The parents laugh awkwardly, but their eyes flick over our tattoos, our shoulders, our expressions. They have no idea how lucky they are we’re behaving.
I shake their hands one by one. “Nice to meet you,” I say warmly.
Ronan says nothing—he just nods once, which somehow looks like both a greeting and a death warning if their house isn’t safe.
Rowan, bless him, tries for wholesome. “We’re protective. She’s important to us.”
The parents swallow in unison.
Berk steps forward then, offering a gentle smile that disarms everyone instantly. She looks soft tonight—looser clothes, hair in gentle waves, cheeks still slightly pale from healing—but her eyes? Sharp. Always sharp.
“Thank you for being so kind to her,” she says to the parents. “She’s… our heart.”
Kimber beams, proud instead of embarrassed.
We exchange numbers with each family. They have no idea Berk will run background checks, financial searches, criminal history, social media sweeps, and deep-web scrubs as soon as we get home.
We let them leave first, each parent walking a little stiffly as though sensing danger without knowing why.
Kimber waits until they’re fully out of earshot before groaning. “You guys could not have looked scarier if you tried.”
Rowan gasps, offended. “I smiled.”
“That was not a smile,” she fires back.
Ronan adds, “Should’ve seen the dad with the mustache. Thought he was gonna pee.”
I snort, shaking my head. “We behaved.”
Kimber rolls her eyes. “Barely.”
We walk her out to the parking lot, the cool night air settling the leftover tension of the crowd.
I open the passenger door for Berk, helping her slide in carefully. She grumbles about being perfectly capable, but she still winces when she bends.
“Let us spoil you,” I murmur.
Her eyes soften. “Fine. But only because I like the view when you lean in close.”
I smirk, kiss her, then shut the door.
When I round to the back, the other two are piling in with Kimber between them, who immediately throws her hands up dramatically.
“I swear, if you intimidate my friends’ parents again, they’ll never let me stay at their house.”
Rowan grins. “That’s the point.”
“Seriously,” Kimber huffs. “Half the gym thinks you’re mobsters.”
Ronan shrugs. “Better mobster than murderer.”
Kimber stares at him. “You cannot say that out loud.”
Berk leans across the passenger seat and calls back, “He absolutely can. We’re retired.”
“Please stop talking,” Kimber groans, burying her face in her hands. “People could hear.”
I turn on the engine, fighting a laugh. “We’ll dial it back next time.”