Chapter 23
By the time the music starts, I’ve already made three separate attempts to avoid the whole thing.
The first was practical.
Lexi’s bedtime.
The second was polite.
I’m tired.
The third was the truth dressed up just enough to pass.
Crowds still make me nervous.
Unfortunately for me, the women in this clubhouse are not easily discouraged.
Emma leans against my doorframe with the kind of calm certainty I’m starting to realize is her default setting, one arm folded under the other while she watches me braid Lexi’s hair for bed.
Mac is beside her, grinning like she already knows exactly how this conversation ends.
Kya sits cross-legged on the chair in the corner, Jason half asleep against her shoulder while Gio and Amy argue quietly in the hall about whether a fort counts as a “sleepover structure” if blankets are involved.
Casey is somewhere nearby because I can hear her bossing someone around with the confidence of a child who’s never once doubted she’s right.
“It’s not a big thing,” Emma says.
“That’s exactly what people say right before it becomes a big thing,” I mutter.
Mac laughs. “It’s music, drinks, people dancing badly, and at least three brothers who are going to embarrass themselves before the night’s over. You’re not exactly walking into a war zone.”
I tie off the braid and smooth a hand over Lexi’s head. She tips her face up to me, blinking sleepily, Bunny already clutched under one arm in clear preparation for bed. “Can I sleep in Amy’s room?” she asks.
Amy, hearing her name from the hall, appears in the doorway. “She can. Casey too. We’re doing a movie.”
Emma glances at me. “See? Built-in supervision.”
“Built-in corruption,” I say.
Amy grins. “We’re gonna watch the good movies.”
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”
Gio, from somewhere behind her, says, “If they pick the princess one again, I’m sleeping in the other room.”
Casey’s voice floats in immediately after. “No one asked.”
It’s chaos.
Warm, familiar chaos, even though I’m still not sure how anything here can feel familiar so quickly.
Lexi turns in my lap and gives me a look that’s far too hopeful for a three-year-old who should absolutely know better than to weaponize her face against me. “Please?”
That’s unfair. Completely unfair. Also effective.
I look at Emma. “You’re all doing this on purpose.”
“Obviously,” Mac says.
Emma’s mouth curves slightly. “The kids will be fine. Amy and Casey take babysitting very seriously. Gio will complain, but he’ll still help. Jason’s already asleep half the time anyway. And you,” she points a finger gently in my direction, “are leaving this room for at least an hour.”
“I don’t need—”
“Yes you do,” she corrects.
I close my mouth. Because the truth is, I do. That’s the irritating part.
I do need a minute.
A little breathing room. A little distance from my own head. A little time where I’m not measuring every sound and every exit and every possible thing that could go wrong before it happens.
I hate how much I want that. I hate even more that these women can see it.
Kya shifts Jason a little higher on her shoulder. “Come sit with us. Have one drink. If you hate it, you go back to your room and no one says another word.”
“One drink?” Mac repeats, offended. “That’s not how any of this works.”
“It is if we want her to actually come.”
Mac considers that, then sighs dramatically. “Fine. One drink to start.”
Lexi is still looking at me.
Amy and Casey are waiting.
Emma looks completely certain I’m going to cave.
And maybe I’m more tired than I realize, because instead of saying no again, I hear myself say, “One drink.”
The women light up like they just won something. Which, apparently, they did.
Lexi cheers softly, then throws both arms around my neck. “You can have fun,” she whispers, like she’s granting permission.
I laugh before I can stop it and hug her back tightly enough to make my chest ache. “Thank you, baby.”
She wriggles free and holds Bunny up to me. “He says have fun too.”
“Very generous of him.”
Amy takes Lexi’s hand. Casey appears at her shoulder a second later carrying a stack of pillows like she’s planning for a natural disaster instead of a movie night. Gio trails behind them already looking resigned. Jason remains asleep on Kya’s shoulder, entirely unbothered by any of it.
The girls disappear down the hall with Lexi in tow, Bunny bouncing against her side, and for one brief, painful moment I just stand there listening to the little echo of her laughter as it fades.
Then the room goes quiet around me. Too quiet.
Emma notices immediately. “You can still change your mind,” she says.
I look toward the hallway where Lexi vanished. “No.”
“Good.”
Mac claps her hands once. “Then let’s make you look less like you’re attending your own arraignment.”
I would protest, but I’m outnumbered and, more dangerously, a small part of me is curious what slightly normal might feel like after everything else.
That’s how I end up half an hour later in a pair of jeans that fit better than the ones I traveled in, a soft black top Emma pressed into my hands after declaring my current shirt “criminally depressing,” and a little more mascara than I would’ve chosen on my own because Mac refused to let me leave the room without it.
Not a lot. Just enough to make me look like I slept more than I did.
My hair is down. Long, dark, impossible to ignore.
For one strange second, standing in front of the small mirror before we head downstairs, I almost don’t recognize the woman looking back.
Not because she looks dramatically different.
Because she looks like someone who might still belong to herself.
That thought sits in my chest as I walk toward the main room.
The clubhouse tonight is loud in the best possible way.
Music rolls through the common room, bass low and steady under the scrape of boots and the clink of bottles.
Someone’s dragged a couple tables back to make more space, which means there’s dancing near the center of the room, though dancing might be generous for what at least two of the brothers are doing.
Laughter rises and falls in waves. The bar is busy.
The couches are full. Men in cuts and women in property jackets or jeans and fitted tops move through the room like they’ve been doing this together forever.
It should feel overwhelming. Instead, it feels…normal. Not my normal. Not anything I would’ve called normal a year ago. But a version of it I can understand.
A living room, just louder. A family gathering, just rougher around the edges. The women fold me into it without ceremony.
I barely make it fully into the common room before another woman steps in from the hallway and changes the energy around the group.
She’s beautiful in a sharp, dangerous kind of way, all dark eyes, confidence, and attitude that feels less effortless than hard-earned.
She’s wearing fitted jeans, boots, and a black tank that shows off ink and muscle in equal measure, and the way she carries herself reminds me immediately of the men here.
Not because she’s trying to imitate them. Because she doesn’t have to. She belongs in this world in a way that’s written all over her.
Her gaze lands on me and stays there for one beat too long. Assessing.
Not hostile. Not friendly either. Just…skeptical.
Mac, of course, notices immediately and grins like she’s been waiting for this. “Oh good,” she says. “Perfect timing.”
The woman lifts one dark brow. “For what?”
Emma gestures between us. “Raven, this is Shaina.”
The name clicks instantly. Logan’s sister. I should’ve known. She has that same kind of presence. That same unmistakable edge that says she’s not someone people push around and live to enjoy it.
Shaina crosses her arms loosely over her chest and gives me one slow once-over that somehow feels more intimidating than half the men in this building. “So,” she says. “You’re the mystery woman.”
I blink once, caught off guard by how blunt she is.
Mac snorts into her drink.
Emma, who is clearly used to this, doesn’t even react.
Kya just mutters, “Jesus Christ,” under her breath.
I try not to smile. Try and fail. “I think ‘mystery’ gives me too much credit,” I say.
One corner of Shaina’s mouth twitches. Not a smile exactly. More like she’s mildly annoyed that she doesn’t hate my answer. “That depends,” she says. “You dangerous?”
The question is so dry I can’t immediately tell how serious she is.
I settle on honesty. “Not unless someone gives me a reason.”
That gets me my first real reaction.
Shaina’s expression shifts just slightly, something like approval flickering under all that skepticism. “Alright,” she says. “Fair enough.”
Emma nudges her shoulder. “Be nice.”
“I am being nice.”
Mac barks out a laugh. “No, you’re being you.”
Shaina looks completely unbothered by that. “Which is nicer than she’ll get if someone pisses me off.”
That, weirdly enough, makes me like her immediately. Because it doesn’t feel fake. Doesn’t feel performative.
She isn’t pretending to be sweeter than she is for my benefit, and after too many years of carefully managed social masks and forced charm, I find that strangely comforting.
Kya lifts her bottle toward Shaina. “You’re just in time. We were about to corrupt Raven.”
“Good,” Shaina says without hesitation. “She looks too tense.”
I open my mouth to defend myself. Then shut it. Because…fair.
Mac steps toward the bar and grabs another bottle, handing it off like this is now officially a ceremony. “Then you know what to do.”
Shaina takes the bottle and turns toward me with the kind of expression that says I’m about to be initiated into something ridiculous and non-negotiable.
I glance at Emma.
She’s smiling. That should concern me.
“Do I need to be worried?” I ask.
“Yes,” Mac says.
“No,” Emma says at the exact same time.
Kya grins into her drink. “Probably.”
Shaina lifts her bottle.
Every woman around me does the same. And for one brief second, I feel something shift in the air again.