Chapter 29 #2
The women are still watching me, though. All of them.
Emma’s leaning against the kitchen archway with Raven beside her, Lexi tucked against Joker’s side nearby while Cain helps Amy open a juice box at the table.
Emma catches my eye first. And because she’s Emma, because she has somehow mastered the art of saying a thousand things without embarrassing the life out of anyone, she just smiles. Not smug. Not nosy. Warm. Happy.
Raven notices the look and glances between me and Jimmy once before her mouth curves too.
Lexi, because she is three and has absolutely no tact, points at us and says loudly, “Uncle Jimmy’s holding Aunt Allie, like you and Mom do.”
The room goes silent for exactly one second.
Then Joker mutters, “Thanks, baby girl.”
Lexi beams. “You’re welcome.”
I laugh despite myself, and the sound shakes something loose in my chest that had been clenched tight all day.
Because there’s no hiding now. Not from this room. Not from this family. Not from myself. And strangely enough, the second it becomes obvious to everyone, it stops feeling so impossible.
It just feels real.
Dinner gets called before anyone can turn this into a full-blown intervention.
Which is lucky, because I’m pretty sure Kya is about thirty seconds away from demanding a detailed timeline and I genuinely do not have the emotional strength for that conversation with my father in the room.
The dining room and kitchen spill into each other the way they always do on nights like this, every available surface covered in food, drinks, napkins, and enough bodies moving in and out of the space to make the whole place feel alive.
Normally, I float.
I help where I’m needed, bounce between groups, fill drinks, carry plates, smooth over little things.
Tonight, I don’t.
Because every time I start to drift, Jimmy’s hand finds me again. At my waist. At the small of my back. Brushing my fingers when he passes me a plate. Steadying me when somebody nearly clips my shoulder in the kitchen.
Not possessive in a way that makes me feel handled.
Intentional. Public. Like he’s saying it without words every chance he gets.
She’s with me.
It’s the kind of thing I’ve wanted from him for so long I almost don’t know how to receive it without immediately looking for the catch.
But there isn’t one.
Not tonight. Not in the way he keeps looking at me like he still can’t quite believe I’m here.
Not in the way he doesn’t let himself drift too far even when Logan pulls him aside twice for club questions and Cain drags him into a quick side conversation by the fridge.
Not in the way he comes right back every single time like that’s just where he belongs now.
At my side.
I should probably be cooler about that. Unfortunately, I am not.
At one point, while I’m helping Aunt Lucy carry bowls from the counter to the table, she bumps my hip lightly with hers and says, “You okay, baby?”
The question is gentle enough to make my throat tighten immediately.
Because Aunt Lucy has known me my whole life. Because she’s been Aunt Lucy for so long that some part of me still wants to curl up against her side and let her fix things with one look and a plate of food. And maybe because she’s Jimmy’s mom, and suddenly that feels…huge.
“I think so,” I say honestly.
Aunt Lucy smiles softly. “That’s a very brave answer.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “I’m trying.”
“I know.”
She pauses, then adds, lower now, “For what it’s worth, I’ve wanted to shake some sense into that boy for years.”
I blink at her. “You knew?”
Aunt Lucy gives me a look that says I have eyes and raised him, don’t insult me. “I know my son,” she says dryly. “And I know the difference between a man who doesn’t notice and a man who’s trying very hard not to.”
That sends a hot, embarrassed flush straight through me. “Oh.”
“Mm-hmm.”
I risk a glance toward Jimmy across the room where he’s talking to Uncle Whip and Cain, one hand still curled around the neck of a beer, his eyes cutting toward me every few seconds like he’s checking I haven’t vanished.
My stomach flips.
Aunt Lucy catches it. And because apparently I haven’t suffered enough tonight, she smiles and says, “Yeah. Exactly.”
I make a strangled noise and keep moving before she can say anything else.
Dinner itself is…chaos. Warm, loud, crowded chaos.
The kind where nobody sits exactly where they intended to because chairs get moved and kids get shifted and somebody always ends up half perched on an armrest or balancing a plate on their knees because there are too many people and not enough space.
And somehow, despite all that, Jimmy still makes sure I end up beside him.
Not in a big, obvious drag-the-chair-over kind of way. Just quietly. Naturally. Like it’s already understood.
That should not make me feel as ridiculously soft as it does.
Across from us, Kya notices immediately and actually has to press her lips together to keep from saying something. She fails about four seconds later.
“So,” she says brightly, shoving a forkful of potatoes into her mouth first like basic manners might somehow make what comes next less invasive, “are we all just pretending this isn’t the most entertaining dinner we’ve had in months?”
Dom doesn’t even look up from cutting her chicken into smaller pieces she absolutely did not ask him to cut. “No.”
Mac takes a bite of pasta and says, “I’m not pretending anything. I’m having a great time.”
Brooke is openly glowing now. “Me too.”
Carter mutters, “That is deeply concerning.”
Brooke pats his arm. “You’re just upset because your dramatic moment got overshadowed.”
“It did not get overshadowed.”
Kya snorts. “Baby, she came downstairs with Jimmy Baker’s hand on her ass. It absolutely got overshadowed.”
I choke on my drink.
Jimmy nearly spits out his beer.
Across the table, Landon slowly closes his eyes.
Dom rolls his eyes as he says, “Kya.”
Kya blinks at him. “What? It was near her ass.”
“It was on her hip,” Jimmy says immediately.
The room goes dead quiet.
Every eye swings to him. He freezes. Realizes what he just did. And beside me, I can physically feel the heat rolling off him as regret hits.
Shaina is the first one to break. She starts laughing so hard Shadow has to take her drink before she spills it.
Ana folds in half.
Brooke makes this strangled, delighted sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a squeal.
Even Emma has to bite back a smile.
Mac just lifts one brow and says, “Bold choice, defending the exact coordinates.”
I am never recovering from this. Never.
Jimmy drags a hand down his face and mutters, “I hate all of you.”
“No, you don’t,” Uncle Whip says cheerfully.
“No, he really doesn’t,” Aunt Lucy agrees.
And somehow, against all logic, the laughter in the room doesn’t feel humiliating.
It feels…good.
Like this isn’t a trial. Like this isn’t us getting dragged under a microscope to be picked apart.
It’s family reacting to the obvious finally becoming official.
That’s different. That matters.
Still, not everyone in the room is relaxed.
My dad hasn’t said much since dinner started, and I know him well enough to know that silence means he’s thinking.
Landon’s been quieter too. Not angry. Not hostile.
Just watching.
Watching Jimmy. Watching me. Watching the shape of this settle into place in real time and deciding what he thinks of it.
My mom doesn’t say much at first, but every time I glance her way, she’s watching Jimmy with the kind of steady, protective look only a mother can manage without saying a word.
Eventually, after Carter gets up to refill Brooke’s lemonade and Logan disappears for the third time to get Mac “the right kind of ranch,” Dad leans back in his chair and looks straight at Jimmy.
The room doesn’t go silent exactly. But it quiets. Enough.
“You planning on saying something?” my dad asks.
My heart stutters.
Beside me, Jimmy sets his fork down. No hesitation. No visible nerves. Just that same steady certainty he’s been carrying all night. He reaches for my hand under the table first.
Then he brings it up where everyone can see.
And suddenly I can’t breathe. Not because I’m scared. Because this is real. Because there is no walking this back after this. No pretending it was implied. No leaving room for interpretation.
Jimmy’s thumb brushes over my knuckles once before he looks at my dad, then Landon, then the rest of the room. “Yeah,” he says. “I am.”
Nobody interrupts him. Not even Kya. That alone feels like divine intervention.
Jimmy’s hand tightens around mine just slightly. Then he says, calm and clear, “Me and Allie are together.”
The words hit the room like a bell.
Not loud. Not dramatic. But final in a way that settles deep.
He doesn’t stop there.
And thank God, because if he had, I might’ve actually thrown up.
“I’m claiming her,” he says. “And I should’ve done it a long damn time ago.”
I stop breathing entirely.
When Jimmy says he’s claiming me and should’ve done it a long damn time ago, My mom’s mouth tightens like she’s holding back about six different emotions at once.
Then she looks at me instead of him, and the softness in her eyes nearly undoes me.
Across the table, Brooke’s hand flies to her chest again.
Mac mutters, “Jesus,” under her breath, but there’s no edge to it.
Kya just looks like she’s trying not to levitate from pure satisfaction.
Ana and Shaina both go full smug.
Shadow actually looks proud, which is deeply annoying.
Uncle Whip leans back in his chair with a look that’s half approval and half about fucking time.
Aunt Lucy presses her lips together, eyes suspiciously bright.
And my father…my father just watches.
Jimmy keeps going. He looks at Dad directly and says, “I know I should’ve stepped up sooner.”
That one lands hard enough to make my throat tighten.
Because he’s saying it here. In front of everybody. No hiding. No private version of accountability that never has to survive daylight.
“I’m not asking you to just be fine with it because I’m me,” Jimmy says. “I’m telling you I’m serious about your daughter. And I’m not going to make her doubt that again.”
Silence. Real silence this time.
Then Mac, because she is apparently incapable of letting men have too much dramatic tension in a single room, says, “Okay, well, if anyone cries, do it quickly. My back hurts.”
The room erupts.
Laughter. Groans.
Carter muttering, “Thank Christ.”
Dom dropping his head onto Kya’s shoulder like he survived a natural disaster.
Logan laughing into his drink while Mac glares at him for no reason except pregnancy apparently gives you the legal right to do that.
Even my father cracks a smile.
And just like that, the pressure breaks.
Not entirely. But enough. Enough for the room to breathe again.
Enough for me to look at Jimmy and see the way he’s still watching me even now, like none of this mattered half as much as making sure I’m okay in it.
Enough for me to realize this is really happening.
My father finally leans back in his chair and says, “You hurt her, I’ll bury you in a place your mama can’t find.”
It isn’t exactly a defense, but it isn’t not one either, and the look she gives Jimmy says she’s still deciding what he’s earned.
Aunt Lucy immediately says, “Torch.”
Uncle Whip mutters, “That feels aggressive.”
“It’s meant to.”
Mom scolds him, “Torch.”
“What? He should know.”
My mom sets her glass down and says, calm but pointed, “He knows now.”
Jimmy, because apparently he has finally developed some survival instinct, nods once and says, “Understood.”
Landon adds, “I’ll help.”
That gets another wave of laughter.
I should probably be horrified. Instead, I’m weirdly emotional. Because this is what love looks like here. Not polished. Not quiet. Not always particularly healthy in delivery.
But real.
Protective. Messy. Loud. Deep.
And somehow, with Jimmy’s hand still wrapped around mine and his leg pressed against mine under the table, I feel steadier in the middle of it than I have in years.
When dinner breaks into smaller conversations and people start moving around again, my mom catches my hand as I pass behind her chair.
She doesn’t stop me, just squeezes once and says quietly, “You all right, baby?”
I nod, and whatever she sees in my face makes hers soften.
“Okay,” she says, just as quietly. “That’s all I needed.”
Later, after dinner spills into drinks and dessert and people breaking off into smaller groups again, I end up out on the back porch for a few minutes just to breathe.
The air is cooler now, the sky darkening, the yard full of low conversation and laughter and bikes lined in the fading light.
Inside, I can still hear the noise of everyone moving through the house. The life of it. The family of it.
The door opens behind me, and I don’t even have to turn to know it’s him.
Jimmy steps up beside me, close enough that our shoulders brush. “You disappearing on me?”
I smile a little. “Needed a second.”
“You okay?”
There’s that question again. That same steady, grounding one.
I look over at him. At the man I’ve wanted for so long I started to think maybe wanting him was just supposed to hurt forever.
At the man who stood in front of everyone tonight and made it clear exactly where I stand.
At the man who still has a thousand chances to screw this up and somehow, for the first time, doesn’t feel like he’s going to.
And I nod. “Yeah,” I say softly. “I really am.”
His hand finds mine in the dark. Simple. Certain. Warm.
Then he lifts it, presses a kiss to my knuckles, and says, “Good.”
I look back out over the yard, over the bikes and the brothers and the life I’ve always known, and something in me settles all the way down for the first time.
Because there’s no going back now. Not after tonight. Not after this.
I’m his. And finally he’s mine too.
And everyone knows it.