Page 12 of Falcon’s Forever

"That's the problem." I know I sound mean, but it will take Emily a few hours to calm down and they never get to see the consequences of their actions.

He doesn't get defensive, which I respect more than an apology would've earned him. "I'll fix it."

"I don't want you to fix this one incident. We need a system." I open the notebook.

By the time Vulture comes out of his office, there are five of us around the table, Sterling, Zip, Condor, Harrier who was wandering past and inserted himself without being asked, and my three-page list has now grown to six.

He looks at the group, then at me. "Do I want to know?"

"No," Sterling says.

"Probably not," Zip adds.

I tell him anyway, and to his credit he listens without cutting in. When I finish he looks at Sterling. "Fix it." Then back at me. "Anything else?"

"A lot." I close the notebook against my chest instead of handing it over.

His eyebrows go up. "Excuse me?"

"I'm not giving you a list so you can decide which parts you agree with and tell us what you've decided for us." The room goes quiet enough that I can hear somebody's chair creak three tables over. Apparently people don't say no to Vulture often. I keep going before self-preservation catches up with me. "You've done an incredible job keeping everyone physically safe. You're still making decisions for women who've spent years having decisions made for them. If this is supposed to help them rebuild, they need a voice in how it works."

He studies me for a long moment, and whatever he's thinking, his face gives away nothing. Then he nods. "I agree."

My shoulders come down an inch.

"We'll set up a meeting," he says. "Women who want to be involved, can be. Nobody gets pushed."

"Good." That is more than I expected.

A door opens behind him and Falcon steps out of the office. Our eyes meet, and I don't know what Vulture said to him in there, but something's different. He still looks like a man carrying too much, but he's here, with his cut on, his VP patch sitting square over his chest, and when Vulture calls Church in five minutes, Falcon doesn't look toward the exit. He looks at the table. At his brothers. Then at me.

I don't smile. Neither does he. It’s just a small nod each, and that's enough for now, because this morning I asked him to show up, and he did, and somewhere in the middle of that I think I found something I need to show up for too. Not Falcon. Not yet. But this, the women, the house, and the strange, complicated family building itself around us whether any of us planned it or not.

He stops beside me on his way to Church. "Everything okay?"

"Not exactly."

His expression hardens instantly. "What happened?"

"We handled it."

The word surprises both of us. Not I. We. His gaze moves over the men at the table, then back to me, he doesn't push for details, and he doesn't try to take it over. He just accepts the answer, and that's new too.

"Go," I tell him. "You're going to be late."

The corner of his mouth lifts. "Bossy."

"You used to like that." The words are out before I can stop them, and something in his eyes changes so fast I feel it land in my chest before I understand what I've done.

Heat moves through me quick enough that I almost step back. Almost.

"I still do," he says, quiet enough that it's just for me, and then he turns and walks into Church, and I stand there staring after the closed door for a lot longer than the moment deserves.

Harrier clears his throat behind me. I turn slow. He's grinning.

"Don’t say one word,” I tell him.

"Didn't say shit." He holds up both hands, entirely unconvincing.