“You didn’t deny it.”
Her mouth drops open. “I was too busy trying not to faint.”
“Still counts.”
“Derby,” Sophie says.
It’s warning and amusement wrapped together.
Amelia points at me with one shaking finger. “Don’t make jokes right now.”
I shut my mouth.
That is new for me.
Legend notices.
His eyes flick from Amelia to me, and I can see the calculation start. President brain. Brother brain. Dangerous combination.
“Inside,” Legend says. “Now.”
We move as a group.
Not rushed. Not slow.
The gate is locked behind us. Prospects reposition. Oaks stays outside with Wildcat and two others. Royal disappears somewhere into the rain, which probably means someone will regret being born before sunrise. Whiskey walks with his phone already to his ear, voice low.
I follow Amelia inside because I’m still on her and the kid, and because if I walk away right now, I’ll look like an asshole even by my standards.
The clubhouse door shuts behind us.
Warmth hits. Smoke. Bourbon. Old wood. Fry grease. The kind of smells that usually tell me I’m home.
Tonight they wrap around Amelia like one more thing to survive.
She stands just inside the door, arms around herself, rain dampening her hair and the borrowed shirt. Sophie is beside her, but Amelia is looking at Legend now.
“That was him,” she says.
It ain’t a question.
Legend nods once. “Yeah.”
Her face crumples, but she holds it together with pure spite.
Good girl.
No.
Not girl.
Woman.
Good woman.
That thought comes fast and hard enough to make me scowl.
I don’t need this.