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“You’re so good, Brady. So good for them. Look at you.”

He shatters under the praise the way he always does, coming untouched from being filled by the two cocks, and the clench of him drags Cruz over the edge with a groan. I keep going and come also with my hand in his hair and his name on my tongue.

Round four belongs to Dakota. Eli takes her from behind while she rides Cruz beneath her, a configuration we’ve practiced until the geometry works, and she comes so many times she loses count out loud, laughing and crying at once while Brady and I hold her hands and watch her burn.

By the time exhaustion wins, the sheets are wrecked, the room smells like sweat and sex and the candle Cruz lit hours ago and forgot, and none of us can do more than fall where we land. Dawn bleeds through the curtains. We spent the whole night making up for two stolen weeks.

Dakota sleeps in the middle of the pile, breathing slow and deep, her face peaceful in a way I haven’t seen since before Eli left. Cruz lies unconscious beside her, one heavy arm thrown across her waist, staking his claim even in sleep. Brady curls against Eli’s chest, both of them drifting, their breathing synced without either knowing it.

I stay awake a while longer.

This is what I do. I observe. I catalog. I store the moments that matter so I can return to them when the world gets heavy, and this one goes in the vault beside the first time Cruz kissed me in that park and the night Dakota let me tie her to a cross in a stranger’s club and cried from relief instead of pain.

Five people who shouldn’t work. A coach who spent forty years denying half of himself. A brawler Victor pulled out of a jail cell. A preacher’s son taught to hate his own desire. A woman who fought her way out of hell with nothing but her hands andthe determination to survive. And me, the watcher, the one who keeps the records, who never expected to find a place where every version of me fits.

We almost lost it. We didn’t.

Tomorrow brings the new chapter. Eli back at Oath, coaching fighters who aren’t us. Restructured groups, new boundaries that will chafe until we adjust to the shape of them. The blackmailer still out there with those photos. Gerald’s trial waiting down the road like weather a storm, only this time we can see it coming.

Tomorrow can have all of that.

Tonight, Dakota shifts in her sleep and murmurs a name. Mine, I think, or maybe all of ours run together. Cruz’s arm tightens around her. Brady sighs against Eli’s chest, and Eli, even asleep, pulls him closer.

I close my eyes and let the pile take me under.

Tonight is for celebration. Tomorrow is for everything else.

45

DAKOTA

Candlelight spills across Dante’s apartment when I push through the door, dozens of small flames scattered over the bookshelves, the windowsills, the coffee table. The whole place glows amber and gold, and for a second I just stand in the doorway with my keys in my hand, taking it in.

Cruz let it slip three days ago. Dante’s “doing something special” for the anniversary. One month since Eli came back to us. One month since Victor decided family mattered more than rules. Cruz can’t keep a secret to save his life, and I love him for it, because I’ve had three days to anticipate this and the anticipation has been its own kind of gift.

Eli and Dante move around each other in the kitchen, passing dishes and utensils without words, a choreography they’ve built over weeks of cooking together. Cruz sprawls across the couch with Brady tucked under his arm, both of them laughing at whatever’s on Cruz’s phone.

Domestic. Normal. Everything I never thought I’d have.

Cruz spots me first. His whole face changes, lighting up like I’m the best thing he’s seen all day, and he’s off the couch before I finish closing the door. He wraps me up and lifts me clean off my feet.

“There she is.” He buries his nose in my hair. “Missed you, sweetheart.”

“You saw me four hours ago.”

“Four long hours.”

He smells like the cologne Brady bought him and underneath that just Cruz, warm and solid. I let myself hang in his arms an extra beat before he sets me down.

Dante emerges from the kitchen holding a bottle of champagne with a label I don’t recognize, which means it’s expensive. Eli follows with five glasses balanced between his careful hands.

“You went all out.” I gesture at the candles, the wine, the smell of garlic and butter drifting from the kitchen.

“One month.” Dante works the cork loose with his thumbs. “That deserves more than pizza.”

“I like pizza,” Brady offers from the couch.

“You’ll like this more.”