Page 239 of Gathered Sparkle

But still, he drives his Ferrari like it’s his mission in life to know every road in Tuscany. Sometimes, we go together, zipping through the hills with the windows down, the sun on our faces, and the air smelling of cypress trees and lavender. We’ll stop in one of those little towns and find a bottle of wine for the cellar or ingredients for pizza and pasta.

And when we’re back at the villa, he makes magic in our oversized kitchen. He tosses dough in the air like he’s performing a trick, and each night, we all crowd around the table to try his latest creation. And more often than not, he plays the guitar afterward, singing for us. Our evenings are full of music, chaos, laughter, and clinking glasses, all highlighted by Sylus stealing bites before the food hits the plates, and Koen rolling his eyes, pretending to be annoyed.

I wouldn’t change a thing.

Koen plants a kiss on my neck, and I shiver, blinking back into the evening as Ace steps up to Oscar’s headstone. I watchas he places a hand on the stone, his shoulders square, standing with his head bowed and the breeze stirring his blond hair.

“I wish you were here.” His fingers curl against the headstone. “But I’ll keep the show going for you.”

Pride and love swell inside me. He’s come so far.

Ace went back to school and got his high school diploma online. Now, he’s working toward degrees in psychology and social work, determined to help people with trauma.

People like us.

I glance around at all the men gathered, thinking of what we’ve all been through. Ace wants to help people like all of us, ones who’ve been to the edge and back. It’s hard to believe that sometimes, the man who once flinched at every touch is now actively putting himself out there, opening himself up for others.

Thankfully, he’s completely good with my touch now, to the point where I don’t even have to think about it anymore, and neither does he. But what makes my heart soar even more is seeing him extend that touch to the others. A hand on Koen’s shoulder when he’s distracted, or now, when he pulled Sylus to his side for a moment of comfort. He’s not fine with being touched without warning, but he’s getting there, step-by-step. And I love him all the more for it, especially since it inspired me to start seeing his therapist too.

Therapy has given me a space I didn’t know I needed, a place to say things out loud that I’d kept buried, to pick apart the chaos of my past and realize how much of it wasn’t my fault. It’s not easy, peeling back those layers. It’s like shedding old skin, raw and uncomfortable but freeing.

For so long, I thought survival meant keeping it all locked away, moving forward without looking back. But now I understand that healing is its own kind of strength. And every session, every step I take, feels as though I’m stitching myself back together.

Our competitive streak hasn’t gone anywhere, though. If anything, it’s sharper than ever, though it’s now channeled into card games. Once a week, we have game night when the whole crew gathers around the long dining table. It starts with everyone there, laughing and teasing, wine glasses clinking alongside the water ones for Sylus and me. But as the night stretches on, they start dropping like flies. Koen stays halfway drunk, laughing with Levi and Ezra over their shared bottle of Chianti, whereas Sylus is usually the first to give in, his head dropping onto the table, snoring softly as someone—usually Levi—throws a napkin over his face for fun.

Then it’s just Ace and me, locked in our endless battle for supremacy, while whoever is left conscious cheers or groans from the sidelines. It always ends the same. One of us triumphant, the other pretending to be a sore loser. And yes, it’s only pretend because the loser has to give head.

And let’s be real, there are worse fates than that.

I glance at him now, standing in front of Oscar’s grave, and my heart swells. He’s still Ace, steady, sharp, fiercely loyal, but he’s also Alaric, the man who once held the world at arm’s length and now leans into it with everything he has.

“Okay, come on, guys.” Levi rubs his hands together like he’s just finished a magic trick. “Let’s go and do what we’re here for.”

“Do we have to?” I pout.

Koen’s arm around me loosens as he chuckles. “Oh, you don’t want to?”

“I already told you guys yesterday. It’s not legal.”

Nicholas comes to my side and interlaces our fingers, squeezing gently, his dimples flashing when I glance at him. As I lean into him, Ace comes to my other side, taking my free hand.

“When did something not being legal ever stop us, Trouble?”

I nuzzle against Nicholas’s shoulder and smile as I answer, “You know what I mean. It’s not that serious.”

“I disagree wholeheartedly,” Sylus protests, leading the way as we walk toward the car waiting for us outside the cemetery gates.

We only flew out of Tuscany this morning, the jet landing in Arizona an hour ago. We hadn’t planned to make this trip. Not really. It happened last night in the most ridiculous, chaotic way possible.

We’d been watching a movie while Sylus lounged on the couch, groaning about his stiff neck. He’d spent the afternoon kneading cookie dough with hisnonnasquad, and it apparently took more out of him than he expected. So, naturally, I took pity on him and massaged his neck, my fingers digging into the knots while he melted under my touch, asking me to marry him.

“Already did,” I’d responded without thinking, which had Nicholas, Koen, and Ace whipping their heads around so fast I thought they’d pull something too.

“What the hell does that mean?”Ace had demanded.

Sylus had grinned lazily and said,“Oh, you didn’t know? Sparkle baby and I got hitched five years ago. Vegas style.”

“It was an auto-wed machine.”I had to clarify, laughing and trying to wave it off.“It was a joke! The machine doesn’t even make it legal. It’s nothing.”

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