Page 143 of Salvaged Hearts

Over the winter, we’d made Hart House our own, the walls now covered with paintings and splashes of color. We traded the sterile, magazine-worthy, Cape Cod-style furniture for eclectic, curated pieces we’d chosen together. If we were going to bring something home, it had to speak to us personally. None of the generic showroom bullshit. To Greyson’s eternal amusement, he actually liked color more than the neutral pallet his designers had granted him over the years. Blue, in particular, held his fancy.

With a dramatic sigh, Captain rose from his plush bed beside my vanity as we found our feet. “Ready, big guy?” I asked, bending down to ruffle his ears and straighten his bow tie before scratching down his spine.

“Hey,” Grey protested. “No calling the dog 'big guy’ if I’m around. I resent that.”

My laugh mixed with the enthusiastic tippy-tap of Cap’s paws as he waggled back and forth between my hands. A jealous Chip came leaping from our bed like an albino flying squirrel. His little claws screeched across the hardwood as he slid up beside us to demand pets, too. Captain grumbled his displeasure beforeheading for the French doors to lead the three of us out to the inevitable chaos.

My family—yep,all of themin their loud, chaotic glory—and a handful of our friends were chattering just beyond the patio. Squeezing Greyson’s hand in mine, I sucked down a steadying breath. Through the wall of glass, everyone we loved milled about. Bulb lights sparkled under the golden hour pastels of a Southern California sunset. White tents lined the perimeter of our property, and the sizzle of meat on the grill competed with the trail of music from the live band placed against the border of sand.

For our one-year anniversary, Greyson had insisted we finally celebrate our vows the way I ‘deserved’ to. Whatever the hell that meant.

But he’d known better than I did, because he kept it intimate and informal. A live acoustic band, beautiful view, the people we could count on—which was, admittedly, a lot more than just four of us now—and a Mistyvale-style fish fry.

Greyson kissed my temple before opening the door and motioning me through to a chorus of whoops, applause, and obnoxious wolf whistles.

“Brothers,” I muttered.

“Tell me about it,” he grumbled, jerking his chin toward the dance floor, where Oliver was twirling Mattie in one hand and Leighton—who had a giggling Beau wrapped around her back like a chimp—in the other. Paxton was just behind them and flashed me a wink over the shoulder of his intimidatingly gorgeous date. Her black curls swayed at her lower back.

Unabashedly, Max sidled up next to Grey with a shit-eating grin on his face and a slick button-up and slate gray vest wrapped over his lean frame.

“Suit Daddy,” he said by way of greeting, complete with a signature Max eyebrow waggle.

“Christ,” Grey muttered, an adorable little flush creeping into his cheeks. Max was entirely undeterred, to no one’s surprise, and my eternal amusement. He’d been around a lot this year, making this place feel more like home than ever. As per usual, both work and his love of travel had him bouncing around the planet. Brexley and Elora had an eager mother’s assistant after their births, and Hadlee called him up north for some help when she was house hunting. But aside from that and the occasional unavoidable work trip, he’d been here with me as we created a new sense of normal.

“About damn time, you two. I’ve got something I’m dying to show you—you’re gonnalove it, I promise.”

I was still laughing as mymaddeningly attractivehusband was dragged over to Max’s computer, where it sat on a patio table. Unwilling to snake my way through the party until Grey was beside me, I leaned onto the banister of the terrace and watched the commotion with a smile on my face.

“Looking awfully radiant, little Hart. Sure that old asshole is taking good care of you?”

Grinning at the familiar baritone, I turned to smirk up at the one and only Jackson Reynolds. “Oh, I’m fairly certain all my needs are accounted for.” His cheeky little smile filled my chest with a warm sense of safety a beat before he pulled me into a bruising bear hug. Like me, Jax had a bit of a rocky road to recovery in the fall, but he’d spent it here with us. Together with Max, Luke, and a couple of trusted FBI contacts, we put our heads down and worked our asses off to bringThunderstrikefirmly above board. The road hadn’t been easy, but after their rescue of Miranda Ashcroft and her children, and the ensuing unveiling of the city’s seedy underbelly, stepping into the light became rather inevitable.

The part that stung even all these months later was the fact that Miranda had known.My friend—or who I thought was myfriend. She’d known who was hunting me, and she hadn’t told us. I mean…more than anyone, I was aware of what we’d do to protect those we loved, and with her unsuspecting children inObsidian’scrosshairs…maybe I couldn’t understand what that felt like, but I don’t think I would’ve protected my husband until I knew they were going to killher,if our roles were reversed.

Even knowing she’d been under duress didn’t ease that wound. She’d been on her way to deliver everything she knew to Detective Rivera whenObsidiantracked her down and forced her into an SUV at gunpoint. Royce’s sudden onset of sickness had been in reaction to an image of the three of them with Odessa’s head of security.

Royce.

The man used me as an in to get closer to Greyson and violated our home—used our friendship to get inside and plant bugs after Max’s sweep to provide his mother with the information she needed to blackmail us or back us into a corner, whichever it came to.

In the end, Royce was presumed dead in the bay, although his body was never recovered, and Miranda secured one hell of a plea bargain. Who wouldn’t sympathize with a heavily pregnant mom of three who was protecting her children from her husband’s psychotic blood family? Especially when she sang like a damn canary afterThunderstrikegot her out.

As of this month,Thunderstrikewas a known government initiative, with Jax at the helm. They still relied on retired vets for the bulk of their muscle, and their toys were admittedly a bit nicer due to Greyson’s generous funding.

This time last year, if Grey had told me the big blond wall of muscle beside me would feel like family, I would’ve choked on saliva from snorting so hard. It wasn’t like Ineededan extra brother-figure with the six towering smartasses wandering around, but he’d become mine as much as Grey’s. Well, abrother that made inappropriately flirtatious jokes just so he could laugh when I squirmed.

“I mean it though, kid,” he added as we pulled apart. “You look good. Healthy. Happy.”

“I am happy,” I declared with a grin and a flush creeping up my neck. The best part was how deeply I meant it. There was nothing fake or forced—no mask I had to hide behind when the crowd thickened. Joy, while hard fought for, had become synonymous withhomefor me. This slice of peace Greyson carved out of the chaos for us.

“Good,” he said with a grin, turning to look out over the people beneath the twinkling lights as he tucked me against his side. “You, of all people, deserve it. Enjoy that, you little warrior.”

Okay, so Jax had made a much bigger deal out of me not leaving him for dead in the bottom of the bay than was strictly comfortable. He would’ve done the same for me.

“You deserve that too, you know?” I pressed, earning a side-eye and matching, incredulous smirk.

“I’m not like Grey.”

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