Page 146 of Fixing to Be Mine

He pulls me into a tight hug, and I give him a thank-you.

Across the room, Stormy laughs at something Vera said, and the sound wraps around me, even in a crowded room.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look more herself. There’s light in her eyes that’s mesmerizing.

Someone passes a glass of whiskey into my hand before walking away—Beckett. I swirl the amber once, watching it catch the glow from the twinkle lights strung along the ceiling. Then I lift it to my lips and take a slow sip.

It’s good. Warm. Familiar.

Fenix is chatting with London about something no one else is listening to. The whole damn place is buzzing and grounded, all at once. Stormy catches me watching her. She tilts her headslightly, eyes narrowing with that teasing look that still wrecks me. Like she knows exactly what I’m thinking and is already two steps ahead.

I lift my glass in her direction.

She raises her brows and mouths,Happy?

I nod. More than I ever knew I could be.

I drift toward the back wall, nursing the last of the whiskey in my glass. From here, I can see everything, but mostly, I see her. Laughing. Glowing. Her cheeks are pink from wine or joy or both. She tosses her head back and says something that makes them shriek like they’re in high school again, and I can’t help but notice how easily she fits in like a missing piece.

She’s not just mine now. She’s theirs too.

Stormy belonged to us before the ring. Before the first kiss. Hell, before I even knew her real name. But now? Now she’s stitched into the fabric of this family like she’s always been part of it. Not a guest. Not a visitor. Ours.

I take another sip, proud of the life I built. I didn’t know I was chasing this until she walked into it like a storm with nowhere to land. And here she is—rooted, radiant, wrecking me in the best way.

From across the room, she catches me watching her, and then I notice how her eyes widen with alarm.

I turn to see someone wearing a cowboy hat standing at the threshold of the barn.

Tall. Lean. Boots worn and dusty.

He removes the hat and holds it in his hand like he knows how to make an entrance without even trying.

Jace Tucker.

It’s been years since I’ve spoken with him, but he still has the same cocky stride, like he’s half man, half rodeo legend. He looks around the room with a sun-creased grin and a look in his eye that says he’s up to something—always has been.

He spots me, crosses the room, and reaches out with a firm grip.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he says with a half smile. “Guess the rumors were true. Congratulations.”

I clasp his hand and give him a shake. “Didn’t expect to see you back in town anytime soon.”

“Didn’t expect to come back,” he says with a smirk. “But here I am.”

Before I can ask why, I catch the shift in the air, a pause in energy. I follow his line of sight and see him looking at my sister.

Fenix.

She’s standing near the dessert table, mid-sip from a wineglass. Her hand stalls halfway, frozen like someone hit pause on the whole scene.

Jace doesn’t blink.

And Fenix? She downs the rest of the glass, and her jaw clenches tight.

Seconds later, she’s storming toward us with her glass clasped tight in her hand.

“You weren’t invited. Leave,” she says, loud enough for only us to here.

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