Chapter 47
Chapter Forty-Seven
Scottie
How to Survive the Crawfords
The second Jason and I step through the front doors of my dads’ house in Water Mill, the familiar scent of woodsmoke, marinara sauce, and fresh-baked cookies slams into me so hard I almost stumble. It smells like childhood, holidays, and safety—like home.
“Fuck, I forgot how big this property is,” Jason mutters, glancing around like he’s preparing for a survival mission.
“They’re going to kill me. No one will find my body.
Probably not until your great-grandkids start digging for treasure and hit a random bone.
‘Poor bastard,’ they’ll say. ‘Should’ve run faster. ’”
I laugh, bumping my shoulder against his. “Oh, poor baby. Scared of the big bad Crawford brothers? Relax. I won’t let them touch you. They’re afraid of me.”
Jason gives me a look that says he’s not entirely convinced but will fake it for survival points.
The giant entryway hums with life—someone shouting from the kitchen, the low rumble of the game on TV, Sarah barking her head off as she skitters across the slate floors after God knows what. Jason squeezes my hand once, quick and hard. I squeeze back just as hard, grounding us both.
We barely make it two steps before Leif’s voice booms across the living room, where half my brothers are already sprawled across couches and chairs, beers in hand, looking like they belong on the cover of some rugged family dynasty ad campaign.
“Well, well, well,” Leif drawls, flashing a shit-eating grin. “Look who decided to join the family again.”
“And she brought a plus one,” Killion pipes up, raising his beer like a salute. “Bold move.”
“Poor bastard,” Kade mutters, shaking his head with mock sympathy.
Jason just grins, unbothered, and tucks me a little closer under his arm, like he’s daring any of them to try to pry me away.
“Your fathers invited me,” he fires back, voice dry as hell. “Blame them.”
“Behave,” I warn them, shooting my best don’t-push-your-luck glare.
“Only because Dad said we had to be civilized,” Lucian says from an armchair, where Olivia is curled against him, looking unfairly cozy and smug.
Sarah immediately abandons her post by their feet and trots over to Jason, thoroughly sniffing his sneakers as if she’s deciding if he’s worth sharing her house with.
Papa and Dad are perched on the edge of the kitchen island, each with a glass of wine in hand. Dad lifts his glass in a silent toast, his smile small but real. Papa beams so brightly that something deep inside my chest unlocks.
“About time,” Papa says, voice warm and teasing enough to make Jason chuckle under his breath.
“Come eat,” Valentina calls from the dining room, where pizza boxes, wings, and giant bowls of chips cover the farmhouse table like a feast fit for a small army. “Before Sarah eats it all.”
Sarah wags her tail like she absolutely understands the assignment and immediately tries to nose into a pizza box.
“Oh, no, baby girl,” Lucian claps his hands. “You’re not eating any human food.”
She huffs at him and heads back to Olivia.
Jason leans closer, mouth brushing the shell of my ear, voice low and full of that cocky grin he wears too damn well. “Think they’ll still like me after I steal you?”
I smile up at him, heart too full, stomach already hurting from laughing too much.
“They never stood a chance.”
“You two, stop standing so close,” Leif protests. “We should send him out to the barnyard with Sarah.”
“She’s not going anywhere. She’s family,” Lucian says, deadpan. “Unlike some people.”
Jason flips him off casually, not missing a beat.
Cam snorts from the kitchen, where she’s stealing mozzarella sticks off a tray. “God, this is going to be fun.”
We grab a few plates and find a spot at the end of the big table, Jason’s hand never leaving my lower back. It’s like he’s setting a claim—not possessive, just steady. Constant.
Sitting here with everyone should feel overwhelming—loud, full of insults flying like dodgeballs, already halfway into a debate about whether Lucian’s dog could outrun Greyson in a race—but somehow, it doesn’t.
It feels like exhaling after forgetting how. We’re halfway through a greasy slice of pizza when the chirping officially begins.
“So,” Killion drawls, leaning in like he’s got a front-row seat to my public execution, elbows braced on the table. “How long have you been defiling our sister, Tate?”
I promptly inhale my soda the wrong way and erupt into a coughing fit, while Jason—an absolute fucking traitor—just grins like a jackass who’s enjoying every second of my demise.
“Long enough to know she can kick my ass if I piss her off,” he says smoothly, sliding his knee against mine under the table like he’s earned visitation rights to my sanity.
Kade lets out a low whistle. “Brave, dumb, or in love. Jury’s still out.”
Olivia, bless her, grins wide enough to show teeth. “My money’s on all three.”
Jason winks at her like she’s just handed him a trophy. “Smart girl.”
Meanwhile, Leif’s sitting back in his chair, arms crossed, sizing Jason up like he’s trying to decide if it’s worth burying a body tonight. There’s no smirk. No brotherly ribbing. Just this laser-focused stare that could strip paint off a wall.
“You serious about this?” Leif asks, voice cutting through the noise like a well-aimed dart.
The table falls silent. No, it’s not only the table. It’s the entire house, actually. It’s like someone pressed pause on the world. Jason doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even blink.
“Dead serious,” he says, voice rough and certain. “I’m all in.”
The air shifts, thicker, denser. My heart punches the inside of my ribs hard enough to make me dizzy.
And then—bless him—Dad, leaning casually against the kitchen island with a wine glass in hand, lifts it like he’s toasting some inside joke only he’s in on.
“Finally,” he says dryly. “One of you idiots figured it out.”
Papa claps his hands together, gleeful. “Now, when do we start planning the wedding?”
I groan, dragging both hands over my face like that’ll somehow hide me from the room exploding into chaos.
“Calm down, Papa?—”
But Dad cuts me before I can say anything. “Nobody said marriage?—”
“Yet,” Papa insists, wielding a mozzarella stick like a judge’s gavel. “But it’s obviously coming.”
“Don’t scare her,” Jason murmurs, his laugh breaking loose, low and helpless.
He presses a kiss to the side of my head, the kind of kiss that should come with a warning label: Will cause irrational smiling and inappropriate swooning.
I lean into him shamelessly, practically climbing into his lap because hiding against his shoulder feels much safer than facing the circus before me. My cheeks are on fire, but my smile’s too big to pretend I’m mortified.
This is it.
This is us.
Wild, loud, ridiculous . . . and somehow, fucking perfect.
Sarah shoves her snout between Jason’s legs like she’s decided emotional support duty is her job now, and he rewards her with absentminded scratches. Lucian’s already laying out plans for a backyard basketball showdown that will inevitably end with someone in a lawn chair splint.
Hailey’s parading baby Luna around like a quarterback showing off a winning pass. Killion and Kade are arguing—loudly—over who gets dibs on terrorizing Jason at the next family barbecue.
And Jason?
Jason just sits there, grinning at the mayhem like he’s finally— finally —exactly where he belongs.
With me.
With all of us.
He’ll become a Crawford soon, but I’ll also be a Tate. We’ll be one—we’ll be home.