Because there, cuddled up, is Wyatt, sound asleep in Lola’s arms. She turns to me with a soft smile. Rex is sprawled at her feet.
She looks like she’s at home.
“He fell asleep on me, and I didn’t want to wake him… So I just stayed here,” she whispers.
I cross the room with a smile on my face and cup her cheek. Glancing between her and my son, something cracks in my chest. This is something I want to memorize for later.
I don’t want to let her go. Not now. Never.
“He woke up and asked me to read a story. I hope that’s okay?” she says quietly as I carefully peel Wyatt out of her arms and settle him on his pillow. He stirs but doesn’t wake. Pressing a soft kiss on his cheek, I stop in front of Lola.
“I’ll never be upset with you making my boy happy, Lola. Thank you for looking after him,” I tell her.
And I mean it. It’s not easy for someone to step in and have to bond with another person's kid. But, Lola is. And Wyatt thinks she’s great.
“Come on, let’s go to bed,” I whisper, and lean in and pick her up into my arms, walking us to my bedroom down the hall.
I set her down, and she snuggles up under the covers, watching me like a hawk as I strip off. Her breath hitches as I slide in behind her. Carefully. So carefully. I curl my body around hers and press my lips to the back of her neck.
“Sweet dreams, firefly.”
“Good night, cowboy.”
She reaches back, finds my hand, and laces her fingers through mine.
I hold her against me and listen to her breathe. Tomorrow, I will call Enzo again. Get Drago on my case. Start the hunt for whoever killed Ashley. Pack up Lola’s apartment. Move her in.
Tomorrow, the war begins.
But right now? Right now I’m lying in the dark with the woman I’d burn the world down for.
And that’s enough.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
LOLA
My whole body aches.From my head down to my toes, every muscle is screaming like I’ve been hit by a truck instead of a man.
I blink my eyes open. Natural light is starting to bleed through the curtains, warming the room in soft gold. And next to me, Hunter’s place in bed is empty.
I run my hand across the sheets. They’re still warm.
Dragging myself upright takes more effort than it should. I have to peel myself vertical one vertebra at a time, every muscle locked so tight it feels like my body has been set in concrete overnight. My hip screams when I swing my legs over the side. My wrist throbs when I push myself to standing.
I make my way to the full-length mirror in the corner and run my fingers through my hair with my good hand. It’s a mess. But Hunter’s T-shirt actually looks okay on me. Hangs like a dress, almost to my knees, respectable enough.
I need my real clothes. Desperately. But this will do for now.
Once I’m satisfied I don’t look like a complete disaster, I venture downstairs. I can hear men’s voices drifting up from the kitchen, one of them laughing at something. The smell of bacon and coffee hits me on the landing, and my stomach growls so loud I’m surprised no one hears it.
I stop in the kitchen doorway and watch them.
Hunter is at the stove, spatula in hand, looking hot as hell. Two of his brothers are at the counter. Not the one I met last night, Beau. No, this is the one who was playing with Wyatt at the party. The tatted big kid who launched himself onto the bounce house like a man with zero regard for his own dignity. And the other one, I’m not sure I’ve seen before. Hunter swings the spatula and cracks the tatted one around the back of the head with it.
“Lola!”
Wyatt’s voice explodes behind me, and I nearly leave my skin. I spin around, hand flying to my chest, and find him grinning up at me in full ranch gear—little jeans, little boots, hat hanging off the back of his neck by the cord.