Then I look at my guys.
Landon’s warmth. Beckett’s creativity. Dominic’s devotion. Zane’s joy. Ryker’s steady, unshakable presence.
My home.
My family.
My everything.
“So,” I finish, my voice steady now, “to family—found and chosen. To friends who stay. And to love…that gives us the courage to believe in happy endings.”
Glasses clink. Someone cheers. Zane wipes at his eye and pretends it’s allergies.
I sit back down, my heart clamoring up my throat. Ryker’s hand finds my own beneath the table, and Beckett’s knee brushes mine. Landon offers me a tentative smile, soft and knowing and full of unfettered love.
I place a hand over the protruding bump on my stomach. Our little girl should arrive in a few weeks, and I’m so fucking excited I can’t breathe.
We tried for a child numerous times—years ago, when we first decided we wanted a baby. The doctors believed that stress made it difficult for me to conceive. We unanimously agreed to put “baby making” on hold until everything with POP was settled. I thought my men would be disappointed, but they told me my health and well-being were their priority. Always.
I became pregnant within weeks of leaving WITSEC and returning home.
For the first time in a long time, there’s no fear curling in my chest. No exit plan running through my head. No looking over my shoulder, afraid of every shadow and every noise.
Just this.
And I know—deep in my bones—that I already have my happy ending.