, the noise of the restaurant fades. Her smile softens, and there’s something in her eyes—affection, maybe, or understanding—that I haven’t seen there in a long time.
“I realized a little too late,” she says quietly, “that I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
That hits hard. She means it. I can feel it in her voice, in the way her hand finds my thigh under the table and gives a small squeeze.
Then she shifts, straightening a little. “Also…” she says, raising her glass again like she’s making a toast. “Heads up. I went to the doctor.”
Bruno instantly sits up straighter. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s great,” she says with a grin. “So great, in fact, that I found out…”
She lets the pause hang just long enough to get dramatic.
“I’m having twins.”
There’s a moment of stunned silence, like all three of us are trying to do the math and failing, and then the table erupts.
“ Twins ?” Thomas yells, eyes going wide. “We get two babies?”
Bruno whoops, practically falling out of his chair in excitement. “We’re gonna need so many more hats!”
I’m laughing, but there’s something tight in my chest too, something so full of awe and disbelief that I can barely speak.
Two. Two lives. Two chances to be the kind of man I’ve never been before someone who shows up, who stays, who gives a damn even when it’s hard.
They all lean in, pressing kisses to her cheeks, her hands, her forehead. Bruno kisses her temple, and Thomas plants one right on her nose, making her scrunch it up with a giggle.
I lean over last, brushing my lips to hers, slow, careful, reverent, because this feels bigger than us. It feels like the start of something monumental.
When I pull back, I rest my forehead against hers, eyes closed.
“Twins,” I whisper, and she nods.
“Twins,” she repeats.
I reach for her hand under the table and squeeze, trying to keep from floating clean off this planet with how full I feel. With how much this is.
She squeezes back. That’s all it takes.
After dessert, some ridiculous flaming chocolate thing Thomas declared “a tastebud baptism,” we stumble out into the cool night, still buzzing with laughter and sugar and too much alcohol.
Jinx loops her arm through mine, heels clicking against the pavement. Bruno and Thomas trail behind, debating baby name themes again. Thomas is insisting on space names. Bruno is still stuck on “no pasta.”
Jinx tugs my arm gently. “Hey. Let’s walk a bit?”
I nod, and the four of us drift away from the restaurant’s lights and into the quieter streets, the night stretching wide around us. Eventually, we find a patch of open sky behind the park. No streetlamps. Just stars. And us.
“God,” Jinx murmurs, tilting her head back. “I forgot how clear it gets out here.”
“Want a blanket?” Bruno offers, already pulling one from the trunk of the car like he knew this would happen. Jinx flashes him a grateful smile.
We settle onto the grass, her between me and Bruno, Thomas stretched out dramatically like he’s waiting for the universe to notice him.
“There’s Lyra,” Jinx says after a minute, pointing upward. “Right there, with Vega. That one’s easy to spot.”
Bruno hums, his voice quiet and thoughtful. “The harp. For music and love.”
“Damn right,” Thomas says, flopping over to rest his head on Jinx’s stomach. “Lyra’s romantic as hell.”
“Orion,” I say, pointing to the hunter. “Classic. Hard to miss.”
Jinx leans into my shoulder, her voice soft. “Mom used to show me constellations when I couldn’t sleep. Said the stars were stories people left behind so we wouldn’t forget them.”
I glance at her. “What story do you want to leave behind?”
She’s quiet for a long moment, eyes still on the sky.
“Something messy,” she finally says. “But good. Something real. With chaos and sharp edges and way too much love.”
Thomas groans dramatically. “Put that on my tombstone.”
Bruno chuckles. “Here lies Thomas Boyd: Chaos. Sharp edges. Too much love.”
“Shut up,” Jinx mutters, but she’s smiling.