“Mr. Sullivan? There’s a Roman Bishop here to see you.”

Parker sat forward in his desk chair and blinked at the red intercom light as if seeing it for the first time ever.

“Show him in,” he instructed the receptionist.

Rising from behind his desk, he slid his suit jacket on and fixed his tie on the way across his big office. There was a discreet knock, and then the door opened. A secretary, who was eyeing up Bishop as though he was a slab of meat, held the door and ushered him in. She melted away once he shot his employee a warning glare.

Roman entered and shook his hand. “Good to see you, Sully. How’s that pretty wife of yours?”

“Beautifully round,” he bragged.

“Getting close, huh? December fifteenth, right?” Roman chuckled. “Kelly has the date circled on every calendar.”

Parker sobered. “I want this shit over before the baby comes.”

“And that, my friend, is why I’m here.”

“Where’s Kelly? And Matty? Are they with you?”

Roman took a seat. He smiled easily. “Sawyer dropped them off in Phoenix. She submitted an art proposal and earned a spot on a special commission. You’d have to ask her for the details.” He proudly chuckled. “She and the boy plan to go shopping for the house and load up an SUV rental. I expect them tomorrow afternoon.”

He was happy for Kelly. Her budding success as an artist was well due. She had a unique eye and a creative bent that came naturally. The young, free-spirited mountain girl with zero fucks to give for the size of her unexpected bank account was exactly what a man like Roman Bishop needed. That she came with a kid in tow was the perfect quirk for the unlikely couple. Matty was one of those kids, like Bella, who had to be old souls. He was Kelly’s brother on paper only, and when Parker was finished with some legal bullshit, the boy would officially be designated as her and Roman’s son.

Parker grimaced. “Is it necessary for me to tell you how uncomfortable this makes me?”

“Nope,” Roman replied. He gave off a casual air—even sat back and lifted one ankle to a knee. The pose was bland, but the air crackled with tension. “Alex explained in detail what he’s after. Unless it’s relevant, I don’t care about extraneous stuff. Ya gotta trust me, okay?”

Trust. Hearing that word come from Roman’s mouth was ironically funny. If anyone in Parker’s circle of acquaintances knew a thing or two about a classic D/s arrangement, it was this guy. Asking for and expecting Angie’s absolute trust was a big deal. When Roman asked for Parker’s trust, he got a glimpse of how those words might sound to a submissive. The sensation was not altogether comforting.

“Tell me how we do this,” he grumbled.

Roman looked at him, his expression bland. “You’re no novice to an interrogation, Sully. What’s the real question?”

“I’m nervous, that’s all. This is a lot to ask.”

“Lawyer’s creed, I get it,” Roman replied.

“It’s not just that, and you know it. This is government stuff you’re going to be weeding through. Some of that shit can get me in a world of hurt.”

“Which is exactly why I agree with Alex. Somehow, you’re at the center of this thing. You and possibly Domineau. There are too many loose ends.”

“Are you going to pick Domineau’s brain too?”

“No. Alex wants to do it.”

“Too much history?”

“Yeah,” Roman grumbled. “Something like that.”

Silence descended. The air in the room felt heavy. Parker sighed with resignation. Time was wasting.

“All right. Let’s do this thing. Did you drive?”

“Duke dropped me off. He met the plane and briefed me on the drive here. He’s taking my bags to the house and checking the security system.”

“Alex assured me we could do this in the secure room.”

Roman stood. “And he’s right. Justice has your back, Parker. We protect our own.”

Hanai and Meli were performing for Wolfie. Stephanie smiled as the two dogs got her son giggling with delight. Hanai was large enough to easily swipe food from the high chair tray. What he didn’t gobble down, he shared with Meli.

The whirring sound of the mechanical shutter on Calder’s fancy new camera caught her ear. She turned to watch her hunky husband photograph the silly interaction. Cameron’s sudden fascination with photography and moviemaking had rubbed off. The two men spent hours poring over photography magazines and researching online equipment.

Her hand went out automatically. She needed to touch him.

They were standing at the kitchen island. She turned slightly, ran her hand across his back, and leaned in. “May I see?”

He nodded with a smile and shifted the camera for her to peer at the viewfinder. She kept her hand anchored on the small of her husband’s back.

“He’s a handsome lad,” Calder drawled. “Very photogenic.”

She laughed and straightened. “Which lad do you refer to? Wolf or Hanai?”

Calder’s amused snicker did funny things to her system.

“No contest. Not even close. Wolf Marcus Dane is one hell of a looker. He shares our coloring,” he pointed out. “I know it’s still early days, so it’s hard to pin down his characteristics, but I think it’s fairly safe to assume he’ll be fair and kind of tall. The pediatrician said he was at the top percentile for his age.”

She looked at her beautiful son. Victoria had been a magical blend of her and Daniel. She possessed her mother’s natural beauty but had her father’s coloring. It made sense that in Wolfie some her traits that would come second to those of his father.

“Meaning he’s going to be a Viking?”

Calder grunted a laugh, looked at Wolf, and then nodded. “I don’t know. Maybe!”

It hit her funny bone like a thunderbolt. Of course, Uncle Thor would spawn another big, tall Nordic superman! She chuckled. The chuckle turned more vigorous. She moved her hand to his shoulder and hung on while she laughed.

“Thor’s son,” she explained through wheezing giggles. He got it and joined her laughter.

“Son of a beauty queen Duchess,” he reminded her. “Thor’s Duchess. Wait,” he growled sexily. “I like that. Sounds like a romance book.”

It felt so good to laugh with him again. The past few days had been painfully confusing, and she wasn’t sure what shook her up more. Coming face to face with her husband’s amorous past or her unseemly reaction. Stephanie always had the ability to remain cool. It was a Southern lady thing. Never, ever let them know if they got under your skin. But the dark-haired witch challenged everything Stephanie thought she knew about herself. Instead of squashing the bitch like a bug, she folded like a cheap tent and ran away, leaving her husband exposed to that horrible woman.

The dinger on the oven timer went off. “Do you want me to get that?” he asked.

“No. I’m on it. Dinner will be on the table in twenty minutes. You can continue the picture taking, but it would be helpful if you put the dogs out and clean Wolfie up before we sit down.”

“I’m your man,” he answered.

She shook her head and smirked. He went back to the viewfinder. A few minutes later, she found him pointing the camera at her.

Everything was okay. She had nothing to get so worked up about. Whatever was scrambling her emotions was a distraction, yes, but she was no wilting flower. It was best she pull her grown-up lady undies up and get on with things.

Finn regretted telling Remy she could take her time coming to Pete’s. She wasn’t interested in children’s movies and begged off to spend some time packing up the apartment.

Ordinarily, he didn’t mind flying on his own, but right now, he could really use her support.

A crowd of kids and their families were noisily clearing out of the tented area where an entertainment rental company had set up a gigantic movie screen. He brought his A game for this endeavor without much care for profits or loss. He and Barry agreed that giving back was part of their original business plan. This weeklong event was going to secure Pete’s place as so much more than a cowboy bar. His push to make the whiskey in Pete’s an afterthought and bring in families eager to open their wallets was a winning strategy.

Activity was everywhere he looked. Putting his head down to avoid catching anyone’s eye, he bolted into Pete’s through the back door. Inside, the nighttime festivities were coming to life. The billiards room was starting to fill. So too was the bull pen and bar. Everything was coming together nicely, so why was he so agitated? Maybe because he was holding an overloaded salad plate at a ginormous buffet? Weird analogy but that was how he felt. And he needed his girlfriend, his partner. No shame in that.

Grey noticed him trying to skulk away from the activity and physically stopped Finn’s retreat by jumping in his path.

“Boss, there’s a problem in the parking lot.”

“What kind of problem?”

“Uh, a film crew is setting up?” Grey ended the statement in a question.

Finn startled. “Excuse me, what?”

Grey handed him a business card that read Bendover Lifestyles™. “What the fuck is this?” he growled in the man’s smirking face.

“Well, apparently it’s a web thing or a podcast. How the hell am I supposed to know? I just work here.” Grey chuckled.

A dull throb behind Finn’s right eye turned to a twitch. He rubbed a hand across his face. The exhausted grunt rumbling from his mouth became a snarl. He squinted at the card and flipped it over.

“There’s no contact information.”

Grey was openly grinning. “Wait for it.”

“What the goddamn fuck is that supposed to mean? Come on, Grey. I don’t have time for this.”

“At the bar. Far end. Next to the display of bubbling puke.”

Finn squinted again. Did he need glasses? Maybe. He sighed and focused. Then he saw her, and all of his business senses went on high alert.

“Shit,” he muttered before turning away from Grey. Finn got out ahead of his feet and awkwardly stumbled as he started moving.

A very distinctively dressed woman was holding court at the bar. She reminded him of Helen Mirren if Helen had orange-tipped short hair and a fondness for animal print clothing that hugged every Spanxed curve. He imagined his ma’s droll humor as she’d inquire whether the dyed ends of the other woman’s hair were colored according to the season.

Bernadette Applegate Thompson Schwartz, aka Bernie Apples, was a woman who eschewed normal categories and made up her own to suit whatever mood she happened to have at any given moment. She was alimony rich, had ulterior motives, and was dangerous because she so clearly kept all the fucks to herself and therefore rarely had any to give.

Bernie was the daughter of a friend to Pete’s original owner. Whiskey Pete himself warned Barry and Finn about her. Well, maybe warned was too strong a word. Pete cautioned them to give the lady a wide berth and to bend over backward—pun intended—if she ever paid them more than a second’s mind.

Bendover Lifesyles™. He shuddered to think what that meant.

“Finn!” Bernie exclaimed as he approached. She held up the special glass they were using for Remy’s Flaming Justice shot. “Tasty!”

From behind the bar, Barry’s eyebrows appeared anchored to his hairline as he gave Finn a terrified look. Bernie had a fondness for stroking the guy’s beard as if petting a dog, and since his business partner had personal space issues, it was a wonder he hadn’t defensively chewed her fingers off.

“Mrs. Schwartz,” Finn chortled in a thicker than usual Boston accent. He offered his hand, shook hers, and mentally crossed his fingers as he leaned in for a perfunctory kiss on the cheek.

“Cut it out, Finn,” she husked in a throaty voice. “You’re to call me Bernie.” She pointed at Barry. “He can call me missus but not you.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. She wasn’t even trying not to be obvious. Bernie Apples wasn’t the first female to boldly declare her intent to ride his dick, but she was the first to make the declaration after his life-changing jump from being a rebellious, self-involved asshole to a respected business owner.

Goddammit, he thought. Where the fuck was Remy?

Panic sweat gathered around the collar of his shirt. He made a lame attempt at a joke.

“My mother has eyes and ears everywhere so, like every Irish lad, I was raised with a healthy fear of forgetting my manners.”

Her laughter reminded him of a Dalmatian-stealing cartoon character’s cackle. “Well, your mother isn’t here, and besides, I doubt even a parental scolding could dampen your sizzle.”

She boldly eyed him up like an animal on display at a stud farm. His dick shrank and went into hiding right around the same time that a bead of perspiration moved down his back. Giving her a blank check to keep up with the predatory flirting wasn’t a smart move. Did he want to cower behind Remy? Hell, yeah, as unfair and wimpy as the feeling was.

It dawned in a blinding flash that before him was a life lesson. One of those schooling moments when you had either learned from the past or not. A few years ago, he would have valiantly answered her challenge. That cocky arrogance still existed inside him, but now, his audacity belonged to one woman. He couldn’t even fathom any other way.

My god. He loved Remy so much. She really was the be-all and end-all for him. It was her or nobody.

He knew what to do. Getting dragged into Bernie’s determined promiscuity was a choice, and he was already taken. So he simply changed the subject.

Waving the business card in his hand, he asked the obvious. “This is you, right? What gives, Bernie?”

She never so much as missed even half a beat. Women like Bernie were female hustlers. Self-promotion coupled with a strong sense of survival were the key ingredients in their emotional makeup. As much as she wanted to toy with him, she wanted to focus on herself even more.

The cougarific sixty-year-old smiled broadly. She claimed a barstool, crossed her legs, and without further overtures in the sexual department, she launched into an explanation.

“I’m a media mogul now,” she declared with amusing conceit.

Finn struggled to stop his eyes from rolling. Barry, who remained frozen behind the bar while watching this charade play out, gave him a wide-eyed stare. The guy absently reached for a bar towel and calmly wiped some glassware to give the impression he was anything other than glued to their every word.

“Mr. Schwartz,” she drawled in an upper-class patois that reminded him she was an East Coast heiress even before striking the mother lode in divorce court. “The other Bernie, as it were, has divested. The first Mrs. Schwartz gets the real estate while I snagged his vast communications holdings.”

Her look of immense satisfaction would have been cute on anyone else’s face, but he got the impression as she preened that just like everything else in Bernie’s life, her pride was just a reflection of super-indulgence and having gotten something she wanted.

“With so many resources at my fingertips, I decided to realize a dream. Bendover Lifestyles™ is going to produce a web show and a quarterly magazine.”

If she did it right, the idea was a winner, but if it became a vanity vehicle for her, the results would be less stellar. Finn ground his teeth and answered cautiously.

“I can see it,” he said with a whiff of encouragement in his delivery. Then he made an attempt to be positive with a nugget of praise. “You could do a lot for Bendover.”

She snorted with amusement. “You mean that brother-in-law of yours could do a lot for this speck of ground in the middle of nowhere. That legal beagle he employs exercised his muscle when I tried to use Bendover for the business. Did you know he owns every rock and tree for as far as the eyes can see?”

“I assume you mean Alex Marquez and not Parker Sullivan.”

Barry snicker-laughed and quickly ducked his head to stay out of the line of fire.

Bernie more or less ignored Finn’s comment and kept blathering, but for once, he didn’t mind because her conceited rambling was quite informative.

“I’m afraid my nosing around is going to force the Valleja-Marquez Trust to finally plant a public flag and firmly wield their hereditary and bulletproof legal standing, so there’s no mistaking what’s what and who is who.”

What the hell did that mean? He only had to inhale before she filled in the blanks.

“Alex Marquez, as titular head of the Trust, has extraordinary powers over the hundreds of thousands of acres in the family holdings. He’s been quietly acquiring every inch of private land as far as the eye can see.”

Finn shuffled back and forth on his feet. He knew this to be fact after what he went through to buy the parcel of land that bordered Pete’s property. Cristián Marquez and Matt Sullivan went to extraordinary lengths to keep their involvement quiet in the loan they made to Finn for the purchase. Not everyone loved being owned lock, stock, and whiskey barrel by the Trust.

“If he wants to play king, then he’s going to have to step up. Bendover is huge, but it doesn’t exist on paper. It’s just a term used for a place on a map. They blocked me from using Bendover, hence the trademarking, but they’ll pay for that arrogance.”

“How?”

“Simple. People live and work on land owned by the Trust. Privately owned acreage such as what you’ve lucked into with Whiskey Pete’s dot the whole Valleja-Marquez holdings. I gather from my dealings with Sullivan Legal that Alex Marquez is all about control. That’s why the land purchases continue, and it’s all well and good until the fan kicks on, and some shit flies.”

He mentally connected some dots. Remy mentioned something about a Justice discussion that involved installing a sheriff. Finn was on board with the idea because of Pete’s. Bendover acquiring a law enforcement guy would be way helpful.

“My legal people did extensive research and found that despite the vastness of the acreage, in order for a place to be declared a town, there have to be one thousand to ten thousand permanent residents. My guess is that Bendover will be officially designated as a village to give it some legal standing outside the Trust. This move into the 21st century is perfect timing for my lifestyles venture.”

“That’s a wicked load to digest,” he muttered. Finn crossed his arms and glanced at Barry. His business partner was nodding as if taking mental notes. Good. That meant the guy was already working on every conceivable angle to benefit Pete’s.

“Oh, and I’m looking to hire local talent. A blogger or two and maybe an on-camera person for color pieces.”

Finn had an instant meerkat reaction to Bernie’s comment. His spine stiffened, and he focused on her with rapt intensity. If her media company was in the market for contributors, that might put the contemptuous shit reporter who hated Justice on Bernie’s radar.

He saw an opportunity to minimize the offensive bitch with the poison pen and went for it.

Massaging Bernie’s ego, he cleverly handed the dagger of death to the powerful woman with a snide observation that he knew would get her fired up.

“Don’t hand off the mic.” He chuckled.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“It’s a band term,” Finn explained after she took the bait. “It means that if you want the spotlight, don’t surrender it to anyone or anything else.”

Bernie’s gaze sharpened. The ferocity in her expression gave him the willies. “I eat wannabes for breakfast,” she haughtily stated. “My wallet, my way.”

He winked knowingly. Bernie’s conceit might come in handy.

“Have you approached the Double M? You could sponsor a workshop for budding journalists. It would give you access to talent.”

“Oh, I like that idea,” she murmured while typing on her phone. “Training is key. Proper training,” she added as an afterthought.

Sensing that some ego stroking coupled with a pinch of grateful groveling would bring her firmly onto his bandwagon, he smiled at her.

“Please tell me that our Spooktacular is going to be your premiere offering to the good people of Bendover!”

“You know it,” she hooted. “I have it on good authority that there are ringers involved in your clever plan.”

He eyed her innocently and shrugged. “Don’t know what you’ve heard.”

“Well, let’s see,” Bernie drawled with just enough snide sarcasm to let him know she was being playful and not vindictive.

Score one for Pete’s.

“A pool shark, a poker legend, and a bull rider. All female,” she quipped approvingly. “I like how you roll, Finn O’Brien.”

And just like that, he knew she was going to be a supporter.

“I want an on-camera interview.” Surprisingly, she nodded in Barry’s direction. “The two of you. I’m going to showcase all the businesses of Bendover starting with Whiskey Pete’s. You are preserving a local legend, and I have to say that the transformation of this cowboy shithole to a family-friendly restaurant is pretty impressive.”

Barry rather bravely interjected. “We set out to keep the bar business but expand and transform at the same time. Finn is brilliant with that stuff. Wait till you see what we do in the new year.”

Bernie arched a brow. “Oh, really? Care to give me an exclusive?”

“Tell you what,” he automatically said. “When we’re ready to announce, I’ll give you a call. Give your show an exclusive.”

“Ah, crud,” she said in a funny voice. “You’re going to make me play nice, aren’t you, Finn?”

“Nice would be a good color for you,” he honestly replied. “I like this place, Bernie. It’s got good energy, and there isn’t enough of that these days. Anybody can be a shit and make a name by taking the low road. Gossip is short-sighted, though. If you want my opinion.”

“Oh, I do,” she enthusiastically exclaimed. “No, seriously,” she added with a husky chuckle when Barry made a disbelieving face. “Look, fellas, I know I come on strong.” She made an apologetic nod in Finn’s direction. “But at the end of the day, you two have redefined what success around these parts looks and feels like. That’s important for the future of Bendover. I’m quite fond of Arizona, which is one reason we spend so much time here. My Bernie gives nice toys.” She chuckled. “And I could have done this anywhere, but I’m not interested in finding a niche in an already crowded market. I intend to own this in a big way, and Bendover is the perfect place to concentrate my energies.”

He was impressed by Bernie’s honesty. She was still a troublemaker, but at least she was willing to reach out, and that made all the difference.

“Now,” she said with a waving hand as she demanded Finn help her off the barstool. Once she was on her feet and had adjusted every curve, Bernie got back to business. “I’m here to film some background stuff. Maybe talk to a few customers. Nothing in-depth. Any objections?”

Barry shook his head while Finn held his hands up in surrender, and said with heavy emphasis, “Public areas only, Mrs. Schwartz. No gotcha shit.”

She extended her hand. “Deal.”

They shook, and then she reached her hand for Barry. After a cursory shake and a group smile, Bernie took off to do whatever it was that she did.

“Be careful, Finn. The lady is a shark.”

“I know,” he assured Barry. “But you heard what she said. Bernie recognizes what we’re trying to pull off. If she plays nice, then so will we. After the first of the year when we announce our new venture, I’ll make sure her exclusive is worth it. The social media stuff is important. She sees the quid pro quo.”

“You’re going to use her to shut Ivy Harmon out, aren’t you?”

“Dude,” Finn barked. “I’ve seriously had it with that chick. Everything she touches turns to shit. Did you read that fucking crap about Busty’s having a health code violation? It doesn’t matter that she made it up. The internet is worse than an unregulated western town where everyone can shoot one off whenever they feel like it and never fear reprisal.”

“She needs to shut up or tone it down. Shelly told me that Ivy thinks she owns Yelp. She’ll write a negative review and then try to get her five fans to do the same. What the hell is wrong with her? That kind of toxic negativity has to come at a cost.”

Knowing a little something about the cost of negativity, Finn drew on his own experience for a rare admission.

“My negativity, while not chronic or toxic to anyone except me, came at a huge price. More than twenty years down the shitter where my siblings are concerned. That’s the cost I paid. It was hard forcing Meggie to meet me in the middle, but thank god she did because it wasn’t until then that I saw how empty all that anger was. I’m still working on Dev. That one’s a bit harder because of the bro thing and him feeling like he was responsible for all of us. But we’re good now, and we’re gonna go camping next year. His kids are the best. People like Ivy and their grudges are sad. So much opportunity lost.”

“What about Mike? How does he figure into this? You don’t say much about him.”

Finn sighed. Heavily. Hearing his brother’s name hurt. Michael Connor O’Brien had truly lost his way, and nothing any of them did to help him made any difference.

“Ugh. Touchy subject. Another time, okay?”

Barry reached across the bar, and they fist-bumped. “I’m always here for you, Finn. We’re in this thing together.”

“To the end,” Finn reminded him solemnly.

“Damn straight.”

A veritable herd of excited people burst through the front door. The hulking security guard manning the entrance waved them in and gestured above his head to let him know everything was cool.

“Showtime,” Barry mumbled.

Finn checked his watch. He didn’t give a shit if Remy was busy or why. After thinking about it for a few seconds, he decided nothing was wrong or pussified about him admitting he needed her. After all, wasn’t he preaching endlessly to her about the reverse? He was always, always in her corner.

He remembered something his da said about it being okay to show vulnerability to Remy. He’d painted a vivid picture for Finn about some of the stuff he’d witnessed as a police officer over the years and how he would have crumpled without Ma at his side. That was exactly the sort of relationship he envisioned with Remy.

The kitchen was bustling as he came through the big swinging doors. Manny and his crew were enthusiastically kicking ass and taking names. One of Finn’s proudest achievements was the food service at Pete’s. With his firehouse cooking background and armed with a shit ton of family recipes, he’d transformed the burger and fries menu to a much more complete dining experience. By empowering Manny and supporting the man’s impressive talents, an atmosphere of fun and challenging creativity fueled everyone’s efforts.

“Howdy, boss!” Manny hollered in his thickly accented approximation of a western greeting. “Check it out!” He gestured with a sweeping hand flourish at several pans of cocktail meatballs. This was Manny’s new passion. Appetizers or what Shelly called pupus. The guy didn’t know it yet, but with a fuck-ton of other changes coming in the new year, the menu was going to go through another transformation to include something Finn and Barry agreed would be named Bites by Manny. Oh, and there’d even be an option for delivery.

Finn threw the thumbs-up sign in the air and gave the kitchen folks an encouraging grin. “Looks great, guys!”

He continued, ducking out the door on his way to the office.

Out back, a team of locals who were hoping to compete in a grilling contest paid Pete’s an extraordinary sum to man the outdoor grill and smoker for the week. They were great guys with a solid plan to meet the demands of a kitchen and knockout killer food under pressure.

As he passed by, he waved and laughed at the precision team assembly line that worked for them. His guys were less precision and more what the fuck.

FiFi greeted him when he came through the door. She licked his face and burrowed in his neck when he picked her up for a cuddle. He scratched her head and rubbed her fuzzy ears. After a couple of tail wagging doggie kisses, she’d had enough of him and wanted to get down. He deposited her on the little bolster bed she liked to curl up in.

Petting her head, he showed the dog his phone. “I have to call Mommy. We need her to be here, don’t we, girl?”

After a second, she yipped.

“Thanks for agreeing.” He chuckled.

Flopping onto the sofa, he got comfortable, propping his feet on the heavy coffee table. It only took a second to bring up his contacts and press the call button beneath Remy’s name.

She answered right away. “Hi. What’s up? Everything okay?”

“Did you get anything done?” he asked, knowing full well he dodged her question.

“Tons, but you didn’t answer. You okay?”

It was a relief that she sensed he wasn’t himself. No, fuck that. Not a relief. A comfort.

“Hanging in there,” he told her and then admitted, “but super stressed.”

“I’ll be right there, sweetie. Just let me wash my hands, use the restroom, and I’ll be on my way. Can you make it till I get there?”

He was so stunned by her calling him sweetie that he nearly started to cry. It wasn’t that big a deal because the word was standard issue with the Justice women, but it felt huge to him. Huge because she finally felt enough at ease that endearments and spontaneous expressions of emotion were no longer wishful thinking.

Finn was also shaken by how quickly she read the tea leaves and dropped everything to focus on him. Her caring made him feel things. Things he hadn’t expected and didn’t know would matter. Like safety. He felt safe with Remington.

“Thanks,” he muttered as emotion overwhelmed his senses. “Means a lot, baby.”

“I’ve got you, Finn.”

It was an expression he used over and over to assure her he had her back—always. Hearing her gift the words back to him was a powerful moment.