Chapter Twenty-Eight-Ryan
Evie’s voice boomed through the firehouse like a damn freight train in heels.
She’d clearly used some kind of megaphone spell, and it worked like a charm.
The whole party—every cackling Witch, every beer-chugging Shifter, every pointy-hatted Warlock and furry-tailed Fae—paused mid-bite or mid-boogie to turn toward the makeshift stage set up near Engine Two.
I couldn’t be mad though.
All of this was for her.
My sweet Donny.
And yeah, maybe her actual birthday wasn’t for another couple of hours, but you’d never guess it by the way Castor’s Corner showed up.
The firehouse was packed to the rafters.
Streamers spelled out her name in floating cursive.
There was glitter in the air and confetti on the floor and a suspiciously lifelike cardboard cutout of Donny wielding a blow dryer like a sword near the buffet table.
She looked mortified.
But I thought she looked like magic.
I took a slow breath, in and out.
Not because I was incensed—but because my chest felt so full, it might just crack open.
This town had a way of wrapping you up and holding you close, and watching them celebrate my Witch—because yeah, she was mine, even if she hadn’t admitted it yet—made my damn throat tight.
Like I’d swallowed an entire cinnamon stick. Sideways.
The music kicked back up, and just like that, the conga line exploded.
“Everybody do the conga!” blared through the speakers, and Witches, Warlocks, Shifters, and even two Domovyks with glow sticks got in formation.
I lost track of how many times we circled the firehouse. The place had like six stories—don’t ask me why—and I swear we hit every single level. My legs didn’t care.
My Bear was too busy watching the way Donny’s hips moved to remember we were supposed to be acting cool.
Eventually, I peeled off from the group and found a quiet spot against the cool cement wall next to one of the big red fire trucks.
The engine gleamed, polished to perfection.
It was familiar. Solid.
Kind of like how I wanted to be for her.
I spotted her a second later.
She looked dazzling and out of place all at once, like a celestial being stuck on Earth with nothing but sass and heels to protect her.
Blonde hair glowing in the string lights.
Mouth twitching like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to smile or hex someone.
I grabbed two cold beers from a passing cooler cart—yes, that was a thing here—and made my way to her like gravity demanded it.
“Thirsty?” I asked, stepping up behind her just as she paused near the firetruck.
She gasped and clutched her chest like I’d startled her. I hadn’t meant to, but I wasn’t sorry either.
Not when her eyes landed on mine like I was the anchor she didn’t realize she needed.
She took the beer with a mumbled “thank you,” and our fingers brushed.
Just that tiny touch sent a pulse of heat racing up my arm.
She blinked fast, then looked away, like she wasn’t sure what to do with what just passed between us.
But I knew.
I’d known since the first time she looked at me with those hazel eyes that flickered like mood rings and called me a Grizzly-sized pain in the ass.
I was hers. Fully. Completely.
And I was ready to wait for her to figure that out.
“What’s up, Honey?” I asked gently. “You’ve been trying to find the right words all night.”
She stiffened.
She hadn’t told anyone yet.
I could see it in the way her shoulders tensed, like she was carrying too much and pretending it wasn’t crushing her.
But I’d seen the signs.
Her pacing. Her distracted smile.
The way her magic sparked in bursts when she thought no one was looking.
“You don’t have to say it all now,” I added, softer. “But whatever it is, I’ll help you, Donatella. Any way I can.”
That made her look at me. Really look.
The air between us shifted.
Something ancient. Something holy.
She opened her mouth, closed it, then nodded.
A deep breath lifted her chest, and I could almost hear the click of something inside her falling into place.
“Right,” she said finally, her voice low but clear. “Maybe it’s time I started trusting myself. And the people who’ve shown up for me.”
Her gaze lingered on me for a second longer than I thought I could bear without kissing her, then drifted to where Evie and Bella were dancing near the DJ booth.
“They’re my ride-or-dies,” she said. “Always have been. But you and the guys, you didn’t mean to come here. And you didn’t have to stay.”
I smiled. “Yeah, we did.”
She snorted.
“Stubborn Bear.”
“Maybe. Or maybe fate’s got better aim than you think.”
That got me a laugh.
A real one.
And I’d take it.
Because I knew—whatever storm was coming, whatever darkness she was carrying—it didn’t scare me. Not one bit.
I was here for it.
For her.
Even if she never said the words, I’d be the anchor. The fireproof wall. The growly Shifter with snacks and strength and shoulders wide enough to carry whatever the hell she needed.
Because Donatella Andrews didn’t just belong to Castor’s Corner.
She belonged to me.
And it was time she realized that.