Jacinda knocked on Delaney’s office door.

“What?” he barked, sounding like he’d been fielding interruptions all morning.

“It’s Jacinda.”

She heard his office chair creak, and the door opened. He was smiling his patient-father smile. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’ve been buried in fools and assholes today.”

“No problem. I got what you wanted.”

His paternal expression loosened, and he grinned. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about. Have a seat.” He indicated his sofa rather than the chair beside his desk, and they sat at opposite ends.

The rest of the clubhouse—all the parts she’d seen, anyway—was fairly well decorated. Party room, kitchen, the crash pads, the back patio, every space was well used, but there had been some thought in the design. Even what amounted to their locker room had coordinated pieces under all their individual crap. Apollo had told her that Mo went through the clubhouse nearly every year and found a remodeling project.

If she’d ever gotten to Delaney’s office, he’d worked hard to undo her work. It was a rat’s nest. Papers and magazines stacked everywhere, a large bookcase filled with maps and automotive catalogues and manuals randomly shoved and stacked on the shelves, about a dozen dirty coffee mugs. On one wall was a big collage frame full of club photos; she imagined Mo had done that, so maybe, under all the clutter and chaos, there were signs that she’d tried to make the room livable. But Delaney apparently liked to live in squalor.

“So, what you got?”

Jacinda took her notepad out of her messenger bag. “Okay. Malcolm Chayka is at the Federal Transfer Center now. They’ve got a reassignment backlog of about six weeks, and they’re prioritizing capital cases, so he’ll probably be at the FTC for all those six weeks. I have his inmate number, too.” She tore the page from her book and handed it over.

“Excellent. I can’t thank you enough for this, sweetheart. It’s a real help.”

Jacinda was acutely curious as to the reason Delaney needed that information, but she was learning how to curb her impulse to know everything. Whatever they had in store for Malcolm Chayka, he was a very bad dude, with a mile-long record of arrests for crimes from petty larceny to contract murder. He was about to begin a seventeen-year federal sentence for multiple counts of kidnapping and rape. If the Bulls meant him ill, Jacinda wasn’t about to cry over it.

“I told you I’d help where I could, since Apollo can’t screw his way to the intel anymore.”

Delaney laughed. “I guess you don’t need to use the same tactics, then.”

“Men are so much easier than women, D. All I need is a smile and a nice bottle of scotch.”

He cocked his eyebrow at her and made a show of scanning her body. “That’s all you need?”

To meet with the young male file clerk at the federal courthouse, she’d worn red leather pants and a sheer black, long sleeved tee with a plain black camisole under it. “Okay, it helps to put the goods out, but only for show. Like, I said, you all are simple creatures.”

“I don’t disagree. Well, it turns out I’m glad to have a PI on our side. Well done, young lady.”

She let the condescension pass and was simply glad to have his trust.

––––––––

~oOo~

––––––––

“Okay, about half an hour longer on the turkey,” her mother mused, mostly to herself, as she closed the oven door and set the turkey baster aside. “Are you ready to put the squash back in?”

Jacinda spooned the last of the apple slices into the acorn squash halves and picked up the bowl of the maple syrup and cinnamon concoction. “Just about.”

Apollo walked into the kitchen from the living room, where a Thanksgiving Day football game was in full swing on the television. He had three empty beer bottles in his hand.

“Again?” Jacinda’s mother asked, frowning at him from the open refrigerator. “If you three are drunk at my dinner table, I’m going to make you eat on the deck.”

“Sorry, Barbara. It’s Ryan. He’s a bad influence.” Apollo winked at Jacinda and set the empty bottles in the recycling bin.

Her mother scoffed and pulled three fresh bottles from the fridge. “This is it. No more to drink until dinner. I have a couple of really good bottles of wine, and you are all going to have some.” She held the bottles over the open door.

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” He took the bottles and set them on the counter to twist them open. Jacinda nudged him with her hip, and he nudged back.

“What’s that?” He furrowed his brow at the tray she was preparing.

“Stuffed acorn squash.” She finished drizzling syrup and set the bowl aside.

“Smells good.” Looking over his shoulder and raising his voice a little, he added, “Everything smells amazing in here,” then turned back to Jacinda and brushed his lips over her cheeks. “Especially you.”

“Suck up,” she chuckled and pushed him away.

“Charming, you mean.” With that, he collected his beers and headed back to the living room.

When they were alone again, Jacinda glanced at her mother. She stood between the range and the refrigerator, her arms crossed, staring in the direction Apollo had left.

“There’s a penny in it for you,” Jacinda said, in their family way of saying ‘a penny for your thoughts.’

Her mother huffed a sigh bursting with rhetoric, and crossed to the pantry. Without turning around, with her hand on the doorknob, as if she were speaking to the door, she said, “I suppose I understand the appeal.”

Jacinda grinned and picked up the tray of squash. Apollo had just gotten her mother’s gold-star endorsement.

With the squash in the oven, she crossed the kitchen, passed the breakfast nook, and leaned on the arched doorway into the living room. Apollo and Ryan sat on either side of the long sofa, and her father sat in his armchair. The game was on; the Cowboys were rolling over the Dolphins. They were all Rams fans, but in this game, they were rooting for the Cowboys. The score should have been cause for enthusiasm, but no one was paying much attention to the game.

Apollo and Ryan leaned toward each other, in an animated conversation. Her father was watching them more than the game, with the pleasant, slightly vacant aspect of someone who couldn’t quite follow a conversation but enjoyed it nonetheless. She couldn’t hear what they were saying over the white noise of the game, but they were obviously deeply interested, and she’d lay money on it being computer-related.

This was the first time Apollo and Ryan had spent more than fifteen minutes in a room together. Jacinda had been worried; Ryan was jealous and felt neglected, and he’d made a lot of snarky comments to her over the phone, including a passive-aggressive pity party he’d thrown himself when he’d pretended to assume he’d have to make other arrangements for the holidays. He’d spent every Thanksgiving and Christmas with her family since he’d come out to his own and been cut off.

She’d thrown that bullshit back in his face and told him to stop being such a drama queen, but she’d still expected him to show up as her ‘sassy gay friend.’

But no, he was just geeky Ryan, and he’d easily accessed her Brazen Bull’s not-so-inner geek.

“Jaci.”

Her mother’s voice hailed her back from her musing, and she turned back to the kitchen. “Yeah, Mom?”

“Would you like to watch the game with the boys?”

For her whole life, one of her favorite things was watching the game, any game, all games, with her dad. Throughout her teens, she’d moaned and whined about having to help make the Thanksgiving meal while her father watched alone, and even when she was old enough not to be such a shit about it, she’d still resented missing out.

Today, though, she liked seeing the men in the living room, wrapped up in their own thing, and she liked being with her mom, making a meal for them. Jesus, there was a 1950s housewife lurking inside her, happily serving her men.

But yeah, she was happy. There was no chance she’d ever be a housewife, but she didn’t mind acting like one every now and then.

“No, I’m good. What’s next? The table?”

Her mother’s pleased smile added a few degrees of warmth to the already cozy room. “That would be great.”

––––––––

~oOo~

––––––––

That evening, stuffed full of dinner and pecan pie, driving the Charger because Apollo was fairly drunk and she hadn’t had a drink in six weeks, Jacinda wended her way to the Delaneys’ house in Bixby, on Apollo’s desultory directions.

Once she got onto the correct street, finding the house was a breeze—it was the one ablaze with light and noise, with a dozen Harleys and nearly as many cars and trucks parked on the street before it.

Apollo was used to doing double duty for holidays, spending them with his parents and with the club, too. Jacinda had tried to pace herself, but she really hoped that the Bulls were done eating. On the evidence of the party noise coming through the walls and closed windows of the vast ranch house, she thought they were.

She parked at the nearest available spot on the street and turned off the obnoxiously loud engine. Apollo opened his eyes. “We here?”

“Yep. Can you walk?”

“I’m not drunk,” he said, his eyes drifting closed again. “That wine wasn’t bad, though.”

“I’m just saying”—she opened the door—“if you fall over, I’m going to get Rad to drag your ass inside.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Okay, then. Let’s go.”

He made it inside on steadier legs than she’d have thought. The place was hopping—but it hadn’t quite made it to bacchanal level yet. Little kids were still running around.

Jacinda hadn’t been around the entire Bulls family all at once before, and she found herself overwhelmed at the sheer scale and scope of it. An only child of only children, she’d had wonderful holidays, but they were nothing like this. The chaos and noise came at her from all directions.

But every direction she turned, people were happy. They laughed and talked, they played, they drank, they dodged Zach and Kelsey, the oldest of the children, who ran through rooms like dervishes, and they cuddled sleeping babies.

Rad stood next to a dining table that looked like it had hosted a war, talking with Ox. He held his infant son in his arms, swaying back and forth, keeping him asleep amidst the pandemonium.

Apollo and Jacinda made their way to the kitchen, which was surprisingly empty of women. In fact, Jacinda hadn’t seen any of the old ladies yet. Just a few of the girls they called—ugh—‘sweetbutts.’ Apollo kissed her cheek and headed to the table laden with booze. She watched as he poured himself a drink, without any seeming sense of guilt or solidarity for her abstinence while they were trying to get pregnant.

If he passed out, she meant to make him pay in some form of lasting humiliation. She’d ask his brothers for help. She grinned. It would almost be worth it.

“Not drinking, love?” Mo asked, suddenly standing at her side.

“No. I’ll have a glass of water, though.”

The Bulls’ queen gave her a penetrating once-over. “There something you’re keeping secret?”

Sadly, there was not. She’d had two periods since they’d stopped the condoms completely, but when she’d told her doctor that she was worried something was wrong, he’d laughed and said she was a long way from cause for concern, even though they had sex almost every night. So she was trying not to worry.

To Mo, she found a bright smile. “Not yet.”

The smile Mo returned was...different in some way. Jacinda thought it looked guarded, but that didn’t make sense. “But you’re trying.”

It hadn’t taken long for Jacinda to understand that Mo had keen perception and used it. She didn’t like secrets, either. She asked direct questions and expected people to answer them in the same way. She also expected people to do what she said.

She was a lot like her mother. And, according to Apollo, Jacinda was a lot like her mother, too.

“Yeah, we’re trying. No luck yet, but it’s early.”

Mo squeezed her arm. “Come, love. Let’s get you a Perrier. We’re all out on the sunporch, gossiping. Leave the boys to their foolishness.”

––––––––

~oOo~

––––––––

The next morning, Apollo straggled into the kitchen in his boxer briefs, looking half drunk and fully hung over—and totally gorgeous even so.

“Good morning!” Jacinda perked, giving the last syllable a pitch just shy of glass-breaking. She hadn’t offered him her vitamin preventative last night; a hangover was the cost of drinking while she couldn’t. “How are you this lovely morning?”

He groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Please tell me there’s coffee.”

“Of course there’s coffee.” She turned the burner down under the skillet and poured him a cup.

He took it gratefully and hooked his arm around her waist as he sipped at it. “Mmm. Thank you. How many apologies do I owe you?”

“You blacked out?” He’d gotten home on his own legs, barely, and he hadn’t puked. Maybe he should have. In a couple of hours, the club was headed to Dallas to give Eight Ball the best Thanksgiving they could, while he was trapped in a hospital, his leg bolted into a device out of torture porn and still not definitely saved. Apollo needed to be recovered for that ride. Okay, she probably should have given him some help last night.

“No. But I don’t remember you around much. Were you avoiding me?”

“Nope. Just hanging out with the womenfolk.”

He lifted his eyebrows and groaned when the move hurt his head. “That go okay?”

“Yeah.” It had been fun, sitting on wicker furniture on the screened-in porch, bundled together in blankets and scarves. The old ladies all got along, and Jacinda had mostly just listened, in the way her father had listened to Apollo and Ryan—not familiar enough to partake in the conversation but not left out, either. She’d learned a lot about the Bulls family and how it worked.

She kissed his hand and stepped out of his embrace. “I’ve got cranberry pancakes keeping warm in the oven and sausage patties just about ready. You up to some food?”

“Hey, come here.” He set his mug on the counter and pulled her back to him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I had cranberries left over from yesterday.”

He cupped his hands around her face and stared down into her eyes. “Not for breakfast. For you. For loving me. For thinking I’m worth it.”

They’d met in June. Five months, they’d known each other. In that time, she’d been taken hostage by the Bulls twice, they’d beaten her father, and they’d tortured Apollo—all of that stemming from fear that their violent crimes would be exposed. Looking in from the outside, where her mother stood, no rational person would think it was a good idea to love the man who brought that kind of baggage along.

But she wasn’t on the outside. From the beginning, she’d been inside with him, and from there she could see him and this life clearly. He was more than he seemed when viewed through the window of the normal world, a view obstructed by the reflection of the viewer. His club was more than the stories that made the evening news. All you had to do was care enough to really look.

She cared, and she’d looked. What she’d found was a family of bound together with steel chains of love and loyalty. And a man who thought of others before himself, who honored the trust placed in him. A man who knew what trust meant. And love. And honor.

She laid her hand on his chest; the constellation pendant pressed against her palm. “Not thinking you’re worth it. Knowing.”