I didn’t expect her to show.

She’s invited, of course. Always is. But it’s a toss of a coin whether she’ll walk through those front doors, gracing us with her presence or whether her place at the table will remain empty, while everyone pretends not to notice.

And it’s not that I don’t want her here. I do. It’s not that I want to keep her from Willow, either. I don’t. But this whole fucking murder mystery thing is killing us both. It’s been more than a week since Mergen dropped this Hiroshima bomb in our laps and like a bad rendition of hot potato, we’re trying frantically to figure out where to throw the fucker that will result in the least amount of carnage.

It’s been a week of nothing but dead ends. Maddening dead ends. One after the other.

A visit to Bull didn’t glean much. He swears on his dead mother’s grave that he implicitly trusts every single person on his staff. And why wouldn’t he? Officers put their lives in each other’s hands every day in the field. You don’t trust those who walk by your side, you’re dead. But someone knew something, said something to someone else in casual conversation over beers and ribs. No other explanation makes sense.

And the friends—and I use that term loosely—with her the night in question are scattered to the wind. We tracked down one in Seattle, but she was so fucking strung out it was like talking to a zombie. One is in jail in Portland on drug possession charges, and the other has moved out of state, presumably living with a grandparent who is trying to help straighten her out. We may be able to track her down, but it will mean an unplanned road trip. More time away from the office. Time away from Willow.

So as I stand here, tethered to the carpet, and watch Willow walk toward my little sister, I stop breathing.

What will Bluebelle do? Will she crack and confess all or will she act flippant, effectively isolating herself with that protective coating I’m used to seeing on Willow? I’m holding my breath because I have no idea which Annabelle has shown up today. Or what will happen when she opens her mouth.

Annabelle’s eyes track Willow all the way. My usually well-composed sister is on the verge of losing it. I see it plain as day. Her blood-red lips tremble slightly. She’s balancing on the heel of one boot, the toe of that foot shaking back and forth fast enough to make fire. I think I might even spot water glassing over those baby blues of hers.

Fuck. I see the fissures splitting open. When she sinks her bottom teeth into her upper lip I know she’s on hysteria’s edge.

I’m about to whisk her out of here when my generally unaffectionate sister shocks the shit out of me by lunging forward and throwing her arms around Willow’s neck.

Willow’s reactions are a bit more sluggish. In slow motion, I watch her snake her arms around Annabelle’s waist and when Willow returns that affection, my baby sister’s eyes bolt to mine and she lets go of a tear she’s been trying to hold back. She surreptitiously reaches up with a single finger, wiping it away before drawing back from the hug.

“Hi,” she says to Willow, sounding a little sheepish.

Willow hesitates only a second before returning a “Hi” that’s riding on top of a light chuckle. She sounds confused over Annabelle’s display, especially since they’ve never met before. She’s not the only one. I slide my gaze to Gemma who’s watching the entire scene unfold, her brows fixed together and her mouth agape.

“I’m sorry, I, ah…I got a little carried away there.” Annabelle now nervously bounces from foot to foot.

“No apologies needed. I’m a hugger, anyway. Annabelle, right?”

Bluebelle’s lips round up at the corners. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Annabelle. Shaw’s talked a lot about you.”

Her eyes flash to mine, panic quickly rising from the bottom of those lake blues.

Does she know? they ask.

I shake my head, subtly.

“You can’t believe a word out of his mouth, you know,” she jibes, quickly reverting back to her insolent self in an attempt to cover her swelling anxiety.

Willow laughs and turns to gift me with a smile that makes me hard as a fucking rock. “Yes, I’m well aware of that.” She replies to my sister but is saying it to me. Except I know she’s bullshitting. Every word out of my mouth to her has been nothing but honest.

“Time for dinner,” my father’s deep voice calls from the kitchen.

“Well, that’s our cue,” Annabelle proclaims, threading her arm through Willow’s, tugging her along. “We need to be sitting down in under sixty seconds or I’ll be blamed when the lasagna is cold.”

“Annabelle,” I caution, my voice gruff as I catch up to them. “That’s not true and you know it.”

Her face falls before popping back up. She says nothing but drops her hold on Willow and forges ahead of us. I snag Willow’s hand and we walk to the formal dining room table together. I pull out her chair, push it back in for her when she starts to sit, and take the place next to her.

My father sits at the head of the table with, as usual, my mother opposite him. I’m to his right with Willow next to me. Gemma is next to her, followed by Cora and Nicholas. Directly across from them is her loser husband, Evan, and little Eli. Annabelle rounds out our small family sitting opposite Willow.

Each of us is in the exact same spot we are usually in; only there is one thing out of place tonight. An extra place setting I know is not for Linc because he’s stuck working. Again.

“Are we expecting someone else?” I ask my father, nodding to the empty spot as the doorbell rings.

“We are,” he responds, not making a move to answer it. Two seconds later I know why.

“Apologies for being late, Adelle.” The recognizable male voice drives nails into my skull and fire ants through my veins.

What the ever-loving fuck is he doing here? And he simply walked into my father’s house as if he owns the place? My blood is boiling fast and hot.

I look over to my mother to see that slimy motherfucker, Reid Mergen, kiss her cheek before shaking Evan’s hand as if they’re old high school buddies or something.

“How are you doing, little man?” Mergen says with unnerving familiarity as he playfully ruffles Eli’s hair on his way by. Apparently he’s spending more time with my family than I realized. While that wouldn’t bother me under any other circumstances, because it’s him, because he’s threatening everything I love in this room, it enrages me to the point I think I’m going to blow.

“What’s he doing here?” Willow whispers at the same time Mergen greases me with a smug grin.

“I have no fucking idea,” I grit. But I’m not saying it to her. I’m addressing my father. “Why is he here? This is a family dinner.”

“We’re sewn at the hip these days. Hell, I’m practically blood,” fuckface interjects, rubbing the dig in with his searing gaze.

Every muscle in my body readies to bloody his face. “I wasn’t talking to you, asshole.”

“Shaw Andrew,” my mother scolds, doing that clacking thing she does with her tongue when one of us disappoints her.

Well, fuck that. If she thinks I’m going to sit by and cower while this poseur tries to undermine my family, mother or not, she has another thing coming.

My fingers coil into my palms, my dull nails piercing fiercely into the skin. I ignore everyone else, biting out, “Leave, before I throw you out.”

Willow lays a palm gently on my forearm, trying to calm me. I let out a smug grin of my own when Mergen’s eyes drop to it and flare.

“Shaw.” This time my father chimes in. “I invited him.”

My father nods to Mergen, whose eyes now dart between Willow and me, and while I can’t see the look on Willow’s face, whatever it is must be enough to give that bastard pause. He has the chair pulled halfway out, a slight hint of indecision now sitting on his previously haughty features.

“Sit,” my father commands. He does but won’t meet my hateful gaze. “As for you,” he addresses me. Dresses me down, is more like it. “Reid is a guest in my house, at my table, and while I have some idea what’s going on between you two”—his attention slides to Willow, then back to me—“you will act civil to my guest while you’re in my home.”

I don’t respond, not verbally anyway. A diatribe sits round and heavy on the end of my tongue, clawing to get out. I fear if I open my mouth, though, I may do irreparable damage with my parents and no matter how many insults I want to hurl, that fucker right across from me is not worth it.

Willow surprises the hell out of me by caressing her lips against my cheek before whispering, “I can do this if you can.”

Running on some primal instinct I have no control over, I grip the back of her neck and hold her still while I kiss her breathless right at the dining room table with everyone watching.

When I lean back, Willow blinks a few times. Her eyes are dreamy. Her face is flushed the delicious hue of longing. I thought maybe she’d be pissed, but when one corner of her mouth tips up, mine does the same.

“Well, this should be entertaining,” Annabelle spouts, clueless that the man within a finger’s length is the man who could very well be this family’s demise. Her demise.

“Can we say grace now or is there more boundary marking yet to do?” my father asks, to which nearly everyone snickers. Except for Mergen, that is. His eyes flame with the same firestorms of hate I imagine fill mine when I think of him with Willow.

There’s a part of me that knows I should feel bad for him, but if it’s there, I can’t find it. I don’t know what happened between him and Willow, and I’m not sure I want to know. All that matters is she’s mine now.

“Oh, there’s more marking to do.” I slide my hand high around Willow’s upper thigh and squeeze, all the while never taking my eyes from my new enemy. “But that will be done in private.”

“Oh my goodness,” my mother gasps.

“Jesus Christ.” My father’s head drops forward as he shakes it.

“Mommy, Gwandpapa said a naughty wood,” Eli chirps.

“Oh, this is getting good,” Annabelle chimes in, a broad grin splitting her face.

Mergen and I lock wills. You want to challenge me, campaign boy? Fucking bring it. I eat weaklings like you for breakfast.

The tension at the table mounts to uncomfortable proportions when a comment out of the mouth of babes dissolves it. At least for me. “Mommy, is that girl Unca Shaw’s kissing his girlfriend?” Cora asks.

Fucking A right, she is.

“Yes, sweetie. Yes, she is,” Gemma replies, a smile in her voice. Way to go, sis. “And her name is Willow, remember?”

“That’s a pretty name.”

“It sure is,” my sister answers.

“Are they gonna get married and have babies?”

Gemma stutters, “I…ah…I…” and when I flick my eyes to Mergen, his jaw is cinched so tight you’d think it was wired shut. One can dream.

I rescue my sister and find myself answering my niece’s question with tremendous ease. “It’s a definite possibility.”

Next to me, Willow takes in a sharp breath and you could hear a pin drop with how quiet the room has gone. I’m sure my family is in about as much shock to hear me say that as I am, but I tune everyone else out and turn to face her. She’s staring at me, her mouth parted, eyes slightly bugging.

Did you mean that? they ask.

I’m pretty sure I did, I answer.

Her entire face lights up. Glows. Where has this woman been all my life?

“Can we eat now? I’m hungry.” Cora’s tone borders on a whine. In about three seconds she’ll go into drama queen mode.

“Best idea I’ve heard in the last five minutes,” my father says dryly.

It takes a few seconds before I’m able to break my gaze from Willow’s. I find myself wishing we were alone so I could tell her everything I’m feeling inside, even though I’m not sure yet how to voice it. After the prayer, I hold on to her hand longer than necessary. I take every opportunity during the meal to touch her, not because I’m trying to piss Mergen off, although that’s a nice side benefit, but because I feel grounded in a way I never have when her skin is pressed to mine.

In the most interesting twist, I find myself ignoring Mergen and his not-so-subtle glowers at me. His lame attempts to rein in the longing he has for Willow should set me off, but I only find them pathetic now. I can do it only because of her. Her focus is solely on me even when she’s interacting with my family as if they are already hers.

And when I walk out the door a short while later, my arm tight around her waist, the only thing I’m thinking about is burying myself so far inside her we both find the very soul of the other. And it’s not that I feel the need to erase another man or stake my claim. It’s because I realize that’s the only time I feel as though I’ve truly come home. I never realized I was missing that feeling until I met Willow. I am so in love with this woman, and more and more I’m embracing it. Not running from it.

I only pray I can keep her.