Page 128 of Playing for the Hat Trick
“She’s not going anywhere. She’s family,” Lucian says, deadpan. “Unlike some people.”
Jason flips him off casually, not missing a beat.
Cam snorts from the kitchen, where she’s stealing mozzarella sticks off a tray. “God, this is going to be fun.”
We grab a few plates and find a spot at the end of the big table, Jason’s hand never leaving my lower back. It’s like he’s setting a claim—not possessive, just steady. Constant.
Sitting here with everyone should feel overwhelming—loud, full of insults flying like dodgeballs, already halfway into a debate about whether Lucian’s dog could outrun Greyson in a race—but somehow, it doesn’t.
It feels like exhaling after forgetting how. We’re halfway through a greasy slice of pizza when the chirping officially begins.
“So,” Killion drawls, leaning in like he’s got a front-row seat to my public execution, elbows braced on the table. “How long have you been defiling our sister, Tate?”
I promptly inhale my soda the wrong way and erupt into a coughing fit, while Jason—an absolute fucking traitor—just grins like a jackass who’s enjoying every second of my demise.
“Long enough to know she can kick my ass if I piss her off,” he says smoothly, sliding his knee against mine under the table like he’s earned visitation rights to my sanity.
Kade lets out a low whistle. “Brave, dumb, or in love. Jury’s still out.”
Olivia, bless her, grins wide enough to show teeth. “My money’s on all three.”
Jason winks at her like she’s just handed him a trophy. “Smart girl.”
Meanwhile, Leif’s sitting back in his chair, arms crossed, sizing Jason up like he’s trying to decide if it’s worth burying a body tonight. There’s no smirk. No brotherly ribbing. Just this laser-focused stare that could strip paint off a wall.
“You serious about this?” Leif asks, voice cutting through the noise like a well-aimed dart.
The table falls silent. No, it’s not only the table. It’s the entire house, actually. It’s like someone pressed pause on the world. Jason doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even blink.
“Dead serious,” he says, voice rough and certain. “I’m all in.”
The air shifts, thicker, denser. My heart punches the inside of my ribs hard enough to make me dizzy.
And then—bless him—Dad, leaning casually against the kitchen island with a wine glass in hand, lifts it like he’s toasting some inside joke only he’s in on.
“Finally,” he says dryly. “One of you idiots figured it out.”
Papa claps his hands together, gleeful. “Now, when do we start planning the wedding?”
I groan, dragging both hands over my face like that’ll somehow hide me from the room exploding into chaos.
“Calm down, Papa?—”
But Dad cuts me before I can say anything. “Nobody said marriage?—”
“Yet,” Papa insists, wielding a mozzarella stick like a judge’s gavel. “But it’s obviously coming.”
“Don’t scare her,” Jason murmurs, his laugh breaking loose, low and helpless.
He presses a kiss to the side of my head, the kind of kiss that should come with a warning label:Will cause irrational smiling and inappropriate swooning.
I lean into him shamelessly, practically climbing into his lap because hiding against his shoulder feels much safer than facing the circus before me. My cheeks are on fire, but my smile’s too big to pretend I’m mortified.
This is it.
This is us.
Wild, loud, ridiculous . . . and somehow, fucking perfect.
