Page 44 of After All This Time

I love women.

Which is weird since I wasn't raised by one.

My mother could've turned me into one of those guys who hates women just because she walked away and never looked back. But fuck that. I refuse to let one person's choices define who I am or shape how I see half the human race.

Instead, I see something more. I see the beauty in a woman's strength, the quiet power that lies just beneath the surface.The way they shoulder burdens most people don't even notice, keeping their heads high while the world tries its best to tear them down.

And maybe that's why I can't shake this conversation with her.Because Amelia is resilient as hell and so goddamn beautiful in every way a person can be, and the idea of the world ever being unfair tohermakes me hate it a little.

"You good?" Tessa's voice pulls me out of my head, and when I turn to face her, I find she's watching me closely.

I nod, flashing my most charming smile, hoping it's convincing enough to bury whatever's happening inside. But she just rolls her eyes and chuckles, knowing me well enough to realize that I'm full of shit.

"Liar," she whispers.

"I mean, how many times in one day does my boss need to tell me all the different ways I could 'lose a couple of pounds'?" Jen rolls her eyes, exasperation written all over her face.

"Yeah, your boss is a real bitch," Tessa chimes in, taking a sip of her wine.

"Don't listen to her, Jennifer. You're perfect as you are."

Jen narrows her eyes, one brow raised in disbelief. "Did you just compliment me?"

"Harry kicked me under the table. It was forced."

"Whatever, Sinclair. You think I'm perfect." She tosses her hair, an over-the-top move that just makes me laugh.

We've got the brother-sister dynamic down: relentless teasing and pushing each other's buttons, but with a level of protection that goes bone-deep. I'd go to war for her if she needed me.

Harry leans over and kisses her forehead, pulling her close. "You are perfect, baby girl." She melts into him, and I catch Amelia smiling as she watches the two of them.

A couple of hours pass, and the conversation has been flowing nonstop around the table. The six of us haven't stopped talking, and sobriety fucked right off a while ago, leaving everyone a little louder, a little looser, and a lot more fearless about what we're willing to spill.

"What are ballet dancer guys like?" Jen slurs, her words only slightly off but enough to give her away.

"What do you mean?" Amelia laughs at the question, but I can tell Jen's losing whatever filter she had left—not that there was much there to begin with.

"You know…" Jen gestures vaguely with her hands, her expression exaggerated. "Their bodies must be so strong, but they move like… like water or something. Like, could you imagine Tobias doing it?" She jerks her head in my direction, and I respond with my middle finger

"I don't know. I could totally picture him in a pair of tights," Tessa teases, giving me a little nudge while Zane's low laugh rumbles beside her.

"What are you laughing at? Bet you'd slip into a pair if Blondie asked you nicely."

Zane settles back against the booth, all lazy confidence and a fuck-you grin. "She wouldn't ask…" He pauses, letting the moment stretch. "She prefers me naked."

The table erupts. Amelia's eyes go wide as saucers, and Jen loses it completely, her laugh muffled behind her hand like she's trying to catch it before it escapes. The sound is infectious, and even though I roll my eyes and drain my beer, I'm fighting back my own grin.

"I hate all of you, honestly."

But I don't. Not even close. I love these idiots, every single one of them.

Jen's laughter cuts through the noise, while Tessa's wearing this grin that's pure trouble, fingers skating across Zane's arm with a touch that sayshe's minewithout speaking a single word. He leans back beside her, completely at ease, like the entire fucking world could burn down around him, and he still wouldn't move from her side. Harry's the same as ever—laid-back, soaking in the energy around him like he's made for moments like this.

And then there's Amelia. She's quieter than the rest, watching everything with those deep brown eyes of hers—the kind that makes you think of whiskey in the firelight—and there's this softness there that hits me right in the chest.

Tonight has been… nice. Better than nice. Maybe it's the alcohol warming my blood or the way the bar lights catch in her hair, but something about this moment feels important, and I've enjoyed tonight in a way I haven't before. Usually, I'm the designated third or fifth wheel, so much so that I've probably reserved a third-wheel spot at my own wedding, right next to the cake. But tonight, with Amelia here, something's different. She fits, softening the night somehow, her presence filling a space I hadn't realized was empty.

I keep stealing glances at her, watching how naturally she falls into conversation with my people. There's something satisfying about seeing her here, laughing and relaxed, surrounded bypeople who aren't biker fuckboys, all ego and zero brain cells, the ones who think revving an engine is a personality trait.

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