Chapter 6
six
Two days later, Elliot stepped off the elevator onto the seventh floor of the brownstone, darkness enveloping him.
He paused, one hand instinctively moving toward the concealed weapon at his hip.
Davey had texted him to meet in the common room for a final briefing on Antarctica, but the pitch-black space ahead set off every internal alarm he’d honed through years of field work.
No lights. No sound. Not even the low hum of the TV that Dom usually left on as background noise.
He took a cautious step forward, his boot creaking on the old hardwood floor. “Davey?”
The lights blazed on with blinding suddenness, and a chorus of voices shouted, “Surprise!”
Elliot flinched, hand tightening on his weapon before his brain caught up with his reflexes. The top-floor common room of the brownstone, the space he shared with his brothers, was packed with people. His people. Family.
“Happy birthday, you paranoid bastard!” Dom’s laugh boomed across the room as he strode forward, throwing an arm around Elliot’s shoulders. “Man, you should see your face right now. Did you actually reach for your gun? At your own surprise party?”
Elliot blinked, his brain struggling to shift gears from tactical assessment to.
.. this. A crooked banner hung across the far wall, the words “Happy 30th Birthday, Elliot” painted in what looked like Mom’s handwriting.
Streamers dangled from the ceiling in haphazard loops, and the dining table groaned under platters of food—proper food, not takeout.
The familiar, comforting smell of his mother’s pot roast filled the air.
“You all...” He trailed off, taking in the sea of grinning faces.
Davey and Rowan stood by the bar, his brother’s arm draped casually around her waist. Griffin lounged against the wall, looking faintly irritated.
Daphne and Fiona were by the windows, champagne flutes in hand.
His parents, his aunts and uncles, cousins, and friends he hadn’t seen in weeks because of work—they were all here.
And then he saw her.
Rue stood near the kitchen, a party hat perched at a jaunty angle on her honey-gold hair, holding what appeared to be a homemade cake. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she caught his gaze and mouthed, “Gotcha.”
“You were in on this?” he asked, unable to keep the betrayal from his voice as she approached.
“Duh.” She rolled her eyes, the motion so quintessentially Rue that it made his chest tighten. “Who do you think kept you distracted with all those ‘urgent’ questions about your gear while they set this up? You’re welcome, by the way.”
Of course. The random texts all afternoon: What type of thermals was he packing? Did he have ice climbing gear? Was he planning to bring a weapon because she needed to make sure… blah, blah, blah. With so many texts and requests, she’d delayed him from leaving the office by an hour.
“You’re devious.”
“Strategic,” she corrected with a grin. “Now come on, birthday boy. People are waiting to celebrate you.”
Before he could respond, his mother appeared, wrapping him in a hug that smelled of home—that raspberry perfume she’d worn since he was a kid. “There’s my boy,” she said, pulling back to look at him. “Thirty years old. When did that happen?”
“Last I checked, that’s how time works, Mom,” he said, but he was smiling despite himself. The tension in his shoulders began to ease as she patted his cheek.
“Don’t get smart with me, Elliot Harlan,” she warned, but her eyes were warm. “Now come eat. I made all your favorites.”
The next few minutes dissolved into a blur of hugs, backslaps, and birthday wishes as family members approached in waves.
His father’s rib-crushing, back-slapping hug.
His uncle Greer’s solemn nod conveyed more than words ever could.
Dom’s boisterous toast had everyone laughing.
Jean-Sabin Cavalier’s exaggerated bow as he presented a wrapped package with “Try not to shoot yourself with it” scrawled across the top.
Through it all, he kept finding his gaze drawn back to Rue, who moved through his family gathering with remarkable ease. She laughed at one of his aunt’s stories, helped his mother bring out more food, and good-naturedly endured Dom’s teasing about the “engagement.”
“She fits in,” Davey said quietly, appearing at Elliot’s side with two beers. He handed one over, following Elliot’s gaze to where Rue was now arguing playfully with his cousin Weston over the cake.
“Yeah,” Elliot agreed, taking a long pull from the bottle. “She does.”
Davey studied him for a moment. “You know, when Rowan suggested inviting her, I thought it might be weird. Given the circumstances.”
“The circumstances being that we’re pretending to be engaged for a potentially deadly mission to Antarctica?”
“That, and the fact that you’ve been half in love with her for months.”
Elliot choked on his beer. “I’m not?—”
“Save it.” Davey shook his head, amusement softening his features. “I’ve seen how you look at her. It’s the same way I looked at Rowan before I admitted how I felt.”
“It’s not like that,” Elliot insisted, but the words sounded hollow even to his own ears.
“Sure it’s not.” Davey clapped him on the shoulder. “Just be careful, E. Missions and feelings... they don’t always mix well.”
Before Elliot could respond, Rue appeared with a slice of cake, saving him from having to lie to his brother’s face.
“Birthday cake,” she announced, presenting it with a flourish. “I made it myself.”
Elliot raised an eyebrow, taking the plate. “You bake?”
“God, no.” She laughed. “But I supervised while your mom made it, which is basically the same thing. And I decorated.”
The chocolate cake had what appeared to be an attempt at a penguin in the frosting. “Antarctica-themed,” she explained, following his gaze. “Least I could do, since you’re spending your birthday on a frozen hellscape with me instead of here with them.”
The thoughtfulness of it—of all of this—hit him with unexpected force. He’d been so focused on the mission, on protecting her, on Praetorian and Frost and what waited for them in Antarctica, that he hadn’t given his birthday any thought at all.
But they had. She had.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, meeting her eyes.
Her expression softened, the teasing light in her eyes replaced by genuine warmth. “You’re welcome, El.”
For a moment, they just stood there, the chaos of the party fading around them. Then Dom’s voice broke the spell, calling for everyone’s attention for “the most embarrassing Elliot stories we can legally share in mixed company.”
Rue’s grin returned, bright and wicked. “Oh, I have to hear this,” she said, already turning toward the gathering crowd.
Elliot watched her go, something loosening in his chest. For tonight, at least, he could let himself enjoy this—the warmth of family, the comfort of home, and the sight of Rue Bristow fitting into his life like she’d always been meant to be there.