Page 69 of Oliver

I caught his eye over the rim of my coffee mug.You good?my look asked.

His barely-there nod answered:Better than good.

When Jude finally stepped outside, hair still damp from a shower, Cyclone’s whole posture changed. Subtle, but clear to anyone watching. His eyes tracked her like she was the only thing worth seeing in this whole damn zip code.

I elbowed Raven lightly. “We taking bets on who ties the knot next?”

Raven just rolled his eyes. “Not it.”

Gage grinned, catching on. “I give it six months. Tops.”

Jude froze halfway to Cyclone, cheeks pink. She shot me a glare that should’ve killed me on the spot. Cyclone just dragged her into the crook of his arm and muttered something that made her swat his chest — then curl into him anyway.

Emery leaned closer, whispering, “You see that?”

I pressed a kiss to her temple. “Yeah. Family, babe. Even the messed-up parts. We are all still one big happy family.”

The sun climbed higher,burning off the last scraps of the storm we’d weathered.

For a few perfect hours, there was no Langston, no headlines, no threat lurking in the shadows. Just laughter, coffee, and the woman I’d hunt the world for asleep against my side.

Tomorrow we’d be soldiers again.

But today? We were home.

The End

Author’s Note

Dear reader,

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for spending time with Oliver, Emery, and the entire team. This book was a labor of love — a story about family, fierce loyalty, and fighting for what matters most.

Many of you have asked for more glimpses into this found family’s lives, and I couldn’t resist giving Cyclone and Jude a little bonus moment here at the end. Their journey isn’t over.

Stay tuned, because next up is Faron’s story — and trust me, he’s about to meet his match in ways even he didn’t see coming.

Your support means everything to me. If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review — it helps more than you know.

Until next time,

Susie McIver

Keep reading

Bonus Story

Cyclone & Jude — A Promise Kept

JUDE

I’d lost count of how long I’d stared at the tiny stick in my hand.

It mocked me from the bathroom sink — two sharp pink lines that made my heart rattle against old wounds I’d buried so deep I’d sworn they couldn’t hurt me anymore.

I wasn’t ready.

I was so damn ready.

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