Chapter 20
TWENTY
brIAR
“Step back, please,” I hear even as I’m registering the knock.
Fear coils.
“What if—?”
Pascal glances at Brooks, who steps forward, wraps his arm around my shoulders, and draws me back.
“What if it’s them?” I whisper.
“It’s not.”
I frown. “How do you—?”
“Because my team would have called,” Pascal says, his gaze holding mine and there’s something about the cool confidence, the utter assurance in the statement that has my pulse slowing down, calm surrounding me. “But it never hurts to be careful, right?”
I nod.
That makes sense.
His eyes go to Brooks again, and a moment later, I find myself tucked around the corner, a big, masculine body between me and the front door.
I hear the lock disengage with a click, feel the slight rush of air as the door opens, and—
“Pascal.”
The female voice is familiar, but I can’t place it. Still, I can’t miss that Brooks immediately relaxes and steps forward, leaving me alone as a group—yes, a group—of people walk into the living room.
A tall, broad older man with salt and pepper in his beard and hair, a curvy brunette trailing behind him, a shy smile on her face.
Behind them are Jace and the woman who must be his wife, Marie.
She’s dressed in wide, flowing pants and a button-down, but it’s her deep green eyes that capture my focus.
They’re absolutely breathtaking.
So much so, it takes me a second to realize there’s a third couple. My heart convulses when I see the tall, slender woman. She’s holding an infant in her arms and a man is hovering beside her.
He’s gorgeous, but he has a sort of lean, athletic grace that separates him from the other men in the room.
I can’t put my finger on why, exactly—they’re all in good shape, all can clearly handle themselves.
But there’s something about the man with curly hair and the way he fills out a pair of jeans that makes it clear he’s not a businessman…or someone with military experience, like Pascal.
The baby makes a tiny squawk and all the men freeze.
A moment later, the man with curly hair has scooped up the baby and is rocking it, the first man, Jace, and Pascal all shifting closer, as though ready to jump in and take over at the first inclination that something’s gone wrong.
The only male who seems marginally less concerned is Brooks, though his attention goes to the baby all the same.
Why do I know—know—the little one already has every single one of these men wrapped around his or her little finger?
“Hi,” I hear and tear my gaze away from Brooks in proximity to the baby.
And the yearning it creates.
And the pain.
“Hi,” I say, shoving that down and shaking the proffered hand of the woman in the business attire.
“I’m Marie,” she says.
“Oh,” I exclaim. “Jace’s wife. It’s so nice to meet you. He talked about you a lot.”
“Hopefully about all the good things and none of the annoying ones I do.”
I open my mouth—
“You could never annoy me,” Jace says, kissing the top of her head and slinging an arm around her shoulders.
“Hmm,” she replies, clearly teasing as she taps a finger to her bottom lip. “I seem to remember a certain level of annoyance when I wanted to watch Date My Ex instead of playoff hockey.”
“And I seem to recall you finding a way to make me less annoyed.”
Pink on her cheeks. “Behave.”
“Never.”
“I’m Tiff,” I hear from my side as I’m trying to survive the impact of Jace so in love with his wife and the mix of emotions I feel.
I’m so damned happy for him.
And I’m jealous.
“Briar,” I say, shaking her hand.
“You know Jace and now Marie,” she murmurs. “The big guy holding the baby is Rome and his wife is Chrissy—”
She nods at the other brunette, though I already knew who she is from that night at the winery. My heart thunders, trying to pound its way out of my chest, leaving me a little breathless and lightheaded.
When Chrissy puts the pieces together…
“—and the scowly monster debating on snatching the baby from Rome is my husband, Jean-Michel.”
The sound of his name has his head tipping up, full scowl in place. “I’m neither scowly nor a monster.”
“Your expression says otherwise,” she teases.
And I watch his face soften too.
Know it won’t last long after he finds out what I was going to do to his daughter.
“Hi,” Chrissy says, leaving the gaggle of men and introducing herself.
“It’s so nice to meet you. Sorry to intrude on your morning.
We were having breakfast and Dad”—she tilts her head at Jean-Michel—“heard about what was happening and wanted to come over. Jace offered to bring him…and well”—she shrugs—“the rest of us are just nosy.”
“But we brought treats!” Tiff says, holding up a robin’s egg blue box.
“And alcohol,” Marie adds dryly, showing me a bag with a couple of bottles of prosecco.
“And we’ll go if you want,” Chrissy chimes in, lifting a hand when Marie starts to protest. “Because we understand we’re a big, noisy group that can be overwhelming—”
“But we hope you’ll let us stay,” Marie interrupts. “Because we’re annoying, but we’re also cool.” She does finger guns in my direction. “I promise.”
I blink. Once. Twice.
And still can’t find the appropriate reply.
Chrissy snorts. “I told you not to do the finger guns.” Then she grins. “Why don’t we sit down and eat and drink something. Rome has a game tonight—”
“Go, Gold,” Tiff says and my gaze ping-pongs to her smiling face.
“Rude,” Chrissy grumbles, but it’s also paired with a smile and an explanation. “My hubby plays for the Eagles and my dad owns the team.” She waves a hand. “It was a whole thing, but we’re good now.”
I blink again.
“And Tiff used to nanny for one of the players on the Gold, who they’re playing tonight.”
“Oh,” I manage to say.
Chrissy winces. “See? Overwhelming.” She holds up the box again. “But good pastries make everything better, I promise.”
“Right.” I squeeze out, my throat feeling tight. “Of course. I, uh, just need to use the restroom.” I start edging toward the hall. “Um, don’t wait on my account to get started on the pastries. I’ll be right back.”
“We—” Marie begins.
But I’m already hurrying away.
And by the time my vision narrows to a tiny speck of light, black crawling in from its edges, I’m safely tucked in the corner of the bedroom, clutching the pillow that smells of Brooks, the blanket firmly pulled over my head.